When it rained, the city spoke slowly.
And in that city, in an old bookstore, Meghla would sit—by the window. She would look outside more, read books less. Because if she looked outside, she would see Anik.
Anik would come every day. Sometimes she would take poetry books, sometimes novels. But the real reason was Meghla's laughter—not too loud, not too slow—just like love should be.
One day Meghla asked,
"Do you really read so many books?"
Anik paused and said,
"No… I'm actually looking for a story."
"What story?"
"That one day will come true."
Meghla didn't say anything. She just laughed.
Some laughs answer more than questions.
The rain that day was strange. It came suddenly. The store was closed, people were running. But Anik and Meghla were standing under the same umbrella—very close, yet a little far away.
Meghla said,
"Some things are not said, right?"
Anik looked into her eyes. He wanted to say so many things.
But he was afraid—what if those words were lost?
Anik left after a few weeks. Transfer. New city.
On the day he left, Meghla was not at the shop.
Anik had written on a piece of paper—
"Some stories are only beautiful if they are incomplete."
Meghla kept that paper close to her chest for a long time.
Every time it rained, she would come and stand by the window.
Because love knows how to wait.
A year later.
Rain again.
That bookstore again.
Anik again.
Meghla looked at him for a while. Then she said,
"Are you looking for a story this time too?"
Anik slowly shook his head and said,
"No. This time I came to finish the story."
All the noise of the city disappeared in the sound of the rain.
Two people, and the unsaid words that had been accumulating for many days.
Some stories never end.
Some loves just take time.
And the rain?
That's just an excuse.