She stepped into the rain.
Fully. Freely. She didn't hesitate, didn't even pause to check if the ground was slippery. She just danced in the rain, like she was meant to be there. Her kurti clung to her arms, and her hair matted instantly, the droplets sliding down her face. She didn't care. She spun in a circle, laughing, her hands lifted to the sky as if she was reaching for something higher, something pure.
I stood frozen, caught in the moment, my heart a tangle of emotions. She looked like the same girl from six years ago—the one who danced in the rain while I watched from the balcony, a towel over my head, pretending I didn't care.
But I did.
I always did.
She caught my eye, her grin wide and carefree. "Well? Are you just going to stand there?" she teased, her voice soft in the rain.
"Good," she said. "It would've ruined the moment."
And then, like gravity didn't apply to her, she held out her hand.
I didn't think. I just acted. I stepped into the rain, and the first shock of cold made me gasp. It soaked through my shirt, but her laughter, full of life, pulled me forward, faster, until I was there with her.
"Come on," she urged, her hand outstretched, water dripping from her fingers.
I didn't hesitate this time. I took her hand. My fingers closed around hers, and in that brief, fleeting moment, I felt a rush of warmth. Her skin was cold, wet, but there was something about the connection—something simple and real—that made me feel grounded in a way I hadn't been in a long time.
She twirled away from me, her feet slipping slightly on the wet tiles. She spun back, her arms outstretched, her laughter ringing louder in the rain. I reached for her wrist, and she stumbled into my chest, her body warm despite the cold water soaking us both.
"Careful," I murmured, instinctively tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
She smirked up at me, her eyes glinting with mischief. "You care too much."
"I do," I admitted quietly. And that was enough to make the teasing fade for a moment.
She stepped back, her lips curling into a smile, and in that quiet, shared understanding, something shifted between us.
"Then catch me," she said, her voice a little softer now, the challenge still there but laced with something else. Something deeper.
I didn't think. I just moved. My heart raced as I followed her, my feet slipping against the rain-slicked tiles. We danced slowly at first, both of us adjusting to the rhythm of the rain, the slip and slide of the wet ground beneath us. Her fingers curled into mine, tight and real, and I held on. Her laughter was a constant, like a melody that pulled me closer.
Then she twirled, and I could barely keep up. But that was the beauty of it. The rain, the laughter, the moment—it all blurred together.
And then, in the middle of it all, she stopped. She stood still, her gaze locking with mine, her eyes soft but knowing. There was no teasing now. Just… something unspoken.
Before I could react, she stepped forward. Slowly. Her arms circled around my waist, pulling me in close.
The world seemed to stop.
Her cheek pressed against my chest, her wet hair clinging to my shirt. The cold rain soaked into both of us, but all I could feel was her warmth. Her breath. Her heartbeat against my own. The rain blurred the world around us, but in that moment, she was everything. My arms moved around her instinctively, pulling her closer, as if to make sure she was really here, as if to confirm that this wasn't a dream.
Her arms tightened around me. I could feel the slight tremor in her fingers, but she didn't pull away. She stayed. She held on, and I held on too. I could feel her against me—her heartbeat, her breath, the warmth of her body that defied the cold rain.
I was frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. I hadn't expected this. I hadn't expected the rawness of it. The quiet vulnerability in her embrace. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I knew this wasn't just a friendly hug. This wasn't just the simple comfort we'd shared before.
This was something else. Something real. Something more.
Her head rested against me, her wet hair tickling my neck, and I felt a flicker of something deep in my chest—a flicker of hope, of relief, of something that had been missing for far too long.
"I don't want to let go," I whispered before I could stop myself.
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pulled back just enough to look up at me, her face softened by the rain. Her eyes shimmered with something I couldn't quite place. "You won't have to," she said softly.
And that was enough.
My hands moved slightly, my fingers pressing a little tighter against her back, as if to remind myself that this was real—that she was really here, in my arms, and that she had chosen to be.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't afraid. Not of her. Not of the past. Not of the future.
I was simply… here.
With her.
And I wasn't going anywhere.
"You okay?" I asked softly.
She nodded.
Her voice was quieter now. "You used to watch me dance in the rain."
I blinked. "How did you—?"
"Abhi told me. But I think I already knew. Somewhere deep down."
I swallowed hard.
She looked up at me. "What were you thinking back then?"
"That you looked like you belonged to the sky."
Her brows arched. "That's… very poetic."
I smirked. "You asked."
She pulled me a little closer, her voice more careful now. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"I didn't know how."
A pause. The rain softened around us.
"You didn't fight with me back then because you hated me, did you?"
I shook my head slowly. "I fought with you because I couldn't get close. Because I didn't know how to stay away either."
Her eyes shimmered with something unspoken. Regret, maybe. Or understanding.
The rain blurred the world around us. But nothing blurred the way she felt in my arms—soft, real, hers.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into her hair.
"You didn't know," she murmured. "It wasn't your fault. But thank you. For not letting him win."
I swallowed a lump in my throat. "He used what I said. I should've—"
"Stop." She pulled back slightly, meeting my eyes. "You weren't the one who hurt me. He was."
A tear slipped from her cheek. Or maybe it was the rain.
"And you…" she whispered, "you were the one who stayed."
I reached up, brushing a wet strand from her face. "I'll always stay."
Her lips trembled. "Promise?"
"I already did. Years ago."
Her arms tightened again. She hid her face against my shoulder.
We stood like that, swaying to a rhythm that didn't need music.
Just the rain. The beat of hearts. The hush of healing.
When she finally pulled back, she was smiling through damp lashes. "I want to know everything, Bhargav. About you. Not just the guy who stood behind me all these years. The guy right in front of me now."
I smiled. "Then ask me anything."
She thought for a second.
"What song do you play when you're sad?"
I grinned. "The kind you'd mock me for."
"I want to hear it anyway."
"Even if it's old Telugu melodies?"
"Especially those."
I laughed. "Okay, then. What do you do when you're angry?"
She smirked. "Eat curd rice and cry in my bathroom."
"I knew it," I teased.
"You did not!"
"Pretty sure I heard the spoon against the bowl once."
She laughed then—loud and full.
I stared at her, letting it etch into memory.
"I never really saw you before," she said suddenly. "I mean, I saw you. But I didn't look. Not like now."
My throat tightened. "Then look. All you want."
"I will," she whispered.
And just like that, under the sky's soft blessing, something in us shifted. From memories to meaning. From hurt to healing.
She wasn't just the girl who once broke my heart.
She was the girl rebuilding it—one soaked, stuttering moment at a time.
And me?
I was hers. In silence. In the rain. In every breath between. Maybe I always was.
Now I just have to wait till she says the three words.
God. Fate and him really have wierd plans.
But thank you. For this moment.
To be continued...