The rain had just stopped, leaving behind the scent of petrichor—that sweet, earthy fragrance rising from the grateful soil.
Droplets clung to the leaves like tiny universes, swaying gently with each whisper of wind.
Every leaf trembled as if taking a deep, renewed breath.
A sacred silence covered everything.
Birds were quiet, listening to the stillness the rain had left behind.
Somewhere in the distance, the koel's soft melody broke through the calm, stretching time into something infinite.
Along an old wall at the corner of a deserted street, a thin stream of rainwater trickled down, each droplet falling into a shallow puddle with a delicate plop.
The sound was soft, yet haunting—as though nature was composing the overture of a silent symphony.
The sky wore a veil of pale blue and grey.
Sunlight peeked shyly through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the damp earth.
The world shimmered in that fragile light—a moment suspended between storm and calm.
Anyone who stood still with closed eyes might have felt peace seep deep into the bones of their soul.
At a hospital in New york, the glass windows still glistened with raindrops.
He stood at the entrance, breathing in the air, his gaze distant, his silence heavier than words.
Then, slowly, he stepped into the corridor.
The building was too quiet—the kind of quiet that lingers, that watches you walk, that makes you aware of your own heartbeat.
By the time he reached the fifth floor, the world below had faded away.
This floor existed outside of time—no crowd, no noise, only the steady rhythm of life struggling to begin.
Inside the infant care wing, the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of machines created a fragile melody of survival.
Through the clear glass walls of the nursery, tiny souls wrapped in cotton slumbered in their cribs.
He scanned the room, his eyes catching a small gathering of nurses near the center.
One of them held a newborn wrapped in a white velvet blanket.
Every nurse who approached gasped softly—as if they had seen something divine.
He blinked, turned away, and started toward the stairs… but fate had already chosen its moment.
The nursery was now empty.
The nurse was gone.
Only the newborn remained, lying under the soft glow of a warm lamp.
He hesitated, then stepped closer.
Something — an invisible pull — guided him in.
There she was.
A velvet-wrapped miracle.
Fragile. Perfect. Unforgettable.
Her skin was soft as cream touched with rose.
A tiny button nose, slightly red from the cold.
Cheeks plump and pink.
Lips like dew caught at dawn.
And then… she opened her eyes.
Lavender.
Not one color, but thousands.
Flecks of violet, blue, and silver shimmered like galaxies—as if God had poured the palette of creation into her gaze.
Her brows curved delicately, and her hair—streaks of deep crimson—glowed under the light like fire woven from twilight.
He froze.
He had seen beauty before—but never something that could silence the world.
For a single heartbeat, the universe bowed.
"Emerging beacon," he whispered without thinking.
He brushed a hand through his honey-colored hair and pulled a tiny vial of honey from his pocket.
Dipping his finger, he gently touched it to her lips.
A smile bloomed — faint but real.
Like the first flower of spring.
And that smile... destroyed him.
He reached for the lavender pendant around his neck—a family heirloom — and placed it around her tiny one.
It fit as if it had always belonged to her.
As he turned to leave, a small hand gripped his finger.
He froze.
Time stopped again.
Then, with effort, he slipped his hand free and walked away.
The moment he stepped out, the baby began to cry.
He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
He was gone.
But destiny had already written its promise — he would return to her, again and again,
until the storm found its voice in the rain.