It was a rainy morning in the small town of Elmsworth. The streets were wet, the sky was grey, and the local coffee shop, Bean's Corner, was filled with the soft hum of conversations and the smell of roasted beans.
Maya, a quiet girl who loved books more than people, sat by the window every morning with a cup of hot chocolate and her worn-out copy of Little Women. She didn't speak much, but her eyes always searched for something—though she didn't know what.
One day, the shop door opened with a soft jingle, and in walked Ayaan, holding a dripping umbrella and looking a little lost. He ordered a black coffee and found the only empty seat—across from Maya.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked politely.
She looked up, a bit startled. "No, go ahead."
Days passed, and the same scene repeated. Maya with her hot chocolate. Ayaan with his coffee. Silence at first, then shy glances. Then small talk. Then laughter.
She told him about her favorite books. He told her about his dreams of being a chef. They found peace in each other, like puzzle pieces that had waited too long to fit.
One morning, Maya came in with tears in her eyes. Her father had fallen sick, and things at home were rough. Ayaan didn't say much—he just sat beside her, held her hand, and stayed. Sometimes, love doesn't need big words. Just presence.
Weeks turned into months. Her father got better. Ayaan opened a tiny food truck nearby. And Maya was always his first customer.
On a winter morning, when the streets were quiet and the air was cold, Ayaan handed her a cup of hot chocolate from his truck. But this time, there was a small note under the lid.
It read:
"You're my favorite warmth in this cold world. Will you be mine?"
Maya looked up, eyes teary and smiling. "I thought you'd never ask."
And under the same grey skies where they first met, they shared a kiss that felt like sunshine.