It had been three weeks since the morning Rehan disappeared into the mist.Three weeks of empty cafés and umbrellas that stayed dry.Aarvi told herself it was nothing — just another almost-story.But every night she still listened for thunder.
Then, on the day the monsoon returned, a single envelope slid under her door.No name. Just a faint scent of coffee and rain.
Inside was a folded page of music.No words.Only notes — the same unfinished melody he had once played for her.
At the bottom corner, in his handwriting:
Finish it for me.
That night, she went back to the café.The piano was still there, quiet beneath a thin layer of dust.She sat down, hands trembling over the keys.
The first note felt like a memory breathing again.She played the melody exactly as he had written it — slow, aching, honest — and when she reached the empty bars at the end, she didn't stop.She added what her heart had learned in his absence.
Outside, the rain grew louder, as if the sky itself wanted to listen.
A soft knock sounded behind her.She turned, and there he was — standing in the doorway, soaked, eyes tired but alive.
"You finished it," he said.
She rose from the bench, every emotion she'd buried catching up at once.
"You left without saying goodbye."
"I needed to hear how it ended," he whispered. "I was afraid if I stayed, I'd never stop wanting you."
"And now?"
He stepped closer. Their shadows touched on the wet floor, just as they had the first night.
"Now I know some things are worth wanting, even if they hurt."
The clock above the counter ticked softly; rainlight shimmered on their faces.No declarations, no promises — just two people standing inside the pause between thunder and peace.
Aarvi smiled through her tears.
"It's still raining."
Rehan nodded.
"Then we still have time."
Later, when the storm finally eased, they walked out together, the umbrella forgotten on the chair.The street shone with reflections — of light, of loss, of something beginning again.
Their fingers brushed.Neither pulled away.
And somewhere above them, the clouds broke open, letting the first fragile ray of dawn fall over the city —soft, golden, and new —like the sound of love finally finding its way home.