Blogul Anastase ✦ Validated

That’s when I saw it. Leaning against the coat rack. Unclaimed. A bit sad, like a stray dog waiting for someone to notice it.

So I took it. Walked out into the storm, opened it triumphantly — and immediately felt a cold drip on my forehead. One of the spokes was broken. A small betrayal, but a betrayal nonetheless.

So I’ll keep the umbrella. And every time it rains, I’ll think of the old man running through the storm with open arms. blogul anastase

“That was mine, băiete. I left it there on purpose, so I’d have an excuse to run out into the rain. I like getting wet. Reminds me I’m alive.”

Five years ago, almost to the day. A Tuesday. I was at the "La Scuar" coffee shop, the one with the creaky floorboards and the old man who always reads the same newspaper twice. I had finished my espresso, paid with the last coins in my pocket, and stood by the door like a fool, watching the downpour thrash the pavement. That’s when I saw it

The Umbrella That Wasn't Mine Posted by Anastase on 3 April, 2026

Last week, I found it again — tucked behind the winter coats, bent at the rib, faded from grey to a tired sort of beige. A forgotten umbrella. I remember the day I took it. It was raining of course, because these stories always start with rain. A bit sad, like a stray dog waiting for someone to notice it

He looked at me over his cup. Smiled with half his mouth. And said: