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It is pouring with rain as you stand huddled under the bus stop. You are waiting patiently for the bus home; it is late, and that hardly surprises you. The wind howls through the cracked windows of the old shelter as you debate whether it is worth popping into the bar opposite. A particularly strong gale forces you to wrap your arms even tighter around yourself, as if hoping it will protect you from the bitter cold. You could get a drink. The bus will probably be another ten minutes.

Something catches your attention on the opposite side of the street, just outside the bar at which you were hopelessly staring. You see a woman walk around the corner; she could be no older than thirty, her wavy auburn hair discoloured by the persistent rain. She is soaked to the skin but carries a warm smile, the cold seeming to have little effect on her. She is closely followed by an older man; middle aged, his greying brown hair stuck to his head with the heavy rain. Again, he makes no effort to hide himself away from the winter weather, instead falling instep beside her.

You watch the couple from the distance; they look close enough to be siblings or perhaps even father and daughter - but there is something stopping you from making that assumption and getting back to checking whether the bus is sixteen minutes late or seventeen.

The man says something with a smirk lining his lips, and the woman rolls her eyes in response before throwing a comment back at him. He looks hurt briefly, but when his partner walks in front of him for a moment, he looks almost proud of her. Are they friends perhaps? Colleagues?

She says something to him, and his face instantly turns sombre. The light-hearted atmosphere of before vanishes in an instant and you watch with fascination as she reaches out to brush her hand against his. He tenses. You suck in a nervous breath, so engrossed in their actions that you unconsciously follow suit. They stop walking. You stop breathing. He looks at her. She looks at him. You look at them.

They are in love with each other.

And it is so blindingly obvious that you berate yourself for not thinking of it before. He looks awkward for a minute, almost worried, as if their love is not allowed. She looks scared, almost ashamed, as if she has overstepped the boundaries.

It was just a brief touch of hands but they treat it as if it is some sort of crime. Perhaps they are having an affair? Or maybe they are simply afraid of the difference in age? But you doubt it is that simple. There is history between them; you can see it as clearly as the rain.

He says nothing. Neither does she.

You jump in surprise as the bus suddenly screeches to a stop in front of you. The couple are lost behind the old red paintwork and you distractedly give the driver his money and as quickly as you can, make your way to a spare seat.

You look outside the window with childish excitement, only to find the couple long since gone.