Echoes of Rain
Prologue
Rain beat against the window with the same fury it had the night Arun’s world collapsed. In the city’s endless shadows, loneliness wore a familiar face—a mask of hurried footsteps, flickering neon, and silent tears. Arun, a shy software engineer with dreams that stretched far beyond his small corner of Mumbai, counted the minutes and memories by the rhythm of water dripping outside his cramped apartment.
Tonight, the rain sounded different. It was heavier, slower, like a long sigh from the sky itself. The memories, as always, came uninvited: laughter shared with his father beside an old radio, his mother’s comforting hands weaving through his hair on exam nights, and the last message his wife, Nisha, sent before she vanished from his life forever.
This story is not about heroes. Nor is it about perfect endings. It’s about hope found in the most ordinary places, about battling the constant tide of reality, and learning—slowly, wrenchingly—to forgive.
Chapter 1: The Absence
Arun’s alarm rang at six, but he’d been awake since four. Shadows shifted restlessly above his head like unspoken regrets. He reached for the mug on his nightstand, feeling its chipped edge—a reminder of Nisha’s laughter, their shared mornings, her sudden absence. The bitterness of cheap coffee mingled with something sharper: the ache for answers.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed his phone’s blinking light. “Kanika,” the message read. “Are you coming to work today?”
Arun typed back, forcing cheeriness: “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” The truth was, these small acts of normalcy were all he had left.
Mumbai mornings held a strange kind of hope. The local train ride—crowded, sweaty, anonymous—offered solace. Here, everyone was anonymous, everyone carried stories they rarely shared. Arun gazed through rain-streaked glass as the city blurred by—a mosaic of ambitions and losses.
At the office, he kept his head low, exchanging pleasantries only when necessary. His manager, Ravi, handed him a stack of bug reports. “You okay, Arun?” Ravi asked, his voice soft enough for compassion yet firm with deadlines.
“I’m fine,” Arun lied. The truth was, the silence in meetings echoed too loudly, and the lunchtime laughter turned his stomach.
Chapter 2: Memories
Lunch break found Arun beneath the building’s awning, scribbling notes in a battered diary. “Face the truth,” he wrote. “Or keep running?”
A voice startled him. “Arun, you remember me?” It was Veena, from IT—her kindness a faint memory from lighter years.
“Veena,” he smiled, “I’d never forget.”
She sat beside him, sharing her sandwich. “We never talk anymore,” she said. “You used to share such funny stories. Like that bike ride on your birthday…”
Arun’s smile faded. “Things change, I guess.”
Veena looked into the rain. “You know, I lost my brother two years ago. No warning. The world doesn’t wait for your permission.”
Arun nodded, understanding more than he could express. Loss was a language without words.
Chapter 3: Letters Never Sent
That evening, Arun cleaned his inbox, deleting emails he’d never answer. At the bottom, a draft titled “To Nisha—Unsent.” He opened it. Inside, promises and confessions filled the empty space:
“I’m sorry for the fights. Sorry for being afraid when I should have been brave. I miss you, more than I miss warmth in winter. If you read this, wherever you are—please remember the little raincoat you gave me, the time you danced in the street and made strangers smile.”
Arun closed the draft, unsent. Some truths, he thought, were meant to be voiced only to the silence.
Chapter 4: New Chances
Days blurred into weeks. Arun’s mother called each night, her voice steady—a lifeline to what was real. “You’ll be okay, beta,” she always said, “just take one small step at a time.”
On Friday, Kanika from work invited Arun to a poetry reading. “Come,” she insisted. “I know it’s not your thing, but you need a change.”
At the café, Arun was surprised by his own laughter. Young poets spoke of heartbreak and hope, resilience and rain. One woman shared a poem about her disabled brother—how every day was a battle, and every smile a triumph.
Arun’s heart broke and healed, line by line.
Chapter 5: Facing the Past
That night, Arun visited the train station where Nisha had last texted him. It was the first time in months he stood where the world split in two. The station was alive with motion, strangers moving with purpose and without.
He sat quietly, feeling the pulse of the city, remembering Nisha’s smile. It was there, as the world faded to night, he realized: moving forward didn’t mean forgetting; it meant carrying the love, the pain, and the memories, onward.
Chapter 6: The Call
On his way home, Arun’s phone rang. It was Nisha’s mother. Her words came haltingly: “She’s safe. Far away. She needed to leave, Arun. There were things—pressures—in her life she couldn’t bear.”
Arun listened, shame and relief flooding him in equal measure. “Will she ever come back?” he asked.
“She said maybe, one day.”
Chapter 7: Growth
Months later, Arun’s routine changed. He took evening classes, wrote poems, visited old friends. Kanika became a confidant, sometimes more. Veena lost her job, but found new meaning teaching children to code.
In small doses, life crept back. Arun smiled more, wept less. Each day felt like a minor victory.
Chapter 8: Rain Again
One year passed. Arun stood by his window on another rainy night, mug in hand. The memories were softer now, less raw. He missed Nisha, but learned not to chase shadows. He forgave himself.
The city glowed beneath storm clouds—a signal that life, no matter the pain, goes on.
Comments
Post a Comment