1. Unexpected First Meeting
The monsoon had turned Mumbai into a watercolor blur. Rain hammered the tin roof of the bus stop at Dadar station, where Arjun waited, his backpack soaked through. He was 28, a software engineer from a modest Bengali family in Malegaon—visiting relatives for Durga Puja prep, though the festival was weeks away. His phone was dead, and the buses were delayed. He cursed under his breath, huddling under the flimsy shelter.That's when she collided into him. Riya, 26, dashed from the downpour, her dupatta tangled in her elbow, umbrella flipping inside out. She stumbled right into his chest, spilling her stack of library books onto the puddle-strewn platform. "Sorry!" she gasped, kneeling to gather them. Water splashed up, soaking her jeans.Arjun blinked, helping without thinking. No sparks, no dramatic eye-lock—just annoyance. "Watch where you're going," he muttered, handing her a soggy novel. The Alchemist—ironic, he thought. She snatched it, her dark eyes flashing. "You were standing like a lamppost. Move next time." Her voice had that sharp Kolkata lilt, cutting through the rain.No smiles exchanged. But as the bus finally screeched in, a stray dog—muddy and whining—darted between them. Arjun scooped it up instinctively; Riya grabbed its collar. For a split second, their hands brushed over the shivering fur. The dog shook itself, spraying them both. She laughed—a short, reluctant bark. He smirked despite himself.They boarded separately. Arjun never got her name. But that dog? It stuck in his mind like wet sand.
2. Slow Growing ConnectionTwo weeks later,
Arjun spotted her at the local library in Malegaon. He was killing time before a family Lakshmi Puja ritual—his aunt insisted on his help arranging the altar. Riya sat at a corner table, buried in a stack of history books on Bengal's freedom fighters. Same dupatta, now dry.He hesitated, then approached. "Dog girl from the bus stop?" No hello, just blunt.She looked up, surprised, then grinned faintly. "Lamppost man. You stalk libraries too?"Small talk started there. Buses. Rain. Mumbai's chaos. They bumped into each other again at the same teashop near the station—him grabbing chai post-work, her after college classes (she was pursuing a master's in literature). No plans, pure coincidence. "Fate's bad planner," she'd joke.Conversations deepened over weeks. One evening, under fairy lights at a street food stall, she mentioned her love for ghost stories—Bengali folktales with vengeful spirits. He shared his coding hacks, how algorithms mimicked destiny but always glitched. Secrets slipped out: his fear of flying, rooted in a childhood train mishap; her habit of writing unsent letters to lost friends.They texted now—memes about monsoon woes, quotes from books. No dates, just "accidental" meets. Arjun felt a pull, unnamed. Riya's laughs came easier, her guard softening.
3. Hidden Pain
Riya hid her scars well. Behind bright smiles and quick wit lay a fracture: two years ago, her fiancé betrayed her. Vikram, from a "perfect" Kolkata family, had cheated with her cousin during their engagement prep—Lakshmi Puja eve, no less. The family imploded; her parents divorced in the fallout. She fled to Mumbai for a fresh start, but love? It was a ghost she feared summoning.Arjun sensed it. Her eyes would cloud during talks of family, her laughs forced when weddings came up. "You okay?" he'd ask gently once, over filter coffee."Fine," she'd deflect, changing the subject to his work stress. He didn't push—respected the wall. But he noticed: the way she lingered near his family's Puja altar sketches he'd shown her, eyes wistful for what she'd lost.His own pains were lighter—absent father, pressure to marry a "suitable" girl. But Riya's shadow? It tugged at him.
4. Love Without Confession
Love bloomed in silences. Arjun brought her favorite mishti doi when she aced an exam—no words, just a bag left at the library desk. She fixed his torn shirt cuff during a street-side chat, fingers lingering. Jealousy flickered: when a colleague flirted with him at a café, her chai cup slammed down harder.They acted like lovers. Late-night walks where he'd shield her from puddles with his jacket. Her hand in his during a crowded train—accidental, then not. Protection: he once chased off a leering auto driver; she bandaged his cut hand after a bike skid, scolding like a wife."I love you" stayed unspoken. Friendship was safe harbor. "What if?" hung between them, a fragile thread. One night, stargazing on Marine Drive (monsoon-cleared skies), she leaned on his shoulder. He froze, heart pounding. Neither moved. Fear won.
5. The Turning Point
It shattered over a lie. Arjun's family pushed an arranged match—a girl from Malegaon, "perfect" Bengali match. He mentioned it casually during a beachside chaat run: "Just meeting her. No big deal."Riya's face paled. "Good for you. Move on with your life." Misunderstanding brewed—she thought he was choosing safety over them. He didn't correct her fast enough.Sacrifice followed. She ghosted for days. When they met at the library, words exploded. "You're a coward, Arjun! Pretending we're nothing while planning weddings!" Hurt poured out—her past betrayal fueling the fire."You're the one hiding!" he shot back. "Smiling through your pain like I'm blind!" Harsh, unforgivable: "Maybe Vikram was right to leave you."She slapped the table, tears brimming. "Stay away. I don't need your pity." They parted in the rain, echoes of their bus-stop start.
6. Time Gap
Eighteen months crawled by. Arjun threw into work—promotion to lead developer, colder edges forming. He dated briefly, fizzles all. Memories stung: her laugh in the rain, hand on the dog. Love festered, unhealed.Riya finished her master's, took a teaching job in Pune. Stronger now—therapy unpacked her family's wreckage. Colder too; walls tripled. Vikram's ghost faded, but Arjun's? It haunted her journals. She wrote unsent letters: You saw my pain and ran.They changed. He grew a beard, shoulders broader from gym escapes. She cut her hair short, voice steadier in classrooms reciting Tagore. Love lingered, a dull ache.
7. Fate Brings Them
BackTwo years post-fight, Diwali lights twinkled in Malegaon. Arjun, home for family Puja, queued at a mithai shop. Rain—always rain—pattered down.Riya turned from the counter, box of laddoos in hand. Visiting her aunt, same neighborhood. Eyes met. World narrowed."Arjun." No anger, just quiet shock."Riya." Silence roared louder than words. Old pull ignited—jealousy of her poised glow, care in his instinctive umbrella offer.They stood in the downpour's edge. No hugs. But eyes said: I never stopped.
8. Truth Revealed
Over chai at a nearby stall—fate's insistence—they unraveled. "I didn't marry her," Arjun confessed. "That 'meeting' was one coffee. I lied to push you—hoping you'd fight for us."Her tears fell. "Vikram broke me. I hid it, fearing you'd leave too. Your words that day... they confirmed it."Pain spilled: her parents' divorce details, betrayal's raw wound. His regrets—watching her pain, too scared to bridge it. Forgiveness came in sobs, hands clasping across the table. Misunderstanding cleared like monsoon clouds.9. Choice of LoveDawn broke on choices. Love or fear? Past chains or future unknown? Riya's job in Pune pulled; Arjun's in Mumbai anchored. "We can't half-do this," she whispered.He risked it. Quit his job, applied for remote work—everything on the line. No grand speech. Instead, he knelt by the Puja altar at his home (she'd come for closure), lighting a diya. Took her hand: "This is my confession. Build with me?"Action over words. She nodded, tears mixing with resolve. Past yielded; future beckoned.
10. Realistic Ending:
Love Changes Them ForeverThey tried. Six months in Pune—Arjun freelancing, them renting a tiny flat with a balcony for rainy evenings. Love was real: shared mishti, her teaching his coding basics, his stories inspiring her poems. No fairy tale; arguments flared over distances, her fears resurfacing.But growth stuck. Riya confronted family ghosts, hosting her own Lakshmi Puja—healing ritual. Arjun softened, beard shaved, vulnerability his strength.Yet life intruded. Her dream fellowship abroad—Oxford, literature research. His roots called back to Malegaon family duties. "Go," he urged at the airport. "I'll wait."She did. They parted with a promise: letters, not unsent. No forever together, but love's mark eternal—stronger selves, hearts etched. In Mumbai rains or Pune winters, that bus-stop dog memory smiled back. Love didn't bind; it freed.
