Whispers of the Monsoon – Part 3
742 Words
Days passed since that kiss, but for Piya, it felt like a dream she didn’t want to wake up from. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel Aarav’s touch, the way his lips had spoken more than words ever could.
It was a sunny afternoon when her phone buzzed.
Aarav: “Meet me at the old library by 4. Don’t ask why. Just come.”
Piya smiled at her screen, biting her lip. Typical Aarav. Always mysterious, always pulling her toward something unexpected. She didn’t reply but started getting ready, her heart doing somersaults as it always did when she knew she’d see him.
By the time she reached the old library—a place forgotten by most—Aarav was already waiting. He leaned against his bike, the sunlight playing across his face. He looked up and smiled, that signature grin that melted her every time.
“You’re late,” he teased, stepping toward her.
“I didn’t know we were timing this,” she shot back, rolling her eyes playfully.
Aarav chuckled, shaking his head. “Come here.”
She walked closer, her curiosity piqued. “What’s so urgent?”
Without answering, Aarav reached into his bag and pulled out an old notebook—its edges worn, its pages yellowed with time. “This belonged to my grandfather,” he said softly, holding it out to her. “He wrote love letters to my grandmother in this. It’s filled with their story—how they met, how they fell in love… how they stayed in love.”
Piya looked up at him, her heart warm at the sentiment. “Why are you showing me this?”
Aarav smiled, his eyes soft. “Because I want to write a story like this, Piya. With you.”
Her breath caught. Aarav always had a way of saying the simplest things that felt like poetry. “You’re ridiculous,” she whispered, unable to hide her smile.
He laughed. “Maybe I am. But isn’t love supposed to be a little ridiculous?”
Piya looked at the notebook, then at him. “So, what do you want to write first?”
Aarav stepped closer, his fingers brushing hers as he opened the notebook to a blank page. “Let’s start with today. Our first real date.”
“Date?” Piya raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Of course,” he said, grinning. “Come on, I’ve planned it all.”
He grabbed her hand, leading her toward his bike. They rode through narrow streets, where sunlight trickled through old trees and the breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers. Aarav stopped at a small tea stall on the edge of a lake—a quiet spot no one else seemed to know about.
The two of them sat on the grass, cups of steaming tea in hand, the lake glimmering in the afternoon sun. Aarav looked at her as if the whole world had faded away. “You know, I think I’ve been searching for you my whole life.”
Piya shook her head, smiling shyly. “And now that you’ve found me?”
“I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, his voice low and sure.
Piya’s cheeks burned as she looked away, but Aarav tilted her chin back toward him, his gaze unwavering. “Piya, you’re the only story I want to write. Forever.”
And in that quiet moment, as the sun dipped lower and the lake shimmered gold, Piya realized something—love wasn’t loud or dramatic like in the movies. Sometimes, love was a boy who brought you to hidden lakes, who shared his family’s love story with you, and who held your hand like he’d never let go.
Aarav reached into his bag once more and handed her a pen. “Here. You write the first line.”
Piya laughed softly, taking the pen, her hand trembling slightly. She leaned over the notebook and wrote:
“This is the day I knew I’d found my forever.”
Aarav smiled, leaning closer, his voice just above a whisper. “Forever sounds perfect, doesn’t it?”
She turned to him, her heart full. “It does.”
And as they sat there, writing their story under the warm sky, the world felt small and simple and beautiful.
Because sometimes, forever begins with a single word, a single promise, and two hearts brave enough to dream together.
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- Writer
