July had kept its promise and brought about its melancholic rain. He knew about her hatred towards the weather so he told her about his sun dance in their 3 PM phone call over a cup of caramel machiatto.
He said, “I’ll do the sun dance and bring the sun back to keep loneliness creeping up on you. Just tell me when.” She could almost hear him smug.
“What if,” she said, twirling with the telephone cord. “What if I wanted it now?”
The line went quiet as she imagined him go about his so called ritual.
Yet, the sun never came.
By the evening when the gray skies called in as a substitute for the pink glow of the summer, he knocked on her door. She swung it open just to meet a man holding out a stem of a sunflower; the yellow covering up most of his face.
“I told you I could bring the sun out.”
There ain’t no sun but I got a sunflower bright enough.