The Rain. (Part 1)

**This story has nothing to do with the living or dead. I made everything up*

All my bad memories begins with the rain. I can't stand it. Everyone around me was peering out the window, awed by the rain. I live in a hot country, so rain is a blessing. But it does not change the feeling I get everytime it rains, the darkness just engulfs me and I am trapped in it's clutches. The school bell rang, everyone dashed towards the door and out the gates. It was raining when my sister died. She was 18 years old. I was at school at the time, I suddenly got called by my teacher and then my father picked me up. She was laying at the hospital's bed. Her head wrapped up. I saw how pale and lifeless she was. But I was optimistic, she would make it. That seems so stupid and naive for me to believe now that I think about it. At the time, I just could not imagine her passing away. Gone. She was my rock. My idol. It was harder on my father. He had high hopes for my sister. I saw him cry for the first time in my whole life and probably the last. He never really expressed any emotions after that. He held my sister's hand and kiss her forehead before lifting the blanket over her head. It was official, she's gone. The next day was the funeral. All of our aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandma came. Even all of my sister's friend. There was a lot of them. Most of the girls was hugging each other. They patted me on the head and hugged me. 

' We lost such a great person', 'Your sister was remarkable. She could go so far.' I nodded because I agree. She was special. She was always an over-achiever, the top of her class.

The next day, the school found out and everyone was glancing at me with pity. She was a senior here. Everyone knew her. The same words I heard from the funeral was said over and over again to me. The teachers was all shaking their head, '

'She was my favorite student. The best in her grade.' Weirdly, I did not cry. I was in a daze. Still in disbelief. In a way, still expecting her to come home through that door. Giving me a hug and rain me with kisses like she always does. But she never came. She never will. The reality of her death hit me two weeks later and I lost my appetite. That continued for about another two weeks. But my friend, Fatimah realized and urged me to eat.

'Would your sister want to see you starve because of her? Eat!' I finally gave in and started eating again. My relationship with my father was starting to strain. He was in grieve. My sister was his rock too. She was his hopes and dreams. My sister was going to be a doctor. It was a dreams of her's and my father's. My father had wanted to become a doctor but things happened and he became a lecturer. Seeing his daughter wanting to become a doctor, he was overjoyed. After that day I saw my father cry, I was set on never making him cry again. To be continued...