Chapter Text
Rains. There is something frighteningly beautiful about rains. While they threaten to leave you thoroughly drenched; yet they tempt you to welcome the force they bring along. Even if they possess the potency to wash away every vestige of your conscious, each droplet holds a promise to leave behind nothing but purity of thought.
...and often I find myself drawn to the bargain they promise. A place so safe, that my words find a life of their own.
Sitting by the window, penning these thoughts in her ever-faithful journal, she glanced out to once again to watch the heavy downpour. She loved writing per se. She loved writing even more when it rained. She knew admitting this fact came at the cost of sounding dramatic, but she was secure in the knowledge that she would never need to admit the same out loud. She did not see herself in a situation where someone would be that invested. That any person would ever hold an interest to know the stuff her dreams are made up off. So she allowed herself to enjoy her writing, especially writing when it rained, secure in her solitude.
They shared a sense of camaraderie, the rain and her. She was grateful for the bond they shared. The silence in the raging drops. So Geet sat, any hour that it rained, in the little haven of cushions, placed on a settee by the window of her room. Her refuge, her shelter, her dream.
But as forces of nature cannot be controlled, matters of heart cannot be anticipated.
Across the narrow street from her window, under the deserted bus-stop, he sat shrouded in the cover of darkness, watching on fascinated by the sight he beheld. It was an amazing sight, maybe not unique in its setting, but unique in the aura it emanated. Never before he had seen such abandonment, sitting by the window without any regard to the tempest that raged around. Never before he has seen such faith, that the downpour will bring forth nothing but a sense of calm.
She was scribbling away fastidiously, with complete dedication to her thoughts. Her head bent, her profile in the line of his gaze - moonlit, striking and alluring. Occasionally the raindrops would find their way in her tresses, flowing down as rivulets, soothing away her struggle with letters if ever she faltered. His eyes traced an ascendant path on her being with an unexplained excitement. Fingers that attempted to tame the flicks that went wild with the flirtatious winds. Lips pursed in concentration or absent-mindedly chewing away the pencil head. The brows that were furrowed in deep contemplation.
He wondered what it would be look into her eyes, what depth of emotion he may encounter, how far will he be snatched from the shores of sanity.
"Maan Sir", a voice startled him out of his thoughts. "The car is here, Sir".
"Hmm". He reluctantly tore his gaze away, turned his back as he headed back into his rich, extravagant and blasé existence.