Aleena's POV
By the time I reached home, the rain had softened into a slow drizzle, the kind that whispered rather than roared. The streets shimmered under the faint glow of the streetlights, and puddles reflected pieces of the night sky. I was drenched — my dress clinging to my skin, my hair sticking to my face — but strangely, I didn't feel cold.
Maybe because my mind was still somewhere else, That stranger.
His touch had been brief — a fleeting second — yet it left an imprint deeper than I cared to admit. I could still feel the faint pressure of his fingers, the quiet steadiness in his hold, the warmth that contrasted the chill of the storm. I hadn't even looked at him properly, and yet something about that moment kept replaying in my head like an unfinished sentence.
Shaking the thought away, I pushed open the front door. The house was quiet; my family had already gone to bed. I went straight to my room, my footsteps echoing softly across the marble floor.
Inside, the soft yellow light from my bedside lamp filled the room. I changed into my night clothes — a loose cotton t-shirt and pajama— and towel-dried my hair before collapsing onto the bed. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't rest.
I didn't feel like eating. Dinner felt like an unnecessary task, something too heavy for a night like this. I lay back, staring at the ceiling as the sound of gentle rain filled the room. At some point, my eyes grew heavy, and I drifted into sleep with the sound of rain still whispering against the windowpane.
Morning came softly, the light filtering through the curtains in muted shades of gold. I stirred awake, the faint ache of fatigue still lingering in my body. My mind felt foggy, though flashes of last night — the rain, the stranger, the warmth of his hand — came back like faint echoes.
I went about my morning routine quietly, letting the familiarity of it ground me: brushing, showering, dressing in a pale lilac suit for work. When I looked at myself in the mirror, my reflection looked composed, professional — but the tiredness in my eyes gave me away.
As I walked downstairs, the smell of breakfast filled the house — toasted bread, freshly brewed tea, and the faint scent of cardamom. My family was already at the table, their voices blending in low conversation.
"Good morning, Rose," my grandfather greeted warmly from his spot near the window. He looked up from his newspaper, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Morning, Dadu," I replied softly, taking a seat beside him.
He watched me for a moment before setting the paper aside. "Aleena beta, I wanted to talk to you about something important."
I looked up, a bit wary. "Yes, Dadu?"
He hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "You're not getting any younger, my child. Your grandmother and I... we've been thinking. Maybe it's time you consider settling down."
The words hit gently, but they still found their way into the cracks of my chest. I forced a small smile. "Dadu, we've talked about this before."
"I know," he said softly. "But I worry. You've spent so long taking care of everyone else, carrying your own pain quietly. You deserve someone who will take care of you."
I looked down at my hands, the spoon in my cup trembling slightly. Marriage — the word itself felt heavy, foreign. There was a part of me that wanted to believe in it, to believe I could build something stable, safe. But another part — the part still haunted by memories and scars — didn't trust that I could.
"Dadu," I whispered, my throat tightening. "I don't even know if I'd be good for anyone."
He reached out, his hand resting over mine. "You have more kindness in your heart than most people could dream of, Aleena. That's what makes you good — not perfect, but human."
I swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in my eyes. "I'll... think about it," I said quietly, forcing a smile.
After breakfast, I went back upstairs to grab my bag, but something tugged at the edge of my thoughts — a faint, uneasy feeling that something wasn't right. I paused near the dressing table, scanning the few pieces of jewelry scattered neatly in their usual place.
My heart skipped.
My ring — the delicate gold one shaped like a rose — wasn't there.
At first, I thought I might've taken it off somewhere else. I checked the nightstand, the bathroom counter, the floor near my bed — but it was nowhere.
Panic started to rise, slow but sharp.
"No, no, no..." I whispered under my breath, pulling open drawers, lifting books, searching the corners of the room as if the ring would magically appear. But it didn't.
My hands began to tremble. That ring wasn't just jewelry — it was Dadu's gift, something he'd given me years ago
"For luck," he had said, slipping it onto my finger with a smile. "So that wherever life takes you, a part of me goes with you."
And now, it was gone.
The realization hit me with a painful weight. My eyes stung as tears blurred my vision. I sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching my hands together, staring at the faint tan line where the ring used to be.
How could I have lost it?
It wasn't just a piece of gold — it was him. His love, his protection, his Trust.
Memories flooded in — Dadu's warm laughter, the way he'd ruffle my hair every time I got annoyed, the soft wrinkles near his eyes when he smiled. Losing the ring felt like losing a piece of him.
I pressed my palms to my face and let the tears fall — quiet, trembling, raw.
After a while, I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes. I told myself it was just a thing, that I'd find it somehow. But the ache in my chest said otherwise.
I grabbed my bag, glancing once more around the room, as if it might appear if I looked hard enough. It didn't.
Before walking out, I whispered softly, almost to the empty air,
"I'm sorry, Dadu. I'll find it.. I promise."
And then I left for the office — carrying with me not just my bag and files, but a quiet, aching emptiness where that ring used to rest.
Azlaan's POV
The sunlight slipped quietly through the curtains, warm and golden, falling across the edge of my bed. I blinked against it, groaning softly as I turned onto my back. I had overslept — something that rarely happened.
For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. The faint rhythm of rain from the night before still echoed in my head, soft and haunting. And somewhere in that half-dreaming haze, a flash of her face — the girl from last night — surfaced again. The way her hair clung to her cheeks, the way her hand had felt in mine... the way she had simply disappeared into the rain.
I exhaled slowly, pushing the image aside as I swung my legs over the bed.
She was just a stranger, I reminded myself. Nothing more.
Still, when I got up and reached for my watch, my gaze flickered to the small ring lying on my side table. It caught the morning light, glimmering faintly — a silent reminder that last night hadn't been a dream.
Shaking the thought away, I showered quickly and got dressed for work. When I finally glanced at the clock, it was already past eight. I was late.
Downstairs, the house was alive with the usual morning noise — the sound of dishes clattering, laughter from the dining room, and the faint buzz of conversation. As soon as I stepped in, all heads turned toward me.
"Look who decided to join us," Adeel said teasingly, sipping his coffee.
"You're late today," my mother added, arching an eyebrow but smiling anyway.
"Just needed a few extra minutes," I replied, sliding into my seat. "Long night."
"Work or thoughts?" my grandmother asked knowingly, her tone playful but her eyes sharp.
I smirked faintly. "Work, Dadi. Always work."
She hummed, clearly unconvinced.
Breakfast was a quiet, comfortable chaos — plates passing around, Adeel's daughter giggling as she dropped bits of toast onto the table, my grandfather reading the newspaper but not really paying attention.
It was my grandmother who broke the rhythm.
"Azlaan beta," she began, her tone casual but her words deliberate, "have you thought about what we discussed the other day?"
I looked up slowly. "Dadi, if this is about marriage again—"
"It is," she said, cutting me off gently but firmly. "You can't keep avoiding it forever."
I sighed, setting my cup down. "I'm not avoiding it. I just don't see the need to rush into something I'm not ready for."
My grandfather folded the paper neatly, his voice calm but carrying weight. "You'll never truly be ready, Azlaan. Love isn't something that waits for your permission. Sometimes, it finds you when you least expect it — and sometimes, when you've stopped believing in it altogether."
Their words hung in the air, soft but heavy.
I leaned back in my chair, my expression unreadable. "You both talk about love like it's some kind of magic that fixes everything," I said quietly. "But I've seen enough to know it can break just as much as it heals."
My grandmother's expression softened. "That's true," she said. "But without it, life becomes... quieter. Colder. You're strong, Azlaan — but strength means nothing if you never let anyone close enough to share it."
I fell silent, my jaw tightening. They meant well, I knew that. But the thought of marriage — of letting someone into my carefully built walls — made something in me resist.
And yet...
For the briefest moment, my mind flashed back to the girl in the rain — her eyes, her trembling hands, her quiet apology. I didn't even know her name, but something about that memory refused to fade.
"Fine," I said finally, exhaling deeply. "will see."
My grandmother smiled, triumphant but gentle. "That's all we wanted to hear."
As everyone went back to their breakfast, I picked up my cup again, staring into the dark surface of the coffee. My reflection wavered slightly — uncertain, tired.
I wasn't sure what agreeing meant. Or if I truly believed in what they were asking of me. But somehow, I couldn't shake the feeling that something — or someone — had already started to change the rhythm of my carefully ordered life.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Hope you enjoyed. Tell me how it was and leave a vote if u liked it .
Also follow me on Instagram for BTS
@authorlia._8
Write a comment ...