Rain Dogs of Pulau Tikus

“Papa, the sky’s crying again ,” Lina said, pressing her nose against the rattling windowpane as rain drummed on the zinc roof like tiny drummers gone wild. “And so am I.”

Her father didn’t answer. He sat at the small wooden table, staring at a letter soaked at the edges from the last downpour. His hands—once strong from hauling crates at the Weld Quay docks—now looked tired and still.

That was how it started: with silence, and rain, and a girl who had to grow up faster than she wanted.

Lina was eleven, with hair the color of roasted chestnuts and eyes that noticed everything—like how Mrs. Lim always counted her change twice, or how Eddy from the bicycle repair shop whistled the same tune every morning. She lived in a narrow house squeezed between a sari shop and a bakery that smelled forever of cinnamon and warm bread. Now, with Papa jobless, she began taking odd jobs: sweeping floors at Mr. Pye’s sundry store, helping Anna pack roti at the hawker stall, even washing dishes for Bell at the coffee shop where the ceiling fan spun like a dizzy dragonfly.

One evening, while hurrying home through a sudden monsoon, Lina ducked into a crumbling alley near Lily N’s tailor shop. That’s when she saw him —a scruffy dog with one ear folded like a crumpled paper boat and fur the color of storm clouds. He was shivering under a broken umbrella someone had tossed aside.

“You’re soaked,” she whispered, crouching low. “Like me.”

The dog didn’t bark. He just blinked at her with eyes the color of wet amber. Then, as if deciding she wasn’t dangerous, he nudged her hand with his cold nose.

“I don’t have food,” Lina said, “but… you can share my umbrella.”

From that night on, the dog followed her—not too close, never begging—just there, like a shadow with paws. She called him Tikus, after the island, though he was more rain than rat.

Tikus knew Pulau Tikus better than anyone. He led Lina down secret paths behind laundry lines strung with colorful saris, through tunnels beneath old houses where frogs croaked in the dark, and along monsoon drains that gurgled like sleepy rivers. When Emma dropped her math notebook in a flooded gutter, Tikus nosed it out, soggy but intact. When little Lily X got lost during a thunderstorm, it was Tikus who barked once—sharp and clear—near the temple steps, guiding them right to her.

“He’s not just a stray,” Hyuga, the quiet boy from the bookstall, said one day. “He’s like… a guardian.”

Lina smiled. Maybe he was.

But then came the big rains—the kind that turned streets into rivers and made grown-ups whisper about floods. Water rose fast. The bakery flooded. Mr. Pye’s shelves floated like rafts. And worst of all, Papa caught a fever from sleeping on a damp mattress.

“We need medicine,” Lina told Alexis, who ran the community help board. “From the clinic on the hill.”

“It’s cut off,” Alexis said. “The road’s underwater.”

Lina bit her lip. Then she looked at Tikus, who sat beside her, ears alert.

“You know every way, don’t you?” she asked.

That night, guided by Tikus, Lina crept through back lanes slick with rain, balancing a small backpack with candles, matches, and a note from Dr. Anna. Tikus sniffed ahead, pausing at blocked paths, turning left at the broken fountain, darting right behind the shuttered cinema. They crossed a wobbly plank over a rushing drain, Lina clutching Tikus’s collar like a lifeline.

At the clinic, Dr. Anna opened the door, surprised. “Lina? In this weather?”

“For Papa,” Lina said, breathless. “And… Tikus helped.”

Dr. Anna smiled. “Then we’d better send something back for your brave friend too.”

When they returned, the neighborhood was buzzing. People had formed a human chain to move supplies. Eddy lent his cart. Bell passed out hot tea. Even grumpy Mr. Lim offered dry towels.

Papa sipped ginger soup, color returning to his cheeks. “You did this?” he asked, looking at Lina.

She shook her head. “We all did. Even Tikus.”

Weeks later, the sun finally broke through. Steam rose from rooftops like invisible dragons stretching after a nap. The community held a small gathering in the square. Children laughed, flying kites shaped like fish and birds.

Lina sat on the steps, Tikus curled at her feet, now wearing a bright blue collar Emma had sewn with scraps of fabric.

“You’re not just a rain dog,” she whispered, scratching behind his good ear. “You’re our Pulau Tikus dog.”

And as the golden light spilled over the rooftops, painting the streets in warmth, Tikus lifted his nose to the sky – not in fear, but in greeting.

Because sometimes, after the hardest rains, something beautiful grows.