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Aarav first noticed Mira on a rainy afternoon, standing under the shade of a tiny shop while the storm washed the streets clean. She was trying to fix her scarf, which kept sticking to her wet hair, and something about that small struggle made him smile. Without thinking much, he walked over and offered his umbrella. Mira laughed softly, saying she was already drenched, but she still stepped under the umbrella with him.

They ended up walking to the bus stop together, talking like old friends even though they had just met. The rain made everything quieter, softer, and somehow it felt like they were the only two people in the world. By the time the bus arrived, Aarav realized he didn’t want the conversation to end, and Mira admitted she felt the same.

Over the next few weeks, their “accidental” meetings became surprisingly common. A shared table at the library, a last piece of cake at the bakery, and even a moment where both reached for the same book. Their small talks grew into long, warm conversations that neither of them wanted to leave behind. Slowly, friendship slipped into something gentler, deeper.

One day, Aarav invited Mira to his favorite spot by the riverside. They sat on the old bench, watching the water shimmer in the afternoon sun. Mira told him stories of her dreams, her fears, the things she never mentioned to anyone else. Aarav listened closely, realizing he cared about every word she said—maybe more than he had expected.

As the sun began to set, Mira quietly reached for his hand. “I think,” she whispered, “that rainy day wasn’t an accident.” Aarav felt his heart swell as he laced his fingers with hers. In that golden, peaceful moment, both of them knew something beautiful had begun—something they weren’t ready to let go of.

Over the next few weeks, they kept running into each other—at the bus stop, the bakery, even the library. Slowly, their small talks turned into long conversations, and long conversations turned into little adventures. Aarav realized he looked forward to Mira’s smile more than anything else in his day.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted everything gold, Mira quietly slipped her hand into his. “I think,” she whispered, “we were meant to meet in the rain.” Aarav squeezed her hand back, heart warm, knowing that this time, he wasn’t letting go—and neither was she.