The rain came exactly when Rehan said it would.Aarvi watched the first drops stain her balcony railing, thin silver lines sliding into the dark. She didn't plan to see him again, yet her hands reached for her coat before her mind could argue.
Down the narrow street the café's lights shimmered through the mist. Rehan sat at his usual table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, piano sheet spread open beside a cup that had long gone cold. He looked lost in a melody only he could hear.
She hesitated at the door, but the bell betrayed her.He looked up—eyes quiet, like the calm center of a storm—and smiled as if he had been waiting all evening.
"You came," he said.
"You said it would rain," she answered.
He gestured to the seat opposite him. The chair scraped softly against the floor, a sound small enough to fit between heartbeats.
For a while, they listened to the rain instead of speaking. Then Aarvi noticed the paper before him—music written in a hurried hand.
"You still play," she whispered.
"I try," he said. "But some notes hurt more than silence."
His words hung between them, fragile and real. Aarvi reached out, fingers stopping just short of his.
"Silence doesn't have to mean emptiness," she said."Sometimes it's the only place we can hear ourselves breathe."
Their eyes met again. The air thickened—not with words, but with everything neither dared to say. Outside, lightning flashed, whitening the world for a second; when darkness returned, it felt softer, safer.
Rehan rose and crossed to the old piano at the corner of the café. The room was empty now except for them and the rain. He pressed one key—low, trembling, honest. Then another. A slow melody began to grow, tentative and aching.
Aarvi closed her eyes.Each note felt like a confession, every pause a heartbeat.When she opened them again, Rehan was watching her instead of the keys.
Their gazes met across the flickering candlelight.He didn't move closer, yet the space between them seemed to disappear.
"That piece…" she murmured. "What is it?"
"Something unfinished," he said. "Like us."
She smiled faintly, tears glinting like the rain on the window.And in that moment, without touch or promise, they both understood—some connections don't need completion to feel whole.Sometimes, it's enough that the shadows finally found each other.