The door swung, shutting the stifling air around the voices raised in the chaos that happens when water fills the sky. Affirmation of their worthiness sought in every gesture, ‘am I heard, seen, felt?’ I smile whimsically at the interactions, knowing the place in memory, of strutting peacocks and hens in their mating dance. All eyes are on the young man that had just entered as he shakes his head playfully to shrills of objection, and stands central like a stag on parade. Young woman ridicule, reprimand, and giggle at the event and he looks at me raising his brow. ‘See, I told you, you are just a pup,’ I think I thought, but say out loud ruffling the still surprisingly wet hair. The coolness between my fingers apparent in it’s contrast to how hot it has become and the dryness in my voice indication of how wet everything suddenly seems.