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77. A Love Written in Raindrops



The rain poured heavily as Ayaan hurried into the old bookstore at the corner of the street. His coat was soaked, and his hair clung to his forehead, but he didn’t care. He loved rainy days—they reminded him of poetry, of warm coffee, of the girl he had once loved and lost.

As he browsed through the shelves, running his fingers over the spines of old books, a familiar scent filled the air—a mix of jasmine and vanilla. His heart skipped a beat. He turned around, and there she was.

Zara.

She stood by the window, flipping through the pages of a novel, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders, her deep brown eyes lost in the words. She hadn't changed much in the past five years. The sight of her made Ayaan’s chest tighten.

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He hesitated. Should he say something? Or should he walk away, letting fate decide if their paths were meant to cross again? But fate had already played its part—bringing them together on a rainy evening like this.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer. "Still lost in books, I see," he said softly.

Zara turned, startled. Her eyes widened when she saw him, surprise flickering in them like candlelight. "Ayaan?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He nodded, smiling slightly. "It’s been a while."

"It has," she said, closing the book in her hands. "How… how have you been?"

Ayaan chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Still writing poems no one reads, still drinking too much coffee, and still getting caught in the rain."

A small smile played on her lips. "That sounds like you."

They stood in silence for a moment, the rain drumming against the window, filling the spaces between their unsaid words. The last time they had spoken, it had been in anger, their love drowning in misunderstandings. They had parted ways, thinking time would erase what they felt. But time had only deepened the longing.

"I never stopped thinking about you," Ayaan admitted finally. His voice was soft, hesitant, but honest.

Zara’s fingers tightened around the book she held. "Neither did I," she whispered.

Ayaan took a step closer. "Maybe… we made a mistake letting go."

Zara looked down, as if searching for the right words among the raindrops on the window. "Maybe we did," she said after a pause.

Outside, the rain softened, turning into a gentle drizzle. It felt as if the storm had passed, not just in the sky but between them too.

"Would you like to get some coffee?" Ayaan asked, his voice filled with quiet hope.

Zara met his gaze, her eyes shining with something unspoken—something that felt like a second chance.

"I'd love to," she said, and just like that, the pages of their love story began turning again.

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