He was the first to take interest in what I was studying, and for that, he has captured me. His voice was low, quiet but childish, as if we were always hiding under a fort of blankets, sharing scary stories, flashlight in hand. His eyes were that of constant amusement as the screen illuminated his face dimly. His laugh was that of a home in the middle of a meadow that was away from the noise of common people. He was an umbrella, his presence a reminder that there was something out there he was protecting me from. I felt safe when I was with him, as though his towering height and hand on my shoulder had the power to fend away my fears of cars crashing towards me. He was amused at the smallest droplet of rain, and loved all the dance steps of the wind. He hated the chaos brought by storms, but laughed whenever I was carelessly splashed by mud. He was an umbrella. But he was never really there to shield me from the rain – rather, he was there to give me the feeling of protection. The feeling that, “darling, it’s just rain, you shouldn’t worry.” Because of him, I never did.