The rain fell in heavy sheets over the streets of Karachi, turning puddles into mirrors of the gray sky above. Ali Arif slowed his bike to a stop, the tires splashing water onto the crowded street. He shook off his jacket, glanced at his watch, and sighed. He only needed spices for his mother's cooking, nothing more.
Pulling his collar closer, he ran from one shop's awning to another, trying to stay dry. And then—*crash*.
A girl had bumped into him, sending the books she was carrying tumbling into a puddle.
"Are you blind?" Ali said instinctively, more startled than angry.
The girl didn't reply immediately. She bowed her head and murmured, "Sorry."
Ali crouched quickly, picking up her soaked books. She moved to help him, but they bumped again. This time, both muttered "Sorry" at the same time. Then, unexpectedly, they laughed—a quiet, shy sound that mixed with the rhythm of the rain.
"You… you go to adam ji Coaching Prep Center?" he asked, eyeing a notebook with a familiar logo.
She nodded, her hair dripping, eyes fixed on him curiously. Ali held her book a little longer than necessary.
"Can I have it back?" she asked.
"No," he said, smiling. She frowned, confused.
"Actually… can I borrow it?" he said after a pause. "I've been searching everywhere for it and couldn't find it."
She shook her head. "No."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know you," she replied.
Ali pulled out his phone, typed in his number, and handed it to her. She looked at him for a long moment before sighing and saying, "Fine. You can have it for eight days."
The rain soaked their clothes and hair, but somehow, it felt less like inconvenience and more like a moment suspended in time. Ali watched her walk away, the notebook clutched in her hands, feeling that something had begun—quiet, unexpected, and entirely unplanned.