"Will I see you again?"

"I... I don't know. But I will be here again. Five years from now. On the first rain of September, just like today. I will be waiting for you."

**

She had held on to those words. Five years was a long time, and Manila was a far place. But she had to leave. She had to honor her promise to her parents, who gave everything they had to send her away for college.

"Soon, you will be the abogado of this town! You would be rich! Just remember us every now and then, okay?"

She only smiled as she heard those words. Her eyes scanned the crowd gathered at the bus terminal to see her off. She saw him, loitering near the edge, shuffling his feet. She remembered their promise just the day before. Their eyes met, and she flashed him the sweetest smile. That smile was something he would never forget.

Now, five years had come and passed. She had just graduated, and was taking a short vacation as she prepared for the bar. The bus made a turn towards a little-used toll gate, and she can feel the atmosphere changing as she opened the window.

The bus rattled along the cracked asphalt. It was better than the dirt road she remembered when she left, and she spared a smile for the fact that things had been progressing while she was gone. Soon, the air took on a chill as gray clouds rolled in and rain started to fall. She could see the large drops bounce off the dark green leaves that were everywhere, breaking into droplets and dancing onto the raw, moist, earth. Beyond the greens, she could see the humble nipa huts and the thin sheets of GI roofs held down by old tires. Some things never change.

It took her half an hour to get from the terminal to the outskirts of their little town. The rain had turned into a torrent, its ceaseless patter echoing against her umbrella, splashing against her pink blouse and her beige skirt. As she approached the old acacia, she noticed a man in a white shirt staring earnestly at the trunk. He did not hear her approach, over the sound of the downpour.

"On the first rain of September."

Her words carried through the raindrops like a melody, riding on the cold wind and making his heart skip several beats.

He turned, and stared at her, but she did not meet his gaze. Instead, she looked past him at the trunk of the acacia.

"Those letters should have faded by now..." She pointed to their initials carved on the tree.

In response, the man held up a small carving knife. "Not if you don't let them."

"You... you do this everyday?"

He chuckled. "No, that would be too troublesome." He went back to the tree and sharpened a line. "Only when I remember. And yeah... it's almost every day."

"That's funny. We were children when we wrote those letters."

He shrugged. "And it's still a child who hopes for your return. If only through those letters."

She smiled, and took a few steps closer. So did he.

And on that September afternoon, the endless drops witnessed a kiss... as pure and delicate as the rain itself.