The light in the room was dim before he entered and drew the curtains. The weather outside seemed pleasant.
He sat adjacent to me, picked up his diary lying on the table, and pulled out the pen tucked in my hair bun. The curtains were blowing by the wind outside. Clouds were moving, some near to each other, some far away.
I closed the book I was holding, and looked at his thoughts wandering around the corners of a page. A few raindrops fell on the window pane, to gently meander.
The rain had started to pour down few seconds later. Raindrops fell on the muddy ground, on leaves of the plant kept near the window, and a few tiny drops fell on the page of his diary.
My eyes could no longer trace raindrops falling on the window pane. They fell on the surface and got merged. While a few on the leaves got pinned, the rest glided themselves down.
The sound of quiet was broken by his “damn.” The raindrops that fell on the page were slowly merging into the warmth of his words.
He closed his diary and I closed the window.
– Kritika Vashist