It was raining pretty good when I stepped out of the terminal to wait for my ride. The city should have been steamy this time of year, but it was uncomfortably chilly. I tugged my suitcase across the first driving lane (buses only) and out to where the civilians get to stop and pick up arriving passengers.

Just a minute or two after I'd picked a spot to wait — visible, but out of the rain — a young woman came out and waited for her ride about thirty feet away. She didn't have to wait long. Quite soon a car pulled to a stop maybe ten feet off the curb. "That's a bit rude," I thought, about him not pulling closer in. The man popped the trunk and walked around the back of the car, and the woman just stepped out in to the rainy street and hugged him. He held her tightly as the raindrops pelted them both. She clung to him as if he had just saved her life. No words were spoken that I could hear. Words weren't needed. Nor was there any variation, any adjustment of their embrace. They were locked together tightly, her face pressed to his chest and shoulder, his chin cupping the top of her head, hugging each other as tightly as they could.

They might have been apart ten years, or only an hour or two. One could feel their love, their need for each other, their joy and gratitude at being reunited. After what seemed to be about three minutes, they released each other and he tossed her dripping suitcase in the trunk. Off they drove.

I realized later why he stopped the car so far out in the lane. He couldn't wait another second to be in her arms, nor could she. The rain was no impediment.

Chilly, slightly wet, and tired, I sat down on my suitcase and waited for my ride.