I hadn't heard his voice in days. But that evening, in the middle of a pouring rain, Shresth Jaiswal called me.
I stared at my phone for a moment longer than necessary. For weeks, we had been circling each other in this strange, unspoken rhythm—sometimes too close, sometimes too far, and sometimes… painfully quiet. But still, I answered.
"Where are you?" His tone was casual, almost careless.
"At the bus stop. It's raining," I replied, tucking my bag closer to my chest.
A pause. I could almost picture him leaning against something, maybe a railing, looking out into the distance with that calm face that gave away nothing.
"Did you bring an umbrella?"
"No."
"Why am I not surprised?" he muttered under his breath, the slightest hint of amusement slipping through. Then, after a second that felt longer than it should have—
"Wait there. I'm coming."
I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him not to bother. But deep down, I longed for that version of him that cared without being asked. So, I waited.
The rain kept falling. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Every minute felt like an hour. The sky dimmed, the smell of wet roads filled the air, and all I could hear was the steady rhythm of raindrops on the tin shade above me.
When his scooty finally pulled in, skidding slightly to a halt, I froze. He was there. Exactly how I remembered him—hair slightly damp from the drizzle, his expression unreadable, yet somehow comforting.
"Let's go," he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
I hesitated for a second, but eventually followed.
And that was it. That was the beginning.
The beginning of everything I thought I had forgotten. The beginning of the questions I didn't know I'd ask myself later.
People always talk about moments—those small, unremarkable seconds that somehow shift your entire life. If you'd asked me back then, I wouldn't have known this was one of them.
But it was.
It was the first real meet after years of silence, the first time I saw him not as the boy I vaguely remembered from childhood, but as someone different. Someone heavier, quieter, more complicated. Someone who would slowly, unknowingly, become a storm in my life.
I didn't know then, but that simple call in the rain would lead to late-night drives on empty roads, endless fights that left me questioning everything, and a hundred little moments that would become etched into my memory.
And yet, standing there that day, I didn't think about the future. I only thought about how the rain felt colder than usual… and how he somehow made it feel warmer.
This wasn't love. Not yet. But it was something. A pull. A quiet gravity that neither of us fully understood.
I didn't know it then, but that day was just the first page of a story I didn't even know I was writing.
And if you want to know what really happened that rainy evening—the details I'm not saying yet—you'll have to wait. Because some moments deserve to be told in full, not just in pieces.
Note:
"This story is slowly growing, and if it touched your heart, even one add to collection makes a difference. Thank you always 💌"