A love story
When Ayan first saw Riya, it was raining.
Not the dramatic kind of rain from movies—just a soft, stubborn drizzle that soaked the streets and made people walk faster. Ayan was standing at the bus stop, late as always, scrolling through his phone and pretending he wasn't worried. Then she appeared, holding a blue umbrella that was slightly broken on one side.
She smiled at him.
It was a small smile, polite and accidental, but it stayed with him longer than the rain.
They didn't talk that day. They just stood there, two strangers sharing the same wait, listening to the same traffic and the same sky. When the bus arrived, she got on first. Ayan followed, and for a moment their hands touched on the railing. He felt something strange—like his heart had missed a step.
For the next few weeks, Ayan started noticing her everywhere. Same bus. Same time. Same blue umbrella when it rained. Sometimes she looked tired, sometimes lost in thought, sometimes quietly happy. He wanted to talk to her, but the words never came out right in his head.
One day, the bus was crowded. Someone pushed, and Riya almost lost her balance. Without thinking, Ayan held her arm.
"Sorry," he said quickly.
She laughed. "It's okay. Thank you."
That was it. Two sentences. But after that, things changed.
They started talking—about small things at first. The weather. The traffic. The terrible music the bus driver played every morning. Slowly, the conversations grew longer. They learned each other's names, favorite foods, and dreams they didn't tell many people.
Riya wanted to open a small café someday. Ayan wanted to write stories, though he had never shown them to anyone.
"Why not?" she asked once.
"I'm scared," he answered honestly.
She nodded. "Me too."
That was the moment Ayan realized he was falling in love.
Not loudly. Not suddenly. Just quietly, the way night becomes morning.
They began meeting outside the bus rides. Coffee after work. Long walks without direction. Shared silence that never felt awkward. With Riya, Ayan felt like he could be himself—not the version he showed the world, but the real one.
One evening, sitting by the river, Ayan almost said it.
"I—" he started.
Riya looked at him, waiting.
But fear won. He changed the sentence. "I think it's getting cold."
She smiled, but something in her eyes dimmed for just a second.
Life, as it always does, moved forward.
Riya got a job offer in another city. It was a big opportunity, the kind people wait years for.
"I don't know what to do," she said softly.
Ayan wanted to tell her to stay. Wanted to say I love you, don't go. But love, when mixed with fear, often becomes silence.
"You should go," he said instead. "It's good for you."
She looked at him for a long time. "Is that what you want?"
He lied. "Yes."
The last bus ride together was quiet. No jokes. No laughter. Just memories sitting between them like something fragile.
At the stop, Riya held her blue umbrella tightly.
"Take care of yourself, Ayan," she said.
"You too," he replied.
She walked away, and this time, she didn't look back.
The days after felt empty. The bus stop was the same, but everything else felt wrong. Ayan tried to write, but the words wouldn't come. He missed her laugh, her honesty, the way she listened like his thoughts mattered.
Months passed.
One night, unable to sleep, Ayan opened his old notebook. He started writing—not carefully, not perfectly—but honestly. He wrote about rain, bus stops, blue umbrellas, and the love he was too afraid to speak.
He posted the story online under a fake name.
It went viral.
People shared it, commented on it, cried over it. And one day, Ayan received a message.
"Is this you?"
—Riya
His hands shook as he typed back.
"Yes."
They met again, at the same river.
"You never told me," she said.
"I was scared," he replied. "I thought loving you meant letting you go."
She shook her head gently. "Sometimes loving someone means choosing them—even when you're afraid."
Ayan took a deep breath. "I love you, Riya. I always did."
She smiled, the same small smile from the rainy day. "I know. And I never stopped loving you either."
This time, the rain came again.
But they shared the umbrella.
And this time, Ayan didn't let fear decide the ending.
❤️❤️