One monsoon afternoon, when the river was wild and the sky was dark, Ayan first saw her.
Her name was Meera.
She had just moved to Chandipur from the city with her grandmother. She stood under the rain without an umbrella, laughing as if the storm belonged to her.
Ayan had never seen anyone like her.
Her eyes were deep and thoughtful, like they carried stories. Her voice was soft, but her words were brave.
The first time they spoke, it was by accident.
"You'll get sick standing in the rain," Ayan said awkwardly.
Meera smiled. "Maybe. But some storms are worth it."
From that day, Ayan's world changed.