January 17th (161 days ago)

t’s not going to rain,” Nick said firmly. “They’re not rain clouds. They’re all fluffy and white.”

“Is that the technical term?” I said, grabbing my umbrella anyway. I was so not taking weather advice from an Australian.

“Of course not. That’s ‘Clouds Which Look Like Big Sheep’. Not ‘Clouds Which Make Water’.”

“They’re cumulonimbus,” I reply. “And that out there’s some stratocumulus. There’s no nimbostratus but don’t let that fool you. British weather is sneaky.”

He leant over and kissed my nose. “I love it when you talk meteorology.”

“Obviously. Meteorology is awesome. You’re not insane.”

Despite my warnings, both Nick and my dad insisted that we take a picnic. “It’s not going to rain,” my father said, shoving a French baguette, some cheese and a few apples into my satchel.

Nick raised his eyebrows. “I know, right? Tell that to little Miss Smarty-Pants here.”

My dad shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid all the female Pants are Smarty in this house. They won’t listen to rightness, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it.”

It was raining before we got to the end of my road.

Nick sighed and pulled his coat over our heads. “It’s at times like this I really regret liking a girl with brains.”

“At least I have an umbrella,” I smiled and let him snuggle under it with me. “Did you know that 6,000 pounds of micro-meteorites hit the atmosphere every day?”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous.” Nick grinned and waggled the handle. “Are you sure we’re totally protected by this bit of waterproof fabric?”

“They’re really tiny. They get caught in clouds and water coalesces around them so that they fall to Earth in rain.”

“I should probably stop sticking my tongue out and trying to drink it then.”

I laughed. “Maybe, seeing as you’re catching tiny bits of shooting star that are billions of years old and have just come from outer space.” I put my hand out, caught a few raindrops and showed it to him.

Nick wasn’t looking at my hand. He was looking at my face. I blushed and focused on the water in my hand.

“Do you know what I think?” he said.

“Absolutely never,” I said, staring at the rain. “Like, literally never. I never ever know what you think.”

It was his turn to laugh.

“I think I was right,” he said, closing my umbrella and tucking it away. Then he put his arm round me and continued walking us into the rain. “We don’t need an umbrella after all.”