The misty hills of Coorg, where coffee plantations danced with the wind, lived a girl named Meera. She was 22, with eyes like the dark Kaveri river at dusk, and hair that cascaded like the vines clinging to ancient oaks. Meera spent her days tending her family's small estate, her hands stained with the rich earth, her heart yearning for stories beyond the fog-shrouded valleys.One monsoon evening, as thunder rumbled like a lover's promise, a stranger arrived. His name was Arjun, a 25-year-old architect from Bengaluru, sent to survey land for a resort project. Soaked to the bone, he knocked on Meera's door, his city polish undone by the relentless rain."Excuse me," he said, voice steady despite the shiver. "I'm lost. Could I wait out the storm?"Meera hesitated, her grandmother's warnings echoing—strangers bring trouble. But his eyes, warm like sunlight piercing clouds, made her open the door wider."Come in," she murmured, handing him a towel. "Tea?"As the storm raged, they talked. Arjun spoke of skyscrapers and neon lights; Meera shared tales of hill folklore, where rains whispered secrets to those who listened. Laughter broke the silence, easy and unfamiliar.By dawn, the rain eased. Arjun left, but not before promising, "I'll return for the survey."He did, every week. What started as professional visits turned into stolen moments—walks through dripping plantations, shared cups of filter coffee under leaking roofs."You're not like the city boys I hear about," Meera teased one day, plucking a wildflower.Arjun smiled. "And you're not like anyone I've met. You make the world feel... alive."Love bloomed quietly, like the first coffee blossoms after rain. They met by the waterfall, where mist veiled their first kiss. Arjun's lips tasted of rain and rebellion; Meera's heart raced like the cascading water.But shadows loomed. Arjun's company planned to buy Meera's land for the resort. "It's progress," his boss said. "These hills need development."Arjun wrestled with it. Tell Meera, risk her trust? Hide it, betray his heart?One evening, under a banyan tree, he confessed. "Meera, the project... it involves your home."Her face crumpled. "You knew? All this time?""I fell for you first," he pleaded. "I fought them. I'll quit if I must."Tears mixed with rain. "Love isn't enough against losing everything," she whispered, running into the night.Days blurred into silence. Arjun stayed, surveying alone, heart heavy. Meera avoided him, but glimpses across fields tortured them both.Then, her grandmother fell ill. Hospital bills piled like storm clouds. Desperate, Meera considered selling—until Arjun appeared at her door."I sold my shares," he said, handing her a cheque. "Anonymous donor. Save your home."She saw the truth in his hollow eyes. "Why?""Because I love you more than my dreams."Forgiveness came slow, like dawn after endless night. They rebuilt, hand in hand. Arjun stayed in Coorg, designing eco-resorts that honored the land. They married under the eternal rain, vows sealed with coffee petals.Years later, their daughter listened to the story by the fireside. "Did the rain really whisper your love?"Meera smiled at Arjun. "Every drop."And in those hills, love echoed forever.
