✨ PART 1: The Night It All Began
Aarushi had always believed life was supposed to be predictable. She liked routines, timetables, and things happening exactly the way she expected. She woke up every morning at 6:30, made her tea exactly the same way—two spoons of sugar, one spoon of tea leaves—and walked to her office bus stop by 8:15.
Life felt like a straight railway track, always going forward but rarely turning.
But on that Thursday evening, the track curved.
It curved quietly, unexpectedly, and beautifully.
The sky was a shifting watercolor of dark clouds and fading gold. The wind smelled like the promise of rain. Aarushi hurried out of her office building, clutching the straps of her small brown sling bag. Her bus came at 7:20 every day. Missing it meant waiting nearly an hour for the next one.
She hated waiting.
But that day, everything slowed. Meetings ran late, the elevator stopped at every floor, and by the time she stepped outside, it was already 7:22.
The bus was gone.
Aarushi sighed, a frustrated breath slipping past her lips. She walked to the empty bus stop and checked her phone. Twenty unread work messages, two missed calls from her mother, and one message from an unknown number saying "We should talk." She ignored all of them.
Her shoulders felt heavy. It had been a long week—the kind of week that makes you question if you are living at all or just surviving.
She sat on the cold metal bench at the bus stop.
Raindrops began to fall—slow at first, then faster, hitting the ground like scattered pearls. She moved inside the small shelter, hugging herself against the chilly breeze.
That's when she saw her.
A girl stood near the edge of the shelter, trying to shield a sketchbook with her hands. She had short hair falling in soft waves around her face, a denim jacket with paint smudges on the sleeves, and eyes that looked like storms waiting to rain stories.
She wasn't struggling with the rain—she was fighting it.
The wind kept flipping the pages of her sketchbook with surprising force. Every time she tried to close it, the rain splashed its corners.
Aarushi watched silently for a moment, then stepped toward her.
"Do you need help?"
The girl looked up, startled. Then she smiled—soft, shy, and unexpectedly warm.
"I… yes, please," she said. "This rain has declared war on my drawings."
Aarushi held her umbrella over the sketchbook.
The girl's eyes widened a little, grateful.
"Thank you. I'm Mira."
"Aarushi," she replied.
They stood close—close enough that Aarushi could smell the faint scent of Mira's lavender perfume. The rain hit the umbrella like a gentle drumbeat, the world outside blurring into watery lights.
Aarushi wasn't used to talking to strangers. But something about Mira made her feel as if she had known her before—like a familiar tune she couldn't quite name.
"What do you draw?" Aarushi asked.
"People," Mira said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "People who think too much… or feel too deeply. People who have quiet chaos inside them."
Aarushi's heartbeat paused for a second.
"And what would you draw if you looked at me?"
Mira turned to her fully now. For a moment, she studied Aarushi's face—her tired eyes, the way she held her hands, the slight tremble in her voice.
"You," Mira whispered,
"I would draw you standing in the middle of a crowded world, pretending to be strong but secretly wanting someone to understand you without asking."
Aarushi froze.
No one had ever read her like that.
A sudden gust of wind made them step closer under the umbrella, their shoulders touching. The small, accidental contact sent a warm shiver through Aarushi's body.
"You missed your bus, didn't you?" Mira asked.
"How do you know?"
"You look like someone who never misses it," Mira said with a smile. "And also… you look annoyed."
Aarushi let out a small laugh. "I guess I am predictable."
"Everyone is," Mira said, "until life decides to surprise them."
The rain intensified, creating a soft wall of water around them. The city lights turned hazy and dreamlike. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared.
There were just two girls under one umbrella.
Two lives brushing past each other.
Two stories beginning without permission.
"What do you do?" Aarushi asked.
"I'm a freelance illustrator," Mira replied. "I draw for magazines… children's books… sometimes I draw for myself. That's the most important part."
Aarushi nodded. "I work in an IT firm. Data entry and documentation mostly. Nothing special."
"Hey," Mira said gently, "don't say that. Every job is special if it's part of who you are."
Aarushi looked down at her shoes.
No one had spoken to her like this in a long time.
Maybe ever.
More raindrops splashed Mira's sketchbook.
"Oh no," Mira groaned. "This page is getting ruined."
Aarushi held the umbrella a little higher. "Here, let me help."
She reached out and took the edge of the sketchbook to cover it better. Their fingers brushed—lightly, but enough to make Aarushi feel something she couldn't explain.
When the rain softened, Mira tore out a page from her sketchbook and handed it to her.
It was a sketch.
Two roads crossing each other in the rain.
Two silhouettes standing under one small umbrella.
Unfinished lines.
But full of meaning.
Aarushi's breath hitched.
"This is beautiful."
"It's a reminder," Mira said. "Sometimes missing the bus is the best thing that can happen."
Aarushi felt her chest warm—strangely, deeply.
"Will I… see you again?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Mira held her gaze, her smile slow and knowing.
"Yes," she said.
"Because I think our roads haven't finished choosing each other."
Aarushi didn't understand why her heart felt lighter. Why the world suddenly appeared softer, brighter. Why she kept looking at Mira even when she tried not to.
Before she could say anything else, Mira spoke again.
"Your next bus is arriving in two minutes."
"How do you know everything?" Aarushi laughed softly.
"I don't," Mira said.
"But sometimes… I just feel things."
The bus pulled up with its usual screech. Aarushi stepped on the first step, then turned back one last time.
Mira was standing exactly where she had left her—sketchbook in hand, rain above her, smile on her lips.
Aarushi waved.
Mira waved back.
As the bus drove away, the sketch lay on Aarushi's lap.
The two roads in the drawing slowly blurred as if becoming real—becoming hers.
Aarushi leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
She knew—
Something had started.
Something she didn't plan.
Something she wasn't ready for, but deeply needed.
Her life wasn't a straight line anymore.
It had found a turn.
And that turn had a name.
Mira.