I shook my head. The rain was coming down heavier now, and the sound reverberated through the small car as the water pounded steadily against the roof.

“Do you have rain like this back home?”

“Not really,” I said, thinking back to the always sunny, moderate climate of Southern California. “It usually only rains a few times a year, and even then”—I glanced out my window at the deep pools forming along the street—“it’s never like this.”

“This is my favorite season of the year.” Hisham grinned and interlocked his hands behind his head. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “It brings back so many fun memories, you know?”

I returned my gaze to the window. There was something so romantic about the pitter-patter of rain as it drummed against the glass. I could no longer make out what was happening on the other side. The steady rain had created a heavy sheet that blocked all visibility beyond a few inches. I leaned my head against the cold glass and felt my eyelids descending. My mind wandered to scenes from old Bollywood movies where two young lovers danced among tall trees in a forest during a rainstorm. I imagined myself lifting the pallu of my sari over my head to shield me from the rain as the hero grabbed me by my waist, wrapping his strong arms around me and pulling me close. Fully drenched in our love for one another, we peered into each other’s eyes—those soft, brown eyes, that chestnut-colored skin, that smile that melted me with the flash of a single dimple . . .

“Leila!”

I jolted awake from my daydream.

“Leila, wait here.” Hisham opened the door and stepped outside. “I’ll just run in and grab the sweets,” he shouted, then dashed across the flooded streets into the well-lit bakery on the other side. With the rain slightly abated, I watched through the windows as Hisham walked inside and peered at the displays. As he leaned against the counter, the outline of his jaw curved gracefully down his neck, showing off the twining cords of muscle that shaped his strong, chiseled arms and firm, broad chest. His wet T-shirt clung to his biceps as he casually ran his fingers through his damp hair and gave the saleswoman a dimpled smile. I looked away, blushing.

A few minutes later, I heard a knock at the window and leaned across the seat, unlocking the door.

“Another few shops.” He sat down, placing the bags near his feet. “I sure hope we can finish everything in this weather,” he said, sneezing.

“Me too,” I said, handing him a tissue from my purse.

For the next hour, Hisham and I took turns braving the storm as we ran into different shops, checking off every stop on his mother’s list. We were soaking wet, freezing cold, and sneezing like banshees, but he wanted to keep going until we had everything we needed, and I wanted to savor every moment of time spent with him. “Where to now?” I asked, toweling off my hair with a scarf I had in my purse.