"In the Rain, We Met Again"
It was a quiet August afternoon in Ahmedabad, the kind that softly whispers romance through the rustling trees. The skies were dressed in greys, and the wind flirted with the scent of coming rain. Inside her room, Dhruva lay curled on her beige couch, half-lost in a romantic movie playing on the television. Her long open hair fell over her shoulder, and her fingers absentmindedly played with the ends as her eyes sparkled at the love story unfolding on screen.
She had always been like this—romantic, dreamy, full of longing... but never fallen for anyone. Not really.
Except for one.
Anurag.
Her school crush. The quiet boy with messy hair, black specs, and the most sincere eyes. He never knew. She never told. Time did what it always does—moved on. Life happened. College came, friends changed, but some feelings... just stayed. Unspoken. Untouched.
Her thoughts were broken when her father called out, “Dhruva, zara sabzi le aana beta. Bhoolna mat. Bhaji khatam ho gayi hai.”
“Haan Papa,” she replied, pulling on her white chikankari kurti, a pair of blue jeans, slipping on her sandals. It was drizzling now, but instead of taking the car, she decided to walk.
The streets were soaked in poetry—breezes weaving between the trees, a soft drizzle kissing her cheeks, and the faint scent of wet mud wrapping the world in nostalgia. She smiled to herself.
She walked slowly, taking pictures of the clouds, spinning once in joy when the wind swept her hair up. The city was alive yet peaceful. She reached the Sabzi Mandi, bought tomatoes, coriander, green chilies... and just as she paid the sabziwala, the sky opened up. A sudden, heavy, romantic burst of rain.
Dhruva squealed in joy and took shelter under a nearby tin shed. For a moment, she danced in the rain, spun with her bag of veggies, and clicked a few selfies with rain drops on her cheeks. Her white kurti clung to her skin, and her silver earrings swung as the wind played with her.
But soon reality hit.
“Ugh… auto kahaan milega ab?” she whispered, frowning. The streets were empty of any rickshaws or cars. She pulled out her phone and called her younger brother, Prem.
“Prem, aa na jaldi, main sabzi mandi mein hoon. Baarish mein phas gayi hoon.”
“Didi, traffic mein hoon main bhi! Yeh baarish… you know na! Thoda wait kar lo please.”
She sighed, “Fine.”
Then, it happened.
A bike pulled up near the same shed. A young man in a white shirt, blue jeans, his hair perfectly set despite the rain, black-framed specs, parked and took off his helmet. He was speaking on the phone.
"Haan Maa, le liya sab kuch. Baarish mein phas gaya hoon… ruk jaata hoon thodi der. Haan, haan, main safe hoon."
Dhruva didn’t look at him. She was too anxious. Her fingers were nervously tracing circles on her wet kurti. But something made her turn. Maybe the tone of his voice. Maybe fate.
It was him.
Anurag.
And just then, his wallet slipped from his hand and fell near her foot. He bent to pick it up, and as he looked up… his world stopped.
There she was.
In a white kurti, soaked in rain, long hair clinging to her face, silver earrings swaying, eyes full of storm and softness. The same girl. His school crush.
Dhruva.
The rain around them suddenly became music.
His mother shouted something on the phone, but he wasn’t listening anymore.
He cut the call.
“Hi,” he said, gently.
She looked up and blinked, not believing her eyes. A soft smile escaped her lips, but no words.
“Tum... Dhruva, right?”
She nodded, softly brushing her wet hair back. “Haan… Anurag?”
He smiled, almost like a boy again. “Wow. 5 saal. And we meet... here... like this.”
“In the rain.” She chuckled, softly.
He took a breath. “You’ll think I’m crazy but… chai-pakoda? Baarish mein yeh toh banta hai.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Alone hi peena pasand hai mujhe.”
“Mujhe bhi.” he laughed, “Par aaj... dono alone saath mein ho lein?”
She didn’t reply.
But they walked together to a tiny chai stall nearby. No words. Just heartbeats. The tea steam fogged their glasses. The pakoras sizzled on the pan. A vendor played an old romantic song from his phone.
> “Kahin toh hogi woh, duniya jahan tu mere saath hai…”
She smiled at the song. He noticed.
They sipped tea slowly, fingers brushing by mistake when reaching for the napkin. A strange warmth grew in the cold air.
After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Tumhare ghar tak chhod doon?”
“Nahi, I’ll manage.”
But her eyes betrayed her. She didn’t want to say no. She had no choice anyway.
He smiled and pointed to his bike, “Helmet?”
She nodded and took the back seat. Slowly, gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder. He froze for a second. She felt it too.
The bike started.
The ride was 30 minutes long. The roads were soaked, the air cold, and between them—a silent, swirling cloud of emotions. Neither of them spoke, but in their hearts, a storm was alive.
> “Please don’t end, this road,” she thought.
> “Let her never get off this bike,” he prayed.
As they reached her home, she started to get down, but her foot slipped on the wet pavement. With a gasp, she was about to fall when he caught her, his hand firm on her waist.
Her eyes shut, rainwater dripping from her lashes. His hand gently moved her hair from her face.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft.
She opened her eyes slowly, nodded, breathless. “Haan… thank you.”
She stood up straight, trying to calm her racing heart. “Thanks... again. For the ride.”
He nodded.
She turned to go, walking slowly toward her house, the rain finally beginning to fade.
“Dhruva!” he called out suddenly.
She turned.
“Tumhara wallet… backseat pe reh gaya.”
She came back, took it, whispered, “Thanks.”
She turned again to go.
“Dhruva…” he called again.
This time, she paused. Turned. Their eyes met.
“Now what?” she asked, softly, almost smiling.
He stepped forward, looked at her for a long second, then simply said,
“I was going to ask you the same thing… Now what?”
She looked at him. The rain had stopped. Only silence remained. A wind blew between them, carrying years of untold stories.
Just then, a voice shouted from the house.
“Dhruva, jaldi aao beta!” her father called.
She turned, nodded at Anurag with a soft expression that said so much, and walked toward the house.
He watched her go. Her wet white kurti. Her swaying silver earrings. Her long hair dancing in the wind.
He whispered under his breath, “Now what... indeed.”
And so… the rain stopped. But their hearts never did.
Some love stories never need grand declarations.
Some hearts don’t beat out loud.
They just... pause at the same moment. Breathe the same wind.
And remember.
Sometimes, love remains untold… yet deeply understood.
“Pyaar zaroori nahi hota kehna… kabhi kabhi mehsoos karna hi kaafi hota hai.”
