After standing in quiet awe before the sunrise at Bessy—where the sky slowly unfurled in shades of lavender and gold, and the waves shimmered with the first touch of light—Siddharth let himself linger. The sand was still cool beneath his feet, the breeze carried the scent of brine and filter coffee from a distant stall, and the world felt momentarily unhurried.By the time he got home, it was 8:00 a.m. The sun was higher now, casting sharper shadows through his window.
The kettle refused to whistle, as if it too was reluctant to wake up to a morning that already felt heavier than it should.Siddharth tapped it once with a spoon. The flame flickered under the steel base, the heat pooling around the kitchen in the thick, too-early Chennai morning.
His phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with a message from the friends group, "Fantastic FOUR."
Madhu:
"Enjoy your freedom, boys. No office for me this week. Bridal spa time begins 😎"
He smiled at the text, the corners of his mouth curling in that bittersweet way that had started to feel like a constant. It was real now—her engagement, her new life.He poured the tea, added too much sugar—more out of habit than need—and let the steam fog up his glasses, staring into the clouded reflection.
9:00 a.m. Metro.
Routine. Predictable.
But there was still that feeling—the prickle on his skin. A sensation like someone had written something on his back and walked away.
Metro – 9:07 a.m.
The train was seven minutes late. Suspiciously late.
Inside, the usual morning crowd shuffled in—sleepy-eyed techies, aunties with tiffin boxes, students clinging to straps like lifelines.
Siddharth stood between his friends, wedged near the second pole. Bala was already venting about CSK’s middle order. Aravind mimicked a slow-motion wicket fall. Their voices hovered above the hum of the train—normal, comforting, irrelevant.
And then the lights blinked.
The train jerked to a sudden stop.
Siddharth’s shoulder slammed against the door. A baby yelped in surprise. Someone cursed loudly in Tamil.
The automated voice buzzed: "Signal issue… please be calm."
Siddharth steadied himself, heart thumping harder than it needed to. Sweat beaded on his neck, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
And then—
...
...
...
That green churidar again.
He didn’t spot her at first. Not until a pause in Bala’s rant and a flicker of green in the corner of his eye made him turn.
Green again. The same deep, leaf tone. Her hair was braided tight, headphones tucked in. She was across the aisle, gripping the pole with steady fingers, jaw set. Still. Stone still.
For a moment, he questioned his mind.
The hospital. The temple. That feeling.
Was he imagining her again?
But no.
This time, she was real.
And then—
Hema felt something all of a sudden, and her eyes lifted.
Right into his.
The noise of the crowd faded, blurred. Bala’s voice became a distant rumble. Aravind’s jokes, distant echoes.
The train was still.
The connection wasn’t loud. It didn’t scream.
It hummed.
Like electricity before a monsoon.
Like two verses in different languages finding the same rhythm.
Siddharth didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.
He just looked.
That eye contact—too calm, yet stormy.
It felt like standing at the edge of something: a beginning, maybe. Or a storm.
Just… certain.
The lights flickered again.
"Delay resolved," the announcement buzzed. "Train will start in ten minutes."
Siddharth blinked and looked away first.
That moment passed. The next ten minutes were weird, but he didn’t show anything.
Because if he looked any longer, his friends would see it. Would ask. Would joke.
And he wasn’t ready for jokes.
Not about this.
Hema lowered her gaze.
Not hurried. Just softly.
She knew it was him.
The train rolled forward.
By the time it reached their stop, the silence between them had said more than any words could have.
They stepped out.
Walked in opposite directions.
Didn’t glance back.
Not because they didn’t want to.
But sometimes, it doesn’t matter which direction you walk.
The universe doesn’t ask for your permission to pull the strings.
They might walk in opposite directions for now, but the distance was already shrinking.
Each step they took, unknowingly, was leading them closer.
The universe had already begun to nudge them toward something that couldn’t be ignored.
And it would find a way.
So, they walked away.
But not truly. Not yet.
Siddharth’s mind was still replaying the morning’s moment, his heart tracing the lines of that brief eye contact on the metro.
It lingered in his thoughts like a gentle melody that wouldn’t fade.
He caught himself smiling.For once, he wasn’t pretending. He wasn’t guarding his thoughts.
Through office hours, there was a lightness to his steps, a quiet energy that hummed in his chest.
He found himself drifting—mind circling that single moment.
The way she’d looked at him.
Her eyes, sharp and uncertain, yet inviting. Her hair tied in that neat braid. That calmness, despite the chaos around them.
At lunch, he caught himself humming a tune from the morning radio—the same song that had echoed in his head during that charged silence on the train.
It was as if the song was hers now.
Suddenly, every melody was about her.
Meanwhile, Hema was no different.
She was distracted, smiling to herself at her desk, tapping away with one hand, her phone in the other.
She had messaged Akila about the encounter, laughing it off as nothing.
But there was a flutter in her chest, an excitement she couldn’t deny.
She kept looking out the window, wondering if she’d see him again.
She replayed the moment in her head—the warmth in his eyes, the way his gaze had locked with hers. Steady. Unshy. Like he knew something she didn’t.
And that smile.
That subtle smile lingered just long enough to make her heartbeat stumble.
Evening.
The ride blurred past, part of a routine. Siddharth slipped into the same carriage, the same spot by the window. His friends were there, cricket chatter in the air. But his heart wasn’t in it.
His mind wandered.
Hema, too, was on the metro. She couldn’t quite explain it—the flutter of anticipation, the weightless ache. Her gaze moved over the crowd, unconsciously searching for something familiar. But the moment passed. There was no one there.
No sign of him.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that some invisible thread was pulling her toward him again.
Outside the Metro Station.
Hema didn’t usually take the bus.
But today had been... relentless.
Last-minute bugs. A stubborn UI crash. By the time she logged off, metro had already left without her.
She packed up in a hurry, skipping her usual coffee break, and rushed out into the thick evening air. The sky hung low, clouds swollen with the weight of unshed rain. She checked her phone—three missed calls from Akila.
"You okay? one message
"I left. Stuck in rain," Hema typed back, as she ducked beneath the tin overhang at the bus shelter.
And that’s when the sky broke open.
Not a drizzle. Not polite.
The rain poured down in full force, like a switch had been flipped. People scrambled, autos honked and sprayed puddles across feet. Hema clutched her bag tighter, her braid already dripping wet. Her scarf stuck to her neck. Her sandals squelched with water.
She blinked against the downpour, blinking... and then—
She saw him.
Across the crowd. Through the rain. Standing beneath another shade, tucked against the side of the bus stop.
Him.
Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she tucked a strand of soaked hair behind her ear.
And then—
their eyes met.
And the world—
Just stopped.
No rain. No traffic. No noise.
Just them.
A shy smile tugged at her lips.
So simple. So beautiful.
His heart raced.
She was looking at him—not in surprise, but recognition.
As if the distance had vanished and they now stood in the same quiet place.
She spoke, voice soft, musical:
"Are you following me?"
His heart skipped a beat.
I was going to ask you that,” he said with a mischievous smile
They both laughed then, the sound mingling with the rain.
And suddenly, the world felt warmer.
Hema felt her pulse quicken, a laugh bubbling from deep inside.
The moment felt unreal. Like a possibility wrapped in rain.
"Shall we introduce ourselves over tea?" Siddharth asked, voice low, afraid to break the spell.
Hema’s eyes twinkled, but she shook her head with a smile.
"Maybe next time?"
"Next time?" he repeated, heart fluttering.
“ at least your name," he tried,
She tilted her head, teasing.
"Maybe next time?"
He laughed—genuine, free.
“Okay then—just tell me where we’re meeting next time?”
" Metro 9:00 am saidapet station," she said, playful as ever.
They laughed again, like the world was in on their secret.
"Alright, I’ll see you there," he said, light as air.
"Bye," she whispered, turning to leave.
And even as she walked away, Siddharth stood there, smiling like an idiot, soaked to the bone but glowing from within.
His whole soul felt kissed by sunlight.
Hema, meanwhile, disappeared into the night, her heart a riot of emotions.
She wanted to dance. To write poetry. To paint the sky.
But for now, she just smiled—steps light as the rain.
Okay, dear reader—
Let’s leave them here: soaked in rain, hearts drenched in something sweeter.
Tomorrow? 9:00 a.m. Metro. Don’t miss the train.
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