Aira didn't know—
how long she could continue like this.
Pretending to be "just friends."
Acting normal—
while hiding feelings that never really disappeared.
But still—
she chose friendship over distance.
Because even if she couldn't become Aarohi's love—
She still wanted to remain—
a part of her life.
Even as a friend.
And maybe—
that was enough for her.
Or maybe—
she was just convincing herself.
Because sometimes—
that word friend—
hurt more than anything else.
Summer had arrived.
In Goa—
the weather was extremely hot.
The sun felt sharp.
Heavy.
Endless.
But in Kolkata—
it was different.
Quiet rain.
Cloudy skies.
The kind of weather—
Aira loved the most.
Aira had a strange habit.
Every single day—
she checked Kolkata's weather.
Without fail.
It had slowly become—
a part of her routine.
Like checking on Aarohi—
without actually checking on her.
And that day—
while scrolling through the weather—
Aira saw heavy rain in Kolkata.
And suddenly—
she smiled.
Because she could imagine Aarohi there.
Near a window.
Watching the rain.
Maybe writing something.
Maybe smiling softly.
Maybe enjoying the weather—
the same way Aira would have.
The next day—
Aira texted her.
Aira,
"Was it raining yesterday?"
Aarohi,
"Yeah. Very heavily. What about there?"
Aira,
"No. It's very hot here."
There was a small pause.
And then Aira asked,
Aira,
"Do you like rain?"
Aarohi,
"I love rain. What about you?"
Aira smiled unknowingly.
Aira,
"I love it too."
For a moment—
the conversation felt warm.
Simple.
Soft.
And suddenly—
Aira realized something.
There were many small things—
they liked in the same way.
Rain.
Poetry.
Silence.
Late-night conversations.
The comfort of being understood.
And somehow—
they never even noticed these similarities before.
Maybe—
that's how love quietly exists sometimes.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just through little things—
two people unknowingly share.
Knowing someone deeply—
without fully knowing them at all.
That evening—
Aira stood near her window.
The sky in Goa was still clear.
No rain.
Only heat.
But in her mind—
she imagined Kolkata raining softly.
And Aarohi somewhere there—
watching the same sky from another city.
Far away.
Yet somehow—
feeling close.
Later that night—
Aarohi texted again.
Aarohi,
"Rain makes me feel peaceful."
Aira looked at the message for a few seconds.
Because she felt the exact same way.
Aira,
"Me too. It feels like the world becomes quieter."
Aarohi,
"Yes… like everything slows down for some time."
Aira smiled softly.
These small moments—
felt strangely special to her.
Not because they were romantic.
But because they understood each other naturally.
Without trying too hard.
There were many things—
they still didn't know about each other.
But somehow—
their hearts kept recognizing the same feelings.
Like rain.
Quiet.
Soft.
And impossible to hold forever.