It wasn’t a good night’s sleep. I was tossing in bed and waiting for sleep to hit me real hard. Power cuts in summer is such a pain in the butt!
Few moments later, I could feel my face caressed by gentle breeze. My sweating forehead finally found solace.
I winced as I felt a few droplets on my face and opened my eyes only to realise it was raining. The tiny droplets bounced on to my face after being hit on the window pane.
With my eyes opened, still lying on bed, I saw the streaks of lightings illuminate the sky and I let my face take all the spills of the droplets.
“First rain of monsoon,” I murmured.
Every drop that hit me flashed down a slide show of memories. The roaring sky, ocassional lighting, darkness and silence, except for the sound of the rain and lightinings, was too much for me to recall all those good old memories.
Every single drop took me down to my memory lane. The very first one that hit me, took me to my childhood where I was left with no choice but stay at home and not go out to play due to rain. I hated rain back then.
And the second one was too quick to remind me of my crush. Yea, my crush. How I shared my umbrella with her to cross a street after having pani puri on road side.
But my chest felt heavy, when the droplets reminded me of my journey with her. The woman I had been destined to meet and fall in love with and suffer the injuries from the fall.
Falling for her was very easy, just like the rain, but the injury from the fall dispersed me into many shapes, I couldn’t gather myself to stand altogether as one unit of droplet.
It all started with a random text on Orkut. Yea, Orkut it was. Eventually ended up as friends only to realise we live a few blocks away from each other.
It was monsoon back then when we first met. How she came half drenched and how we both became the closest of friends over a chai at Rashid’s café.
“Lucky me, I didn’t put on makeup, else my face would have been a mess in this rain,” the first line she spoke when we met.
Frequent meets in those rainy days was enough to make me fall for her chirpy voice and beaming smile.
How I once had to drop by her house due to heavy rain and how she made coffee for both of us while I used her towel to dry my hair.
How the meeting at her place slowly turned romantic with candles lights inside and fierce winds outside. Power cut at that moment was the last thing I would regret in my life. And my hate towards rains slowly diminished.
How we shared a single blanket and single cup of coffee over time while we watched the least frightening horror movies and I pretended to be scared just to hold her hand.
How she would tie her hair back into a bun and pull her sleeves up after a tired day and smile to my compliments at her looks.
“How is the coffee?” she would sometimes ask.
“Needs some sugar, but don’t worry, your words are sweet enough to fill that,” I would wink. She would add two more spoons of sugar and stir my cup.
And how she asked me to take her out for a drive in the rain where she did spread her hands in the air to live that moment to the fullest as I drove her second hand Activa she bought with her hard earned money.
“Are you enjoying this moment?” She would shout from behind.
“Yeah, I am,” I used to lie as I would be busy adjusting my glasses and vision to drive properly in that heavy rain.
How sometimes we would sit on the rocks of the sea shore and wait for the waves to hit us with full force.
As the rainy season faded the bond between us grew stronger.
“First Rain of Monsoon,” I murmured yet again but this time with my eyes closed and wiping the rain drops off my face.
A heavy roar from the sky and streaks of lightings illuminated the sky yet again but this time turning the weather harsh.
Slowly, I regained my senses, jumping back to past isn’t that easy. Reliving what we once were obsessed with and then coming back to the reality is the hardest part one could experience.
Because, now, the coffee never tastes the same, the pillion seat of my bike remains empty forever, the other side of my bed is left unoccupied, the watch I bought for her is still hanging around in my closet and the unsaid words are still sound and loud enough that they are reverberating in my mind.
To be continued…
© The Heartbroken Quill