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When the Rain Came


The first time Aarav saw Meera, the city was drowning. Monsoon rains had turned the streets into rivers, and buses had stopped running. He stood stranded beneath a shop’s awning, clutching his laptop bag, when she arrived—drenched, her umbrella turned inside out by the wind, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“Guess we’re stuck here,” she said, shaking droplets from her hair.

Aarav, usually shy with strangers, surprised himself by smiling back. “Looks like the rain’s holding us hostage.”

It was a small exchange, the kind people forget within minutes. But Aarav didn’t forget. Something about her voice, light and unbothered despite the chaos, settled into him like warmth after a chill.

They ended up sharing the awning for nearly an hour, trading stories about the worst rains they’d ever seen, about schooldays cancelled, about hot chai after storms. When the rain eased, she waved goodbye with an easy grin.

No names, no numbers. Just a memory.

Two weeks later, fate—or perhaps the rain—brought them together again. Aarav walked into his favorite café, only to find her at the counter, ordering a cappuccino. For a moment he thought he was imagining it, but then she turned, and recognition lit her face.

“You!” she said, pointing playfully. “Rain hostage!”

Aarav laughed, relieved. “And umbrella warrior. What are the odds?”

This time, they sat together. Her name was Meera, a graphic designer who loved sketching people in cafés. His was Aarav, a software engineer who spent too much time debugging and too little time living. The conversation flowed, effortless. They spoke of books, travel dreams, and their shared love for street food.

When they finally left, the clouds were gathering again. Meera looked up and smirked. “Maybe the rain just likes introducing us.”

Weeks turned into months. The café became their meeting ground, but soon they were exploring the city together—book fairs, midnight walks by the sea, impromptu movie marathons.

For Aarav, it was the first time he felt seen. Meera had a way of noticing things he thought invisible: the way he hesitated before speaking, the way his fingers drummed when he was nervous, the way his eyes softened when he saw stray dogs.

For Meera, Aarav was steadiness. She had always been a wanderer, flitting from idea to idea, never staying too long. But with him, she found a calm center, a reason to pause.

One night, standing on a bridge with the rain misting around them, Aarav finally spoke the words weighing on him.

“I think I’m falling for you, Meera.”

She looked at him, eyes glistening. “Good. Because I already fell.”

But love, like the monsoon, isn’t only gentle showers.

Meera’s career soon offered her a chance abroad—a six-month project in Italy. The news thrilled her, but Aarav felt the ground shift beneath him.

“When do you leave?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Two weeks,” she whispered.

The days that followed were tinged with an unspoken heaviness. They laughed, yes, and made promises, but every smile carried a shadow.

On her last night, the rain returned, heavy and insistent, as if the sky itself protested. They sat in the café where it had all begun, silent for a long while.

“You’ll wait for me?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know how to do anything else,” he admitted.

They kissed, slow and lingering, as the rain hammered the windows.

Six months stretched endlessly. They messaged, video-called, sent photos. But time zones and distance weighed on them. Aarav feared she might drift away into the new world she was exploring.

Yet one rainy evening, as he left his office, he found her standing by the gate, suitcase beside her, drenched to the bone and grinning.

“Surprise,” she said breathlessly. “Project ended early. I couldn’t wait.”

For a moment, Aarav could only stare, rain blurring his vision. Then he ran to her, pulling her into his arms.

The city roared with thunder, but in his chest, all was quiet—peaceful.

Years later, people often asked them how they met. They would smile at each other, recalling that first storm.

“Blame the rain,” Meera would say, laughing.

But Aarav knew better. Rain might have brought them together, but it was everything after—the laughter, the waiting, the choosing each other again and again—that turned a chance meeting into a love story.

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