Fem!N.Italy x Reader - Rainy days

The sound of the rain dropping against my window somehow always calmed me down. Drop, drop, drop. Always the same rhythm, every minute, every hour. I looked out of the window, watching as the people with their annoyingly colourful umbrellas passed by.
I saw blue ones, green ones, pink ones, also some rainbow-coloured - but not the one I was waiting for. I was waiting for an umbrella in green, white and red, an umbrella that looked like the Italian flag.

I took a quick glance at my watch. It was now 17:30; the time, when she usually went to the Italian Restaurant across the street.

I didn't know much about her; she was a girl, about my age, with wavy brown hair, that was usually tied back to a ponytail. She often wore some sort of militaristic uniform. From my viewing spot at the window I couldn't see many details; I only knew how she looked like roughly, and that she liked to eat pasta. Every day when she went to said Italian restaurant, she ate pasta.

I watched another crowd of umbrellas pass by, but hers was still nowhere in sight. I sighed. She wasn't usually that late. Each rainy day she came happily skipping down the road to the Italian restaurant, ordered pasta, ate it, and then left.

Watching her eating and happily chatting with the waiters became a daily activity for me... at least during rainy days. I used to not like rainy days before I saw her the first time. Every time I looked out of the window, all I saw was those umbrellas. I hated that restless sea of umbrellas of every colour you could imagine... until the day I saw her the first time.

Just for looking at the girl, I could feel all the strength I had lost because of my illness come back. I'd found myself dreaming I could meet her someday, even though I knew it would be just a dream forever...
Sighing again, I turned the TV on. Why hasn't she come already?

"...And now for the news. Half an hour ago, a young woman died in a car accident at [street name]. The driver stated that it happened because of the heavy rain from which he couldn't see her crossing the road. The young woman could be identified as the 17-year-old high school student Felicia Vargas..."

As the picture of the victim appeared to the screen, the TV-remote slipped out of my hand.

There she was: the very same girl with that wavy, warm-brown hair tied back to a ponytail, smiling at the camera with gentle, brown eyes.


No.