The rain started the same way it had five years ago—soft, uncertain, almost shy.
Aisha stood near the old bus stop, her fingers wrapped tightly around a paper cup of now-cold coffee. The city had changed. The buildings were taller, the roads wider, the people busier. But this place… this place still remembered.
And so did she.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
After everything that happened, after the silence, after the unanswered messages and the pride that swallowed apologies, she had promised herself she would never come back.
Yet here she was.
Because some promises are weaker than memories.
A familiar scent drifted through the rain—fresh earth, wet pavement… and something else. Something that made her heart stutter.
"Still hate the rain?"
The voice was deeper now. Calmer. But it carried the same warmth that once felt like home.
Aisha froze.
Slowly—too slowly—she turned around.
Arjun stood a few steps away, his black umbrella tilted slightly, rain sliding down the edges. His hair was shorter. His shoulders broader. But his eyes…
His eyes were exactly the same.
Brown. Honest. Dangerous.
"I don't hate the rain," she said quietly, though her voice betrayed her with the slightest tremble. "I just don't like what it reminds me of."
A faint smile touched his lips. "Me?"
Her breath caught.
There were a thousand things she wanted to say.
You left.
You didn't fight for us.
You let me go.
But instead, she asked, "Why are you here?"
Arjun stepped closer, closing the distance that once felt impossible to cross. "I come here every year."
Her heart skipped. "Why?"
"Because this is where you said you loved me for the first time."
The world seemed to go silent.
Even the rain softened, as if it, too, was listening.
"I was young," she whispered. "We both were."
"And stupid," he added gently. "Mostly me."
She looked at him then—really looked at him. There was no arrogance left in his posture. No careless confidence. Only something fragile. Something hopeful.
"I waited," he said, his voice barely audible above the rain. "I waited for you to call. To text. To give me one reason to stay."
Her chest tightened. "I thought you didn't want me anymore."
Arjun let out a soft, broken laugh. "I've wanted you every single day."
The confession hung between them—raw, exposed, trembling.
Five years of distance.
Five years of silence.
Five years of pretending they were fine.
Aisha felt tears mix with the rain on her cheeks. "You hurt me."
"I know." His voice cracked. "And I've regretted it every day."
Silence again.
But this time, it wasn't heavy. It wasn't angry.
It was careful.
Hopeful.
Arjun slowly lowered his umbrella and stepped into the rain with her. Within seconds, they were both drenched—just like that night long ago.
"Tell me it's too late," he said softly. "If it is, I'll walk away. I won't come back again."
She searched his face for hesitation.
There was none.
Only truth.
The rain grew heavier, as if demanding an answer.
Aisha's heart pounded against her ribs. Loving him had once been the easiest thing in the world.
Letting him go had been the hardest.
And forgiving him…
That felt terrifying.
But sometimes, love doesn't disappear.
It waits.
Quietly. Patiently.
Like rain clouds that always find their way back.
She took one small step forward.
Then another.
Until there was no space left between them.
"It's not too late," she whispered.
Arjun's breath hitched. "Aisha…"
"But if you ever walk away again," she continued, her voice trembling yet firm, "I won't survive it twice."
He gently lifted his hand, hesitating just inches from her face. "I'm not walking away," he promised. "Not this time. Not ever."
And when he pulled her into his arms, it didn't feel like a new beginning.
It felt like coming home.
The rain kept falling.
The rain didn't stop that night.
Neither did the memories.
Aisha sat by her bedroom window, still wrapped in the damp scent of yesterday. Her phone lay on the table beside her. Silent. Heavy. Dangerous.
She knew he would text.
And somehow… that terrified her more than if he didn't.
As if on cue, her screen lit up.
Arjun: "Did you reach home safely?"
Four simple words.
Five years of silence.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Aisha: "Yes."
She stared at the message after sending it, her heart pounding like she had just confessed something forbidden.
Almost instantly, three dots appeared.
Typing…
Stopped.
Typing again…
She swallowed.
Arjun: "Can we talk? Properly. Tomorrow?"
The word properly made her chest tighten. They had never really talked properly. Not when it mattered.
That was the problem.
The next evening, they met at a quiet café near the river. The sky was clear this time—no rain to hide behind.
Aisha noticed how nervous he looked.
Good, she thought. Let him feel it too.
"You said you wanted to talk," she began, keeping her voice steady.
Arjun nodded. He didn't waste time.
"My father was sick."
The words hit her unexpectedly.
"What?"
"Five years ago," he continued, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup, "he was diagnosed with a heart condition. It was serious. I had to take over the business suddenly. Everything fell apart at once."
Aisha blinked. "You never told me."
"I didn't want you to stay out of pity."
Her breath caught. "So you pushed me away instead?"
He looked at her, guilt written all over his face. "I thought if you hated me, it would be easier for you."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Easier? Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
His silence was answer enough.
She remembered the sleepless nights. The unanswered calls. The way her self-worth slowly crumbled because she thought she wasn't enough.
"You don't get to decide what's easier for me," she whispered, her voice shaking now. "You don't get to break my heart and call it protection."
"I know," he said softly. "And if I could go back, I would choose differently."
Regret looked good on him.
Too good.
"And now?" she asked. "What changed?"
"You."
Her heart skipped again—traitor.
"I saw you yesterday," he continued, "and I realized I've been surviving… not living. There's a difference."
The café felt too small suddenly.
Too close.
Too intense.
"I'm not the same girl, Arjun," she warned. "I don't love blindly anymore."
"I'm not asking you to," he replied. "I'm asking you to let me prove myself."
Silence stretched between them.
Outside, the river moved steadily—calm on the surface, powerful underneath.
Just like her emotions.
"Prove what?" she asked quietly.
"That I won't run." His eyes didn't waver. "That when things get hard, I'll stay."
She studied him carefully. People say love is about grand gestures.
But she had learned something different.
Love is about consistency.
About staying.
About choosing the same person—again and again.
And she wasn't sure yet if she was ready to choose him again.
Her phone suddenly buzzed on the table.
Unknown number.
She hesitated… then answered.
"Hello?"
A female voice spoke on the other end.
"Hi. Is this Aisha?"
"Yes."
"I think you should know… Arjun is engaged."
The world stopped.
Aisha's fingers went cold.
Across the table, Arjun frowned. "What happened?"
She slowly lowered the phone.
Her heart didn't just break this time.
It shattered.
"Is there something you forgot to tell me?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm.
Arjun's face drained of color.
"Aisha, I can explain—"
But she was already standing.
"Five years ago, you left without fighting. Don't do this again."
And with that, she walked away—leaving him in a silence far heavier than the rain.