Morning came late for Aarvi.The city was already awake, but her world still smelled of last night's rain. She kept replaying the stranger's voice in her head — that calm steadiness inside the storm.
She should've forgotten him.People don't stay after nights like that.Yet as she looked out her apartment window, watching droplets race down the glass, she felt the same quiet pull again.
At the café across the street, she saw him.Same black umbrella, folded at his side, damp hair brushed back, coffee cup in hand. He looked like a man waiting for no one — but hoping for something.
Aarvi's pulse quickened. Against her better judgment, she went downstairs.
The doorbell above the café chimed as she entered. He looked up instantly. Their eyes met — just long enough for the world to forget its noise.
"I owe you an umbrella," she said softly.
"You kept it dry," he replied. "That's repayment enough."
They both smiled — awkward, unsure, drawn.
Minutes melted into coffee.Stories half-told.Laughter that hid pain.
She learned his name — Rehan — and that he once played piano but hadn't touched a key in years.He learned she used to write but now only read what others dared to feel.
Every pause between their words felt heavier than the words themselves.
When she reached for the sugar jar, her hand brushed his.A tiny spark — not just warmth, but recognition — a reminder of how alive touch could make them feel.She pulled back too quickly, pretending nothing happened, though her breath betrayed her.
"You ever wonder," Rehan asked quietly, "why strangers sometimes feel safer than the people we've known for years?"
Aarvi looked up, heart pounding.
"Because they haven't had the chance to break us yet."
The silence that followed wasn't empty — it throbbed with understanding.
When she finally stood to leave, he stopped her with a single line:
"It's going to rain again tonight."
She turned at the door, a faint smile on her lips.
"Then maybe you shouldn't forget your umbrella this time."
"Maybe," he said, "I was never planning to."
Outside, thunder rolled again — slow, distant, and promising.And though neither said it aloud, they both knew the storm hadn't ended.It had only changed its name.