She left the umbrella on the bus the day the monsoon began. It was a deep, impractical blue, the color of a country on a map you have never visited.

For weeks the city dried itself in the sun, and the umbrella was forgotten. Then the rains returned, and she found herself standing under a shop awning, remembering the weight of its handle.

Things leave us before we are ready. The trick is to be grateful for the shelter they offered while they were ours.