The rain had dried up –
every drip, every puddle –
but Hillie couldn't go out
while her room was a muddle.
Mom had been clear, and
her dad had agreed,
"First, clean up this
...
[+]
Avinaash was loved as a child. Was. Many things were in Avinaash's life.
His mother was the purest soul anyone had ever known, until a car stole her, and his father, too. The house was laughter spilling like sunlight through sheer curtains. Now, it was only the rain drumming on the roof. Avinaash was bubbly as an infant. Avinaash was the apple of his parents' eyes.
Life, for Avinaash, was a mission to replace was with is.
He traced the blurred lines of an old photograph, feeling warmth he could not name. Nostalgia hung in the humid air like fog, a refuge for those craving a love they had never truly touched. After losing his parents at two, love remained a theory. Something to dissect in books, not live.
Avinaash didn't want grand gestures. He didn't want declarations cinematic or loud. He wanted only a hand steady on his shoulder, a voice unwavering through the storms life hurled. Was that too much to ask? Destiny seemed to nod yes.
Unlucky in love, his wallet thinned faster than hope. Two thousand rupees left, tucked between soaked receipts. Living under his unemployed uncle's roof offered little shelter. Today might be the last date he could afford. He resolved: go all in.
He didn't need to search. He already knew her.
Vaamika. First crush. First heartbreak never confronted. He had the courage to approach every other girl, every other prospect. But her? Just thinking of her made his chest tighten. Lately, she drew him in: quiet gravity, tenderness wrapped in mist. Present, distant, unknowable. She seemed like she might hold the answers he had chased all his life.
This thought electrified him. After all, what else could a literature major do but cling to childlike optimism?
Literature had taught him hope: reckless, unhinged, wild. Somewhere deep inside, a wish flickered: a hand to hold in the rain, laughter shared, someone he could call his own. Risk everything? Yes. Retreat? Not an option.
No Plan B. Only this: this heart, this moment, this gamble. Avinaash pressed the last two thousand rupees into his pocket, tiny armour for the leap ahead.
Thud. A note slipped from his torn wallet, landing on the water-darkened table. "Watch out, son! Don't let it slip!" His uncle's voice rumbled, heavy with sleep.
Most would have ignored it, but Avinaash, steeped in symbolism, saw a sign. The small gust spun his thoughts: decades of fear, heartbreak, hesitation pressing heavier than ever.
What if she didn't like him? What if she thought he sought a mother, not a partner? What if she couldn't bear the weight of his scars? What if he was... unlovable?
Avinaash decided to meet her. Not out of spite for the life he did not get, but out of a deep, abiding belief in poetic justice. This was his character arc. Perhaps reframing a life of despair as buildup to a magical payoff was his way of coping with life, the kind of delusion literature taught him to call hope.
Vaamika arrived at Café Karma, braid brushing her shoulder, skirt crisp against the chair. Coffee steam curled between them; the hum of the old fan made his pulse jump. The monsoon tapped a syncopated rhythm on the tin roof, urging him forward.
Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes to stake everything on a few words that might fall flat like puddles on the street outside. He shuffled papers in his notebook, pretending to read. The table wobbled beneath their elbows. The rain drummed a persistent beat against the window.
He tried a joke. She smiled, lips catching the amber glow of hanging lights. Damp fabric whispered as she leaned forward. His words tangled in his throat.
"Avi," she said finally, voice soft over the monsoon patter, "you search for home in everyone. But no one can be your home until you stop running from yourself."
Her eyes held the quiet weight of a storm: still, steady, penetrating. Not judgment. Not pity. Only truth, warm as a hand pressed over a bruise. He realised he hadn't breathed for a long moment. Rain fell harder, drumming like applause he couldn't hear.
A droplet slid down the window, refracting the neon sign outside. Avinaash's fingers itched to reach for her hand but didn't move. Her hand rested lightly on his, a tether, a whisper of warmth against the monsoon chill.
Back in the taxi, water splashed against the tires, the windshield smeared with streaks of rain. He caught himself in the rearview mirror. A smile spread across his face, real, unguarded, belonging to is rather than was. The leap, the heart risked, the two thousand rupees spent, the gamble: all of it was worth it.
A smile that said everything without saying a word. A smile that told Avinaash, maybe, just maybe, he was enough.