Precipitation Types

When I was a kid, I thought breaking the rules was bad.

Then I met Mike.

Mike is the kind of guy who doesn’t just bend rules—he steps on them, flips them off, and rides away helmetless on his motorcycle.

He picks fights with people you’re definitely not supposed to pick fights with.

Eats the spiciest food on a dare.

Is always late.

And has been head-over-heels in love with Sol for what feels like forever—his complete opposite in every possible way.

Mike can’t stand birthdays, phone numbers, calendar apps, or anything that smells like structure.

“Notebooks are against my nature,” he used to say, with the smugness of someone who thought he’d already won at life.

Sol, on the other hand, is calm. Collected. Stubborn as hell.

She finishes assignments early. Hates deadlines.

Sets reminders for herself—even though Mike usually wakes her up.

And also sets reminders for Mike. Obviously.

They’ve been together since school, but it feels like longer.

Before Sol, Mike used to say, “The only rule is no rules.”

Then Sol handed him a helmet and told him to sit down.

Now, Mike’s not a villain.

I’ve spent years trying to describe him.

If I’m being brutally honest—he’s just… an idiot. A lovable one. But still.

To understand Mike, here’s a quick look at his “schedule” for the week:

Monday — Got into a fight with a guy in a parking lot. The guy hit a dog. Mike hit the guy.

Tuesday — Got smacked by his grandma for forgetting her birthday.

Friday — Wrecked his bike swerving to avoid a cat.

Saturday — Ate five lemons at a party. On a dare, of course.

Sunday — Hospital. Because of the lemons.

It wasn’t serious, but Sol was worried sick.

Only she can handle this walking hurricane in sneakers.

He’s always showing up bruised, limping, and covered in stories that are either absurd or illegal.

He forgets everything. Sol reminds him of everything.

And up until a certain point, Mike genuinely thought he was the coolest person alive.

Then came The Moment.

Sol had been in university for six months.

And Mike? He still had no idea what she was studying.

Half a year.

He just… never asked. Thought it wasn’t important.

It was her birthday. Everything seemed fine—until she looked at him and asked:

“Mike, where do I study?”

He froze.

Mumbled something incoherent.

Threw out two university names.

Then a faculty.

Then a bunch of job titles.

I think at one point he even said “cosmonaut” and “plumber.”

“I went to med school because of you. Next time you get yourself messed up, I’ll know exactly how to stitch you back together, idiot! And now I’ve got a new goal — I’ll drag you back from the afterlife just to send you there myself!”

She got up. Quietly. No drama.

Closed the door behind her and left.

And Mike sat. Staring at the floor. Eyes wet.

That was the first time I saw him really scared.

Not the punch-you-in-the-face scared.

Not the angry-dog-in-an-alley scared.

Real fear. The kind that sinks into your ribs.

Not because he cheated.

Not because he did something unforgivable.

But because he did nothing.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t notice.

Didn’t think it mattered.

Losing Sol because of his own blind spots and laziness? That became his worst nightmare.

Two days later, he showed up at my place.

Holding a notebook.

The cover read:

“150 Facts About Sol.”

I looked at it.

He looked at me.

And immediately muttered:

“It’s for me. Because I’m an idiot.”

“Since when are you a notebook guy?” I asked.

“Since now. This is my path. My zen. My… attempt at being less of a jackass.”

He even tried to stop being a jackass like a jackass. With flair.

But in that moment, I understood something.

This wasn’t just about a notebook.

This was him breaking his own biggest rule:

Never remember. Never write things down. Never overthink.

And he broke it for her.

He started writing everything.

Her favorite color.

The food she hates.

Types of people that annoy her.

Movies she cries over.

Movies she doesn’t.

Songs she dances to when no one’s watching.

And, for some reason, the birthdays of all her favorite singers.

One day, he turned to me and said:

“Hey, did you know she hates the taste of celery?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Me neither. Now it’s fact number 49.”

“You’re really writing down all of this?”

“All of it. And then some.”

He handed me the notebook.

Fact 50 was a question.

“Favorite type of precipitation?”

I blinked.

“Seriously, Mike?”

“What? What if she loves walking in hailstorms? And I don’t know that. And then boom—concussion, cast, divorce in three years. I gotta be ready. I need to buy her a helmet.”

He was dead serious.

“This isn’t just a notebook,” he told me.

“It’s a treasure map. Her dreams are in here.

Two-story house. Three kids. Cat and dog.

She doesn’t want a dog.

But we need one.

To keep the cat humble.”

A month later, yellow mugs started showing up in his kitchen.

Sol picked one up and asked, laughing:

“Why this one?”

“Because coffee tastes better to you in yellow.”

Mike didn’t become a different person.

He still yells in his car.

And out of his car.

And at his car.

Still rides without a helmet if Sol’s not looking.

Still crashes into sidewalks.

We’re still not sure if he even has a license.

But now he knows she loves the scent of cinnamon, jasmine, and lily of the valley.

And hates lavender—calls it “the most overrated flower in history.”

And as a bonus?

Mike now remembers his grandma’s birthday.

When he first pulled out that notebook, I thought, “This is so stupid. Classic Mike.”

But now?

Now I think maybe this is what he needed all along.

Maybe it’s what we all need.

Not just to love someone.

But to remember.

To care.

To learn them.

And today…

I was standing outside, smoking, thinking about Rory.

My Rory. Loud. Red-haired. Chaotic.

She crashed into my life like a hurricane.

Calls me pretty boy.

Never lets me be quiet for long.

I was waiting for her at a cafe.

Holding her favorite cinnamon latte. Extra whipped cream.

She says she doesn’t like it that much—but she always drinks it.

And I thought:

What kind of weather does she like?

Rain? Snow?

Or, god forbid—hail?

Maybe it’s time I started a notebook, too.

Not because I’m scared.

But because I want to know.

I want to remember.

Understand.

Not miss a thing.

Because, as Mike once said:

“Breaking the rules? That’s easy.

But memorizing every shade of her laugh?

Now that’s madness.”

To the world, Mike is still the guy who breaks everyone else’s rules.

But for Sol?

He broke his own.