When the Rain Stopped

That day, a thin layer of clouds veiled the sky, and the village of Kinahrejo was wrapped in a comforting warmth. After days of relentless rain, the sun finally emerged—not scorching, just warm enough to draw mist from the wet grass.

Hasan sat on a long wooden log with several villagers. Beside him, Hasuna was spooning rice and roasted roots into her mouth, laughing at one of blacksmith Pak Marda’s jokes. Nearby, Karin was stirring herbal concoctions in an earthen pot, while Ozcan, hands caked with dirt, arrived from the garden with a basket of yams.

Lunchtime was the most peaceful moment in the village. Everyone paused their work, shared food and stories, and sat in a circle under a large tree near a small river. There was no rush, no strict schedule—only a quiet togetherness rich in meaning.

“Hasuna, finish your vegetables,” Karin said gently, sitting beside the child.

“Okay, Sis,” Hasuna chirped. “If I finish them, will you read me a story tonight?”

“Promise,” Karin replied, smiling as she stroked her head.

Hasan watched the scene. His heart felt full. In this world, everything felt like a fresh chapter—as if he’d been given a second chance to learn how to love, to raise Hasuna without the heavy shadows of the past.

Ozcan sat across from him, handing him a clay water jug.

“You’re starting to look like a real villager,” the middle-aged man chuckled.

Hasan laughed softly. “Maybe because I feel like I belong here.”

The camaraderie continued as they ate, chatted, and hummed little songs. But amidst the joy and laughter, Hasan sensed something strange. A whisper—not heard by the ear, but felt by the soul. The wind stopped. Birds suddenly fell silent. The leaves above them froze for a heartbeat... and then, the sky seemed to split open with a blinding white light from the west.

Time slowed to a crawl.

“Papa?” Hasuna turned to him in panic. But his voice felt distant, like it echoed from far away.

“Sis Karin!” he shouted, but Karin was frozen, her eyes wide with shock.

Hasan stood and grabbed Hasuna’s hand. He tried to reach for Karin, but the world began to tremble and dissolve into light. Layers of reality peeled away, one by one. Sound fell into a void, and their bodies felt weightless, as if drawn into a blinding vortex by some unseen force.

Then… darkness. Silence. Emptiness.

Footsteps echoed softly on wet asphalt. The final drops of rain dripped from the tips of leaves. The air smelled of damp earth—the familiar scent of the world after a storm, a scent they knew so well.

Hasan opened his eyes slowly. The light was dim. There were no forests. No fields. No village.

He stood on a narrow sidewalk by the roadside. Across from him, small suburban buildings greeted him with silence. Beside him, Hasuna stood frozen, clutching her schoolbag. Her socks were wet. Her shoes muddy. And above them, the sky hung grey but calm.

“Papa?” Hasuna whispered.

Hasan nodded. He looked up. The road ahead was empty. A few cars passed in the distance. No crowds, no village sounds. Just their world—the real one. The world they had left for who knows how long.

They stood at the exact same spot as before—before the rain started, before everything changed. As if no time had passed. As if no one knew they had ever left.

Hasan looked at his hand, then squeezed Hasuna’s tightly.

“Was it... just a dream?” Hasuna asked quietly.

Hasan shook his head, though doubt lingered in his heart. “I don’t think so. I know we really went there.”

Hasuna lowered her gaze. “But Sis Karin…”

Hasan didn’t answer. What he knew was that something inside him felt missing—something that had become a part of him. He could still remember Karin’s gaze as the light engulfed them. There was stillness. Farewell. But also... hope.

They started walking slowly toward home. The wet pavement reflected their silhouettes. The world looked the same, but they were no longer the same. Along the way, neither of them spoke a word. But their clasped hands held tighter than ever before.

Maybe time moves in a straight line. But the human heart keeps its own course.

They reached home. Everything was just as they had left it—the neat dining table, Hasuna’s schoolbag still on the chair, and the hallway light half-dead. Hasan set down her bag and sat on the living room floor without a word. Hasuna sat beside him, still in her uniform.

Minutes passed in silence, until Hasuna softly asked, “Papa... are we really back? Not just dreaming?”

Hasan slowly nodded, eyes still lost in thought. “We went there. We lived there. Too much happened for it to be just a dream.”

Hasuna nodded too. She stared at the ceiling, then looked down at the floor. “Why did we go there, Pa?”

The question struck Hasan like a jolt. He took a deep breath. “I’ve been wondering the same. Something triggered it. There must be a reason.”

He stood and walked to the window, gazing at the freshly washed world. Then a memory hit him. “Three days... before we left, it rained non-stop. Three days in a row. Do you remember?”

Hasuna nodded. “Yes. And on the third day... we were walking home from school, and you said…”

Hasan turned to her, his voice barely a whisper. “I said... ‘if only I could see Karin again.’”

They both fell silent. The realization hit like lightning. Slowly, the fragments of memory fell into place. The relentless rain, a silent but desperate wish, and the blinding white light—all at once.

Hasuna stared at her father. “So… that world appeared because of your wish?”

“Maybe not just a wish,” Hasan replied. “Maybe it was the combination—rain, time, and a longing so deep. Not just words spoken aloud, but something born from the heart’s deepest place.”

“Like…” Hasuna swallowed, “...like what your mom used to say. She said, ‘in the final third of the night, above the stars, our prayers go straight to God.’”

Hasan gave a faint smile, though his heart trembled.

“Then maybe,” Hasuna continued, “we can go back? If it rains three days again, and you wish to see Karin again…”

Hasan shook his head gently. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe it’s not that simple. Maybe that world only opened once.”

Hasuna lowered her head. “But... I still want to see Sis Karin.”

Hasan moved closer and held her. “Me too, Hasuna. But we have to be grateful we ever met her. That we lived in that world. That we know she’s real, and we know… she loved us too.”

They stayed embraced for a long time. Outside, sunlight peeked through the clouds. The raindrops on the leaves still glistened, as if the universe had just given its blessing to a new beginning.

But within both their hearts, a silent question and a quiet hope remained:

Will the third rain come again?