The next morning smelled of rain and roasted coffee. Aarvi woke to a soft knock at her door.When she opened it, Rehan stood there—damp hair, folded umbrella, and a small paper bag in his hand.
"Peace offering," he said. "The café was out of muffins last night."
Aarvi couldn't help a laugh. "You crossed half the city for a muffin?"
"For an unfinished conversation," he said quietly.
She let him in.
The apartment was small—books stacked against the wall, a single plant leaning toward the window. Rehan looked around as though every corner carried a secret.He placed the bag on the table and found her eyes again.
"You write," he said, nodding toward the notebooks.
"I used to," she admitted. "Now I just collect other people's words."
"Maybe it's time you start writing your own again."
The simplicity of his tone felt heavier than it should. She turned away to pour coffee, afraid that if she looked too long, she'd say something she couldn't take back.
They sat opposite each other—steam between them, silence growing gentle instead of awkward.Outside, the city stirred, but inside, everything slowed.
Rehan leaned back, eyes drifting to the window.
"My mother taught me to play piano," he said. "She used to close her eyes and say music was just emotion wearing a tune. When she died… I couldn't listen anymore."
Aarvi's breath caught.
"That's why you stopped?"
He nodded. "Every note reminded me of her—and of how easily the people we love can vanish mid-melody."
Aarvi reached across the table, her fingers stopping a breath away from his.
"Maybe you just need a new song," she whispered.
He looked up, meeting her gaze.For a moment, the distance between them disappeared—the air heavy with unspoken things: grief, hope, and something dangerously close to love.
A drop of rain slid down the glass outside, slow and certain, like time itself refusing to hurry.
When Rehan finally stood to leave, the quiet felt like a thread stretching between them.At the door, he paused.
"Will you come tomorrow?" she asked before she could change her mind.
"Only if it rains," he said, smiling faintly.
"Then I'll pray for storms," she replied.
He laughed softly—the first real laugh she had heard from him—and stepped out into the mist.
From the window, Aarvi watched his figure fade into the silver blur of morning rain, feeling the strange certainty that something fragile and beautiful had just begun…and that it might not survive the sun.