Chapter 2 The Second Encounter
640 Words
The rain didn’t stop for hours.
Meera stayed inside the library longer than she planned, pretending to flip through old books while secretly stealing glances at the stranger.
He stood near the window, staring at the storm as if it were an old enemy.
His shoulders were tense. His fists clenched, then relaxed, then clenched again—like he was fighting a memory only he could see.
Finally, he pulled out his phone, stared at the screen, and exhaled in frustration.
Meera watched him for a moment before telling herself firmly: Stop staring. He’s a stranger. You are being weird.
She shook her head, slung her camera around her neck, and walked toward the exit.
But fate, as always, had its own plans.
Just as she reached the door, the stranger’s voice stopped her.
“Wait.”
She turned.
He took a few steps toward her, rainwater still dripping from his sleeves.
“I should… probably thank you,” he said, voice softer now.
“For what?” Meera blinked.
“For not deleting the photograph.”
His eyes dropped for a moment. “Sometimes… you don’t know what you look like until someone else shows you.”
The line hit her unexpectedly deep.
She smiled a little. “I didn’t delete it because your expression was… honest. Rare.”
“Is that what you capture?” he asked. “Honesty?”
“I try.”
He nodded, absorbing that.
“Arjun.”
Meera looked up. “Huh?”
“My name,” he clarified, a faint, almost shy smile touching his lips. “I’m Arjun.”
She smiled back. “Meera.”
Their names hung in the air between them… like the promise of something unfinished.
---
A loud thunderclap shook the library, and the flickering lights dimmed. Arjun turned toward the door.
“I have a meeting,” he muttered. “A very important one. And I’m already late.”
Meera lifted an eyebrow. “Important meeting? In this storm?”
He huffed a half-laugh. “Believe me, if I could avoid it, I would.”
“Architect?” she guessed.
He blinked. “How did you—?”
“You have that look. Like you’re constantly imagining buildings around you.”
For the first time, a real smile curved his lips—unexpected, warm, almost boyish.
“You’re not very wrong,” he admitted.
Meera’s heart did a small, ridiculous jump.
He pulled out that soaked folder from earlier, sighing at its wrinkled edges.
“You know,” she said gently, “running in the rain with paper is never a good idea.”
“Trust me,” he replied dryly, “I learned that the hard way at age ten.”
Something about the way he said it—quickly, defensively—made Meera feel like the story behind it mattered more than he wanted to admit.
Before she could ask, the rain softened outside.
Arjun glanced toward the road. “Looks like it’s slowing. I should go.”
Meera nodded. “Take care.”
He walked past her, pushing open the creaking library door.
Then—he paused.
Looked back.
“Meera?”
“Yes?”
“Maybe… don’t delete that photograph.”
Her breath caught. “I won’t.”
He nodded, turned, and disappeared into the drizzle.
---
Meera stepped outside a moment later, the rain cool on her skin. She lifted her camera, scrolled through the photos, and stopped at that one.
Arjun.
Soaked hair. Lost eyes. A strange ache in his expression.
A stranger.
A mystery.
A story she suddenly wanted to understand.
As she looked at the picture, she whispered to herself—
“This isn’t the last time we meet.”
And somewhere across the street, standing under the half-broken bus stop, Arjun thought the exact same thing.
---
- Writer
