The Girl Who Made It Rain

“…hold out your hand,” she directed to Gypsy, explaining that she would show him that he could feel energy. Gypsy had only met this girl, who went by the name of Sarah, about one week earlier whilst waiting for a train late one night at Macquarie Fields Station.

Sarah was of Polish descent, with fair skin and blonde hair. Her eyes carried their own smile and were hazel… or green. Gypsy would later find that they seemed to shift—hazel one day, green the next. On the night Gypsy met her, he noticed that they were green.

Chance meetings can be one of those funny things in life that can seem so insignificant on the surface, yet carry within them a quality of life-changing significance that can only be fully appreciated when looking back in hindsight. And although Gypsy didn’t know it as he wandered over to the only other person on the platform to say hi and strike up a conversation, this was to be one of those meetings.

A screeching, thunderous roar interrupted their light-hearted chit-chat on the platform, but conversation began moving again quickly—picking up rhythm as the train swayed beneath them.

Sarah’s stop drew closer.

“I’ll grab your number,” Gypsy suggested, with a hint of anticipation.

She pulled a notebook from her backpack.

They swapped phone numbers on torn bits of paper—a relic of an era before everything was screens.

Sarah stepped off the train. “Let’s keep in touch.” With a smile, she was gone.

Over the next week, they spoke a few times on the phone—by the time they met again in person, it was fair to say that Gypsy was becoming fascinated with Sarah.

Maybe it was the way she held a quiet confidence of knowing, or how she moved with assertiveness—but never in a way that felt offensive.

More than anything, what engaged Gypsy was the subject matter of their conversations.

Sarah talked of tarot cards, crystals, chakras, life energy, and out-of-body experiences. It was a time in Gypsy’s life where one or two mystical events had begun to challenge his conditioned view of reality, and his thirst for knowledge was being quenched by this evolving friendship.

They wandered into a quiet park, unaware that the night would open more than just conversation. Sarah was curious; Gypsy, emboldened by the safety of dusk, spoke openly.

“I had this bizarre dream, hey. It was so vivid—it felt real.”

Sarah didn’t say anything. Her eyes narrowed as her attention flowed toward Gypsy.

“It wasn’t like any other dream I’ve had. It was… real. When I woke up, it didn’t feel like I’d been asleep.” He paused. “It was like I’d just walked out of another room.”

“So what was it?” Sarah asked, her voice sharply focused.

“Huh?” Gypsy blinked.

“The dream—what was it about?”

Gypsy came back into focus.

“Oh, my dad’s friend died years ago—Dennis. But in the dream, he was just… there. In our living room. On the couch. Asking me to pass on a message—say ‘sorry’ to my dad. But it wasn’t like a dream—it felt like real life. Like he was actually there. It felt vivid—like it was real.”

He told her the rest, and Sarah listened without flinching.

Talk of Ouija boards, consciousness, and life after death spilled out between them—until Sarah abruptly said,

“Let me show you something—hold out your hand.”

She grabbed Gypsy’s hand and placed her hands above and below his, leaving a space between them.

“What are you doing?” Gypsy smirked, curious and bemused.

“Shut up,” Sarah shot back, delivering a smile that seemed to stretch across her whole face. “I’m going to show you how to feel energy.”

“You’re gonna what?” Gypsy asked, tilting his head like a dog hearing a string of nonsensical sounds.

It was the first time he doubted Sarah—but it wouldn’t be the last. Still, setting aside his scepticism, he followed her lead and closed his eyes, focusing his awareness around his hand.

It was as if two magnets, placed just beneath his skin with their poles opposing, began to repel—the space between them, pulsating.

Click. Click.

Gypsy opened his eyes, slightly perplexed, looking down at his hand—still suspended between Sarah’s—yet now—his palm was clicking.

It didn’t make sense. His first thought was that she’d touched him—maybe pinched the skin somehow. But her hands were where they had been the whole time—floating above and below.

No touch. No contact.

Still though… something had clicked.

“What was that? What just happened?” His eyebrows raised as he stared back into Sarah’s smiling eyes. “The middle of my hand was moving.”

“It’s energy,” her voice steady, her eyes beginning to glow with quiet confidence.

“We can direct it through our bodies. Here—try it.” She extended her hand, palm facing up, and motioned Gypsy to place his hands above and below hers, just as she had done moments earlier.

“Now… close your eyes, and just imagine your energy running down your arms, through your hands, and into mine. It’s easy.”

Gypsy followed Sarah’s direction, and before long, he felt the warmth of his own energy creating a pull between his hands—and around Sarah’s as well.

Doors of perception began to creak open.

It’s a strange thing, that someone can live in this world for seventeen years and remain completely unaware of their own natural abilities.

Perhaps it’s because topics like this aren’t taught in classrooms. And for much of society, they’re considered taboo—or at the very least, risky enough to attract unwanted ridicule.

However, the connection between these two young individuals warranted none of that. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Sarah was offering Gypsy an opportunity to expand his perception—while also affirming his growing suspicion that there was more to this reality than met the eye, or for that matter, any of the five physical senses he possessed.

Sometimes we learn by being told—by reading, listening, taking something on faith. Other times, learning comes only through experience. The next time Gypsy and Sarah met, he would experience something that shattered the boundaries of what he thought possible.

Patches of moody clouds drifted across the sky, threatening its otherwise peaceful blue hue and the radiant sunlight spilling down from above.

It had been about a week since the two teenagers had last seen each other, but it didn’t take long for them to reconnect—bonding over Winnie Blues, grunge music and talk of teenage rebellion, not unlike most young teenagers of the mid-90s.

They swapped notes on the experiences of life they’d each accumulated as they wandered aimlessly through the streets of Ingleburn.

It wasn’t light conversation, but it wasn’t heavy either—just grounded.

Sarah opened up about a near-death experience she’d had less than a month earlier—and how, after recovering, she found herself with new knowledge and telepathic abilities.

This, she explained, was how she first became aware of energy.

They walked in silence for a few steps. The breeze had shifted.

Glancing up, Gypsy noticed angry-looking dark clouds drifting toward them from the distance.

“Hey Sarah, we better start heading back to your place. That storm is going to come in soon.”

Sarah, not missing a beat, snapped back with quiet confidence, “I can make it rain.”

“No you can’t,” Gypsy laughed.

“Yes I can,” Sarah smirked, her hazel eyes lighting up again with a smile, seemingly already anticipating the challenge.

“Do it then!” Gypsy dared.

With a simple “Okay,” Sarah raised both her hands to the sky—and commanded it to rain.

A droplet hit his cheek—then another—then another—then another.

It was raining.

He laughed in disbelief, not quite shaking his head—just wobbling it a little side to side. “Nah… you didn’t!”

“Do you want me to make it stop?” Sarah teased, now with the presence of an even cheekier confidence.

Gypsy nodded, not quite sure what to make of it. “Yeah… go on.”

“Stop,” she commanded lightly, in a playful tone—and just like that, the rain stopped.

“Whaaaa… no fucking way. How did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just can.”

“Okay… do it again.”

And just like that, Sarah gave another command—and the rain returned, this time pouring down even harder.

With one word, she made it stop for the second time.

It was on this day that Gypsy’s world changed—

at the very moment that the rains would obey a girl’s voice.

A girl who went by the name of Sarah.

The solidness of reality had shattered in Gypsy’s mind.

He didn’t know what to make of it. Not exactly.

The girl he’d met late one night at a train station, by random chance, hadn’t given him answers.

She’d given him something rarer: a door.

And once opened, some doors never close again.