The next morning, the sun rose in the east, its golden light spilling over the horizon as though the earth itself was stretching after a long sleep. Kane stood at the edge of the yard, his eyes focused on the distant hills where the rainclouds had gathered the night before. The air was thick, heavy with the promise of another downpour.
Kane wasn't like the other boys. He hadn't told anyone that—he didn't need to. He simply didn't fit in. They ran and shouted, their voices filling the streets with energy, while he preferred to sit, to watch, to feel the world in silence. But today, something was different. The pull of the earth beneath his feet seemed stronger, as if calling him to understand something more, something hidden in the wind and the earth and the rain.
His mother had noticed.
"Are you feeling okay, Kane?" Abira asked from the doorway, her hands wiping the last traces of flour from her apron. She stood there with an open, soft smile, but there was something behind her eyes—something that suggested she was always waiting for Kane to catch up with the world around him.
"I'm fine," Kane replied, though his words felt hollow even to him.
Abira tilted her head, as if she could hear the unspoken weight in his voice. "It's just the rain. Makes people feel strange sometimes." She paused, searching his face. "You know, your father used to say that the rain never falls for nothing. He always said the earth needs it, just like people need to feel the rain sometimes."
Kane didn't respond. Instead, he stepped outside, his bare feet sinking into the soft, wet earth. The rain had come in the night, leaving behind small pools of water that reflected the sky like mirrors. He knelt down to touch one of the pools, watching how the ripples spread outward from his fingers.
"Does the rain make you feel something?" Kane whispered to himself, more curious than anything. There was something about it—the way the earth absorbed it, the way the plants seemed to lean toward it as if they were in need of something deeper than the soil alone.
He stood up, his thoughts whirling. Maybe the rain wasn't just about the earth. Maybe it was about waiting—waiting for something to reach down and nourish what was hidden inside. Like a seed waiting to grow, even when it felt too small or insignificant to be noticed.
His father came around the corner just then, a heavy bundle of wood on his shoulder, sweat dripping down his face. Dela paused when he saw Kane standing in the middle of the yard, staring at the sky.
"You're not playing today?" Dela asked, his tone blunt but not unkind. There was always a certain sharpness to his voice, like he was always busy, always on the move. He was a man of action.
Kane shook his head. "I don't think I belong out there," he said, his voice quiet.
Dela's eyes softened for a moment, his gaze drifting from his son to the rainclouds above. "Everyone belongs somewhere, Kane. Maybe you don't belong with them right now, but that doesn't mean you won't find where you fit." He shifted the bundle of wood on his shoulder and started walking toward the house. "The world's not always about rushing to catch up. Sometimes, it's about waiting for the rain to come."
Kane watched his father go, the words sinking in slowly. For a long time, he'd felt like an outsider—like he was always waiting for something that never came. But what if waiting was part of the answer?
That afternoon, he went to the mango tree again, the one that stood in the corner of the yard like a quiet sentinel. He sat beneath its branches, feeling the damp earth beneath him and letting the coolness of the shade wash over him. The tree was old, its bark rough with time, its leaves thick and heavy. It had weathered storms, droughts, and seasons of change. And yet, it still stood, always reaching upward.
Kane placed his hand on the trunk of the tree, feeling its strength, its rootedness. In some ways, he thought, it was like him. There were days when he felt too small, too fragile, and the world seemed too fast, too loud. But the tree didn't rush. It simply grew at its own pace, trusting that the rain would come when it was needed most. The rain didn't fall all the time, but when it did, it gave life to everything that was waiting.
Maybe Kane wasn't so different from that tree. Maybe he didn't need to rush to fit into a world that didn't make sense to him. Maybe he, too, could grow in his own time.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Kane closed his eyes, listening to the soft rustling of the leaves above him. The rain wasn't here yet, but he could feel it coming, just as the earth could feel it before it arrived.
And Kane knew, deep down, that sometimes, the best thing you could do was reach up, even when the rain hadn't come yet.