Aleena's POV
The sky was clear now, the remnants of last night's storm lingering in the air — that post-rain freshness that always made the world seem new. I was halfway to the office when my phone began to ring.
The number flashing on the screen was my fathers.
A sudden sense of unease crawled up my spine. "Hello?" I answered, my voice tight.
It was my father — his voice trembling. "Aleena, don't panic. Dadu had a small heart attack... but he's stable now. We've admitted him to City Care Hospital."
The world seemed to still. "What?" My voice came out a whisper. "I—I'm coming right now."
I turned the car around, my hands trembling slightly as I gripped the steering wheel. The drive felt endless, the world outside blurring into fragments of sound and light. By the time I reached the hospital, my heart was pounding.
Inside, the sterile scent of disinfectant and the soft hum of machines filled the air. When I finally saw him — my grandfather lying on the hospital bed, pale but breathing — something inside me broke.
I rushed to his side, taking his hand gently. "Dadu..." My voice cracked. Tears spilled freely down my cheeks. "You scared me."
He opened his eyes slowly, his lips curving into a faint smile. "I told you... I'm fine, my dear. Just... the old heart reminding me I'm not young anymore."
I shook my head, squeezing his hand tighter. "Don't joke like that. You can't just leave me like that, Dadu."
He chuckled weakly. "I don't plan to. But maybe now... you'll listen to me?"
I laughed through my tears, wiping them away. "Fine," I whispered. "I'll do whatever you wish, Dadu. Anything. Just... get better, please."
His eyes softened. "That's all I wanted to hear."
I sat beside him long after he fell asleep, his hand still in mine, the quiet rhythm of the heart monitor steadying my own heartbeat. The storm outside had passed, but inside, something was shifting — quietly, gently — like the beginning of a new chapter.
The drive back home that night was quiet.
Dadu had been discharged after the doctors assured us he only needed rest and a lighter diet. I insisted on bringing him home myself, even though he kept teasing me for "hovering like an anxious nurse."
Now, the house felt unusually still — the kind of calm that settles after too much worry. I helped him settle on the couch, tucking a blanket around his legs before sitting down beside him.
"You comfortable, Dadu?" I asked softly.
He smiled, that familiar warmth in his eyes. "Now that I'm home — and you're not crying like the world's ending — I'm perfectly fine."
I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at my lips. "I wasn't crying that much."
He chuckled. "If you say so." A pause. Then his tone grew thoughtful. "Rose, I've been meaning to talk to you about something. But every time I start, something or the other happens."
I frowned slightly. "What is it?"
He took a deep breath, his fingers tracing the edge of the teacup on the table. "Do you remember my old friend, Mr. rayyan?"
"The one who moved to London years ago?"
He nodded. "Yes. His family had settled there for quite some time. But they've recently moved back . His grandson — you might've met him when you were very little. You used to chase each other around the garden when they visited."
I blinked, searching my memory, the name tugging at the edge of something distant. "I met his grandson?"
Dadu smiled softly, his gaze distant, almost nostalgic. "You were 2 and He was older. Always followed you around — the two of you were inseparable during those few months. You called him 'Azi'
I tilted my head, trying to recall the name, but only a blur of childhood laughter surfaced — a faint image of playing in the rain, muddy shoes, and a boy with bright eyes who used to hand me wildflowers from the garden.
Dadu continued, "They left for the United Kingdom soon after, and life... went on. But now that they're back, rayyan and I thought it might be nice for you two to meet again."
I looked at him in surprise. "Meet again? After all these years?"
He nodded, smiling faintly. "You've both grown up, but some bonds don't really fade — they just wait for the right time to return."
I laughed lightly, shaking my head. "Dadu, you're talking like it's fate or something."
He chuckled, the sound soft and knowing. "Maybe it is, my dear. You never know what the heart remembers."
As he leaned back, closing his eyes with a content sigh, I found myself staring into the dim glow of the lamp, my mind wandering.
A boy from my past. Someone I once knew.
Somewhere deep down, I felt a strange flutter — like a thread tugging softly at a memory I hadn't realized I'd forgotten.
Outside, the rain had stopped completely.
But somehow, it felt like the calm before another kind of storm.
Azlaan's POV
The night had settled deep — the kind of stillness that follows after a storm, when the world seems to hold its breath. The rain had stopped hours ago, but its scent still lingered — damp earth, wet asphalt, and that faint sweetness of petrichor that always reminded me of something long forgotten.
I loosened my tie, the day's exhaustion pressing heavily on my shoulders, and switched on the small lamp near the bookshelf. Its amber light spilled softly across the room, catching on the faint glimmer of gold resting on the side table.
The ring.
It sat there exactly where I'd left it — small, elegant, yet impossible to ignore. I picked it up, turning it between my fingers. The metal was cool against my skin, the tiny rose engraved on top catching the light just so. It wasn't the kind of jewelry that stood out in a crowd — it was subtle, intimate, meant to be worn by someone who didn't need to prove anything to the world.
I tilted it slightly, noticing the faint engraving inside the band — a single, delicate letter: A.
A for... what? A name? A story? A person who had slipped through the rain and into my thoughts without permission?
Before my mind could chase the thought further, a voice broke through the quiet.
"Still awake?"
I looked up. my grandfather stood by the doorway, wrapped in his old wool shawl, silver hair glinting under the lamplight. His presence carried warmth, even in silence.
"I couldn't sleep," I admitted. "Long day."
He stepped closer, lowering himself slowly onto the couch beside me. The cushion dipped under his familiar weight, the faint creak blending with the hush of the night.
"You work too hard, Azlaan," he said with a knowing smile. "It's good to chase dreams, but not at the cost of living."
I huffed out a laugh. "You sound like you're about to give me a lecture."
He chuckled softly. "Maybe I am. Or maybe I'm just reminding you that there's more to life than meetings and numbers."
His tone softened then, his eyes reflecting a quiet nostalgia. "Do you remember my old friend, Mr. amin hadi?"
"The one whom we used to visit when I was a kid?"
"Yes." He nodded, his gaze distant. "We spoke earlier today. He mentioned his granddaughter — Aleena."
The name hung in the air, faint yet oddly familiar.
"She's the same little girl with whom you used to play in their garden," my grandfather continued, a faint smile curving his lips. "You two were inseparable back then — always running around, getting scolded for bringing half the mud in the city into the house."
A quiet laugh escaped me. "That does sound like me."
He joined in, shaking his head fondly. "You called her 'elle.' She used to make you sit by the rose bushes and draw flowers with her crayons. You never refused her — not once."
The memory flickered faintly, like an old photograph coming back into focus. Laughter echoing under the summer sun. A tiny girl with paint-stained fingers and a wild grin. The smell of roses and wet grass. The sound of someone calling my name in a voice that once meant home.
"we moved to the UK soon after," he went on, "but we are back now. i wants them to come over for dinner next week. I think it's time you two met again — properly, this time."
I nodded slowly, setting the ring back on the table. "It would be... nice to see them again."
He reached over, patting my shoulder. "Some bonds, Azlaan, are written long before we even understand them. Don't ignore what the heart remembers."
His words lingered long after he left the room.
I leaned back against the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling, the lamplight flickering softly in the corner. My thoughts slipped once more to the rain — to the girl who'd collided with me that night, her soft apology muffled by the storm, the way her hand had trembled in mine before she slipped away.
Aleena.
The name echoed again in my mind, quiet yet persistent, like a whisper carried on the wind.
I closed my eyes, the weight of the day melting into silence.
Maybe it was nothing — a coincidence, a passing thought.
Or maybe... fate had already begun weaving its threads long before either of us even noticed.
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