It's funny that my parents named me Oriana. It means down - a new beginning, a soft light after a long night. But there was nothing soft or light about my life. My world has always been painted in greys and shadows. Cold tile floors, silence echoing off walls, and eyes that watched me like I was a ticking time bomb. Even as a child, I felt like an outsider in my own home- unwelcome, like a guest overstaying their visit in someone else's life. My earliest memories aren't of lullabies or birthday candles. They're of broken voices behind thin walls, doors slammed in rage, and the quiet fury of being invisible until someone needed someone to blame. I learned early: trust no one. Want something? Fight for it. Alone. No one will come to save you. No one ever has. If I wanted something respect, power, safety I had to claw my way to it. And I did. I'm not bitter about it anymore. Just... bored.
The funny thing about surviving is that eventually, it becomes normal. Even the adrenaline wears off. I've looked death in the face more times than I can count - met it in alleys, and on rainy rooftops with slippery ledges. It's no longer terrifying. It's like an old neighbor. Annoying, always lurking, but predictable.
Now? I live in the routine. Wake up. Working. Sleeping. And all this is repeated again and again every day. Now, I own one of the fastest-growning consulting firms in the city. My name turns heads in boardrooms. I've negotiated deals worth millions, brought competitors to their knees and walked away clean. But none of it feels like a victory.
My days are ordered, cold, and efficient. I wake before the sun. I work. I lead. I command. Then I go home to an apartment that's all sharp lines and silence. No one waits for me. No one calls. No one questions. And I like it that way.
Or at least, I tell myself I do.
People say I have an aura. Something about my eyes, or maybe the way I walk. My employees part like the Red Sea when I walk down the hallway. Everyone avoid eye contact with me. Some say I'm cursed. Others think I'm a monster in disguise. Neither are entirely worng. But honestly? It's exhausting. People respect me. People fear me. That used to be enough. Being feared is only fun when you have something to prove. I don't anymore. I'm not sure what I'm waiting for. Maybe I've been hoping for something unexpected to finally shatter the pattern. Something or someone to break the silence.
It was Sunday. An unremarkable day. Every day is the same for me. The days blur when they all feel the same. The rain had just started, soft and rhythmic, like the world was trying to hum me to sleep. I was driving home late, later than usual. Meetings had bled into emails and emails into problems and problems into hours I couldn't get back. My hands rested on the steering wheel, gloved and still. Traffic was crawling near the roundabout on XX street. I liked the noise, rain on metal, the whisper of wind, distant voices I didn't have to engage with. I love rain. It's my favorite weather. It washed away the noise.
And then... there was laughter. Not mocking kind. This was different. I've not heard such a sincere, warm, different laugh in a long time.
I rolled down the window to get a better look at where the laughter was coming from. The rain drenched me, but I didn't care about that at all right now. I looked out the window.
There he was....
Bright red hoodie, soaked at the shoulders. Kicking water puddles like a child, though he had to be at least my age. His hair, light brown and curly, stuck to his forehead. And he was... smiling. At nothing. At the sky, the rain, the puddle. Like the world was his joke and he didn't mind being the punchlie. Standing beside a soaked motorcycle, helmet in hand. He wasn't ruahing to cover or calling for help, just staring at the rain like it was trying to tell him something.
He was tall, lean, with rain-slicked curls and worn leather jacket that clung to him like a second skin. He wasn't trying to flag anyone down. He wasn't even looking around. Just watching the sky like he'd forgotten the world existed.
My car slowed near the curb. I should've looked away. Driven on. But I didn't.
He spotted me. Our eyes met. His expression didn't change. He didn't flinch. Didn't look away. He just waved. Actually waved.
His behavior really surprised me, because everyone always been afraid of me. Since childhood, everyone has run away when they see me. I'm cursed. No one wanted to play with me or be friends with me. But he... he's different. He wasn't afraid of me. He was sunshine boy.
And then the car behind me honked, loud and impatient. I blinked, startled. I had to make a decision in seconds. I decided to leave. When I glanced back in the mirror, he was gone.
I couldn't explain it, even to myself. I'd passed a thousand starngers before. Hundreds in the rain. Why did this one feel different?
It wasn't attraction. It wasn't recognition. I was something quieter. A flicker of awareness. A stranger sense that I had just crossed a thread I hadn't known existed. But I shook it off. I had better things to think about.
The next day, I didn't remember his face, but the feeling lingered.
Thee days later, I found myself back XX Street. I didn't mean to. I never take that road unless I'm avoiding traffic on the highway. But some how my hands had guided the weel like muscle memory.
No sign of him. No motorcycle. Just the same streetlight, flickering faintly in the early dusk. I parked for moment. Engine running. Doors locked. What was I expecting? That he'd still be standing there like some statue waiting for a prophecy? I sighed and leaned back. I hadn't slept well in weeks. Maybe months.
The truth I didn't admit to anyone, not even myself, is that my life has become predictable. Not just in schedule, but in meaning. Every success feels like a copy of the last. Every morning, a repeat of the one before. I built this life from ashes, yes, but even steel can rust without purpose. And when your armor becomes your prison, it's hard to tell the difference between safety and suffocation. Maybe that's why the stranger under the rain stayed with me. Because for a split second, I saw someone who looked free.
That night, I dreamed of rain. Not the harsh kind. Soft, warm rain, falling in slow motion. I stood in the middle of it, hands raised, letting it soak me to the bone. And he was there. Not peaking. Just watching. Smiling.
When I woke up, I was angry. Not because of the dream itself, but because I couldn't stop thinking about it all day. I didn't have time to think about strangers. I had deadlines. Clients. Staff. A reputation built brick by brick. I didn't need a ghost in a red light to distract me. But distraction don't aske permission. They sneak in like water under the door, quiet, relentless. It was following week when I saw him again. Not on XX Street. Not on the road at all. But in the lobby of my building.
I had just stepped out of the elevator, coffee in hand, phone pressed to my ear. My assistant was listing updates about a project. I was only half listening. And then I saw him, talking to one of the front desk staff, that same leather jacket now dry and clean, a helmet slung casually under one arm. Our eyes met again. This time, it lasted longer. His brows lifted slightly, not in surprise, but recognition. He remembered. He stepped toward me, calm and steady, the buzz of the lobby fading behind him.
I passed by because I don't have time for this traffic light ghost. I didn't even think about looking back because I knew that if I did, I would want to talk to him and get to know him. I don't have time for love right now, even though my life is routine and I want it to change. I have a goal that I must achieve. Life is not easy for women in this world. Despite all the obstacles, I have achieved success and the respect I deserve. I know that because of the sunshine boy, my life will be turned upside down. Maybe this is another reason why I don't want to talk to him.
And just like that, the moment passed. Someone called my name from across the lobby. I turned. When I looked back, he was walking toward the elevator. Not looking back.
I'd built my world to keep people out, and he'd just walked in like the door was wide open.