"Tea & Rain"
The first drops of rain kissed the earth, releasing that familiar, nostalgic scent. Aarav, as usual, sat by the window of his favorite old café, with a worn-out book in hand and his ever-loved cup of ginger tea.
It was his Friday ritual — peace, paper, and a sip of quiet.
But today was different.
Through the glass, he saw her — a girl walking in from the rain, drenched, with storm-kissed hair and a faraway look in her eyes. Her name was Meera.
"Excuse me, may I sit here? The other tables are wet," she asked softly.
Aarav nodded with a quiet smile.
Two strangers. One table. Two cups of tea. And a conversation that started like a drizzle — light, unsure — but slowly turned into a downpour of stories, laughter, and shared silences.
Meera loved the rain; Aarav loved peace. She was an open book; he was a mystery. But every Friday, they found themselves at the same corner table, like clockwork. Words flowed. Smiles lingered. Even silence became comforting.
Then one day, it didn't rain.
But Meera came anyway…
And without a word, Aarav handed her a small letter. She opened it.
Inside, it read:
"Even if it never rains again, I'll wait for you — every Friday, with tea and a heart full of hope."
She looked up, eyes misty — not from the rain this time — and smiled.
The kind of smile that says:
"Me too."
1. Part 1 – The First Meeting
(Already shared — Meera and Aarav meet at the café during the rain.)
2. Part 2 – Every Friday
Their bond deepens through weekly meetings. We learn about their pasts — Meera's broken engagement, Aarav's solitude after losing his father.
3. Part 3 – A Missed Friday
One Friday, Meera doesn't show up. Aarav begins to realize just how much she means to him.
4. Part 4 – Confessions in the Rain
The rain returns. Meera shows up with tears and a secret — she's moving to another city for work.
5. Part 5 – Letters and Goodbyes
They exchange handwritten letters. Will they say goodbye, or will love make them stay?
6. Part 6 – One Year Later
Aarav sits alone at the café on a rainy day... and someone walks in again.
START NEW...
Part 1 – The First Meeting
It was a Friday evening, and the rain had just begun to fall — soft, rhythmic, and full of poetry.
Aarav, a quiet soul with a book in hand and a ginger tea by his side, sat by the window of the old café he had visited every Friday for years. It wasn't just a café to him — it was a corner of the world where time slowed down.
That evening, something unexpected happened.
The bell over the café door rang, and a girl entered — drenched from head to toe, her hair sticking to her face, yet her eyes shone like quiet stars. Her name was Meera.
"Excuse me, may I sit here? The other tables are wet," she asked, her voice a little breathless.
Aarav smiled and nodded.
And just like that, two strangers became part of the same moment.
---
Part 2 – Every Friday
Rain became their silent invitation.
Every Friday, Meera and Aarav would find themselves at that same table, sipping tea, sharing stories, sometimes even just sitting in silence. She loved music; he loved books. She talked fast; he spoke little. But somehow, their opposites felt like a perfect rhythm.
Meera spoke of her dreams — becoming an artist, moving to the hills someday. Aarav listened more than he spoke, but when he did, his words lingered like the scent of rain on dry earth.
One day, she said, "It's funny how strangers become habits."
Aarav simply replied, "Some habits feel like home."
---
Part 3 – A Missed Friday
Then came a Friday with no rain… and no Meera.
Aarav waited. One hour passed. Two. He kept staring at the door, hoping it would ring and bring her in, wet hair and all.
She never came.
That night, his tea tasted bitter.
For the first time, he realized it wasn't the tea or the books he came for — it was her.
---
Part 4 – Confessions in the Rain
The next Friday, rain returned — and so did Meera.
But she wasn't the same. Her eyes looked tired, and her smile tried too hard.
"I got a job offer… in Manali," she said quietly. "I leave next week."
Aarav's heart sank, though he didn't show it.
"I thought you'd be happy for me," she said, looking down.
"I am," he replied, "But I'll miss my favorite part of the week."
She looked up, and in that brief glance, both realized something had changed. Or maybe, something unspoken had always been there.
---
Part 5 – Letters and Goodbyes
On her last day in the city, they met one final time.
No rain. No tea. Just two hearts caught between a goodbye and a forever.
She handed him a letter, sealed with a small sketch of a teacup and raindrops.
He handed her one too — simple, white, with one line:
> "Even if it never rains again, I'll wait for you — every Friday."
Tears welled up in Meera's eyes, but she smiled, whispered "Me too," and walked away.
---
Part 6 – One Year Later
A year passed. Aarav still came to the café every Friday. He'd sit by the same window, with the same cup of tea — and an extra one placed across the table.
People thought he was lost in memory. He didn't mind.
One Friday, it rained again. The kind of rain that brings old stories back to life.
And then the doorbell rang.
She walked in, soaked but smiling — holding an umbrella in one hand and the same letter he gave her in the other.
Without a word, she sat down.
This time, she brought her own cup of tea.
And finally, silence spoke what words never could.
It was a typical Friday in the city — the skies cloudy, the roads wet, and the breeze heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth. People rushed under umbrellas and overhangs, trying to escape the downpour. But inside a quiet corner café, time moved differently.
Aarav sat at his usual spot by the window, a mug of ginger tea steaming beside him and a well-worn book in his hands. The café was his retreat — a space where the world faded out, and his thoughts had room to breathe. Every Friday, like clockwork, he came here. Alone, but content.
But that Friday, the air felt... electric.
The café door creaked open, and a gust of wind followed a girl inside. She was drenched, her hair dripping, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She scanned the café quickly. Only one seat was available — across from Aarav.
"Hi... mind if I sit here?" she asked, brushing wet strands from her face.
Aarav looked up. She had kind eyes, the kind that hold stories. "Not at all," he said, shifting his tea slightly.
She sat, sighing in relief. "Rain caught me off guard," she smiled.
He nodded, offering a napkin. "It does that."
A few minutes passed in quiet. Then she broke it. "I'm Meera, by the way."
"Aarav."
Simple introductions, yet something in the air shifted — like the story had already started writing itself.
---
Fridays Became Familiar
After that day, they met again — not by plan, but by pull.
Every Friday, Meera showed up. Sometimes with a notebook, sometimes with music playing softly in her earphones. Aarav was always there, with his tea and his thoughts. They shared space, then words, then laughter.
He learned she was an illustrator, freelancing while chasing her dream of designing children's books. She loved storms, sketching leaves, and chocolate muffins.
She learned he was a writer once, now just a reader. He worked at a publishing house but rarely talked about it. He found peace in silence, but never made her feel unheard.
Conversations started to carry more weight — stories of childhood, fears, past loves, dreams they didn't speak out loud to many.
"Isn't it strange?" she said once. "How a stranger becomes part of your rhythm?"
He smiled. "Some strangers feel like déjà vu."
She paused. "Or maybe they were just waiting for the right page to enter your story."
He wrote that line in his journal that night.
---
The Missed Friday
Then came the Friday Meera didn't show up.
No call. No message.
Aarav waited — fifteen minutes, then an hour. He tried to read, but the words didn't make sense. He ordered two teas out of habit. One went cold.
That night, he realized something uncomfortable — her absence hurt more than he expected.
She had quietly become the best part of his week. And without her, it all felt... too quiet.
---
The Truth Behind Her Smile
The next week, the skies wept again. Aarav sat waiting — trying not to hope too much.
And then she walked in.
She looked tired. Not the kind of tired a nap fixes — the kind that comes from decisions.
"Sorry I missed last week," she said, sitting across from him. "I needed space. I had news."
He listened silently.
"I got an offer. A publishing firm in Manali wants me to lead a children's book project. It's everything I ever wanted. Mountains, art, peace..."
His heart sank, but his face stayed calm. "That's... amazing," he said softly.
She studied him. "I thought you'd be happier."
"I am. For you."
A pause. A deep breath.
"I just didn't expect to miss you so soon."
Her eyes softened. For a second, it felt like everything unsaid was about to rise to the surface. But she simply smiled. "I'll miss this too. More than I thought."
---
The Last Friday
It was her last day in the city.
They met without planning, as always, but everything felt more intentional.
She handed him a small envelope — a letter, sealed with a hand-drawn teacup and tiny raindrops.
"I don't do goodbyes," she whispered. "But I wanted to leave something behind."
He slid a folded note across to her. She opened it. Inside, one line in his neat handwriting:
> "Even if it never rains again, I'll wait for you — every Friday."
Tears welled in her eyes. She clutched the note like it was something more than paper.
"I'll carry this with me," she said. "And maybe, when the clouds call... I'll find my way back."
And then she was gone.
---
A Year of Tea and Hope
Seasons changed. The café saw new faces, but Aarav's table never changed.
Every Friday, he came. Same book, same tea, same seat. Sometimes he talked to the empty chair. Sometimes he read her old letter again.
People thought he was holding on too long.
But love doesn't check the calendar.
---
Full Circle
One Friday evening, almost a year later, the skies opened up again.
Not a drizzle — a full storm. Just like the day they met.
The bell above the café door rang.
Aarav looked up.
There she was.
Umbrella in one hand, rain in her eyes, and that same sealed letter — now worn from being read too many times.
"I brought my own tea today," she said softly, holding a flask.
He didn't say anything.
He just smiled — the same way he had, that very first day.
She sat down. Across from him. As if she never left.
Some stories don't end. They just... pause.