They run into each other in a familiar spot, under an awning, near the stairwell that descends to the dumping shop. It’s pouring. They discuss the weather, say a few words about nothing. Mr. Chan asks her to wait, saying he’ll be right back.

He returns with a black umbrella and offers to give her his umbrella. Mrs. Chow refuses, saying the people in the house will recognize his umbrella. He agrees.

My favorite scene in any movie is the magical lover’s kiss sequence in “The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.” In that film, the lovers try to reconcile the fact that Gaspard has been drafted and his time with Genevieve is coming to an end. They try to negotiate a future together while knowing how unlikely it is.

At one point they walk along the streets with a bicycle between them and they seem to float to their destination. When they finally approach Gaspard’s apartment and kiss, the shot is framed like an impressionist painting. It is their final night, but a deeply beautiful one.

The rain scene feels inspired by that film, and may even exceed it in visual beauty, filled with the sound of rain, thunder and words left trailing off. When they can’t think of a way for them to walk home without creating suspicion, they agree to just wait for the storm to pass together.

Mrs. Chow asks if he called her. He responds that he was afraid she didn’t get the message. He asks if she could get him a boat ticket (she works at a travel agency.) He has decided to take a transfer to a newspaper bureau in Singapore.

She asks why rush off. He replies that he’s tired of the gossip. Mrs. Chow replies that they both know the rumors aren’t true, so why worry. He replies that he used to believe that was true, but not anymore. “We thought we wouldn’t be like them. But I was wrong,” he says. I like how he owns his personal feelings without assuming hers.

She says “I didn’t think you’d fall in love with me,” and he replies that he didn’t think he would either. I find their discretion honorable, sad, even courageous in a way. Not in the way we typically think of courage, as people with the energy to pursue what they want. But rather people capable of acknowledging the difficult truth of their situation and the sad loss their enduring.

“Feelings can creep up like that,” Mr. Chan says. “I thought I was in control.” He adds that he cannot bear the thought of her husband returning home to her. He asks for one favor — for her to help him be prepared, to play act for him in the same way he play acted for her.

The scene plays out slowly. She paced around, Mr. Chan smokes. Finally she tells him not to come around again, that her husband has returned. He agrees to stay away, asks her to keep a closer eye on her husband. And then they go quiet and we see him take her hand — but not directly, we see the grasp as a shadow on the wall.

He releases her hand and starts to walk away. She takes that hand and grabs her left forearm, digging her nails into it as if to make physical the pain she’s experiencing.

The screen goes black and we hear Mr. Chan’s voice consoling her, saying don’t be sad, it’s only a rehearsal. Then we see them embraced, Mrs. Chow crying on his shoulder uncontrollably. The musical theme begins. The film has prepared us for this moment with all of the other musical interludes. Those feels like audience practice now — the raw emotions of the film have finally burst open.

We next see them in a cab. Mrs. Chow says that she doesn’t want to go home that night and lays her head on his shoulder — we’re viewing all of this from behind, as if in a car trailing the cab.

We see them together now in the cab, hands clasped, her head resting on him. We know what’s about to happen, even if the movie is far too discreet to show us. But they don’t look in love at this moment, they look in mourning.