The next evening, Arjun logged into the app expecting the usual — maybe a comment or two on his chicken story, maybe a short chat with MoonInk.
Instead, he found a new post from her.
The title made him pause.
"The Boy Who Wrote in the Rain."
He clicked it instantly.
It was about a boy who never talked much in real life but could fill entire pages when he was behind a keyboard. A boy who listened more than he spoke, who preferred mornings when the world was still, and who wrote while rain sounds played in the background.
The girl in the story met him online, hidden behind pen names and profile pictures. At first, she thought he was just another passing acquaintance. But his words stayed with her, his small jokes and awkward compliments stitched themselves into her day.
The story wasn't grand or dramatic — no declarations, no "happily ever after" ending.
It ended simply, with the girl writing:
"She didn't know his real name, or the city he lived in, or the way his voice sounded. But she knew that if she ever met him, she'd recognise him — because she already knew his heart."
Arjun read it twice before he even thought to message her.
IronQuill:So… this feels familiar.
MoonInk:Oh? Maybe it's just fiction inspired by certain… conversations.
He grinned at the way she was throwing his own words back at him.
IronQuill:Then I guess we're even.
MoonInk:Guess we are.
They didn't say much more that night, but the silence between messages wasn't awkward.
It was the kind that's full — like the pause in a story where you just know something important has happened, even if the characters don't say it out loud.
Both of them went to sleep thinking the same thing:
Maybe they weren't just two small-time writers anymore. Maybe they were already writing their most important story — together.