The rain had been relentless that evening, hammering against the pavement in an unyielding rhythm. Mumbai, a city that never truly stopped, seemed to pause under the weight of the downpour. The usual honking of cars dulled to a murmur, the rush of pedestrians turned into hurried footsteps disappearing under shop awnings. Streetlights flickered, their reflections stretching like golden veins across the slick roads.
Aarav pulled his hoodie up, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he stepped out of his office building. He had stayed late again, poring over architectural blueprints, tweaking designs, double-checking measurements—desperate to prove himself. Interns at Sharma & Kapoor Associates weren't exactly given much leeway. If he wanted a permanent position, he had to earn it.
But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, all he could think about was getting home without being completely drenched.
Mumbai's monsoons had always irritated him. The city was chaotic enough without the added trouble of flooded streets and jammed traffic. The scent of wet earth, though romanticized in books and poetry, only reminded him of unfinished roads and the city's faulty drainage system. He'd spent most of his childhood watching the rain from a window, waiting for his father's silhouette to appear at the door. But his father never stayed long enough to enjoy the rain, and so Aarav had learned to resent it.
Tonight was no different. His only goal was to get through the streets without being caught in the worst of it. He turned the corner onto Marine Drive, the sea stretching endlessly to his right, waves crashing against the rocks with an almost furious intensity. He quickened his steps. The sooner he reached the station, the sooner he'd be home.
And then he saw her.
She stood under a flickering streetlamp, her face tilted toward the sky, arms slightly outstretched, as if she were embracing the storm itself. Her dark hair clung to her cheeks, raindrops sliding down her skin. She wore a yellow dress, now completely soaked, the fabric sticking to her like a second skin. She didn't move, didn't flinch when a gust of wind sent water slanting into her.
Aarav frowned.
Most people would be running for shelter by now. This girl—whoever she was—looked as if she belonged in the rain. As if she had been waiting for it.
Something about her unsettled him. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed untouched by the rush of the world around her. Or maybe it was the way the light caught the water on her skin, turning her into something ethereal.
He could have walked away. He should have. But instead, he found himself stepping closer.
"You're going to catch a cold," he called out over the rain.
The girl turned at the sound of his voice, her gaze locking onto his. A slow, teasing smile curved her lips. "Maybe," she said, shrugging. "But isn't it worth it?"
Aarav stared at her. He didn't see what was worth it. The discomfort? The cold? The soaked clothes? "Not really," he admitted.
She laughed—a sound that shouldn't have carried through the storm but somehow did. "Then maybe you're not looking properly."
Aarav had never considered himself the kind of man who got drawn into strangers' whims. But something about the way she stood there, defying the chaos of the city, made it impossible to look away.
"Do you always do this?" he asked. "Stand in the middle of a storm like it's a damn movie scene?"
She grinned. "Only when I need to feel something real."
Something real. The words hit a nerve, though he didn't understand why.
Before he could respond, a taxi sped past, sending a wave of muddy water crashing onto the sidewalk. Aarav instinctively stepped back, but the girl—Mira, as he would later learn—didn't move in time. The water splashed against her legs, drenching her further.
For a moment, he expected her to groan in frustration, maybe curse the city the way he often did. But instead, she laughed—really laughed—tilting her head back as if the universe had just played the best joke on her.
Aarav shook his head in disbelief. "You're insane."
She turned to him, still smiling. "And you could use a little insanity."
There was something maddeningly effortless about her. As if she had mastered the art of existing in the present while the rest of the world was busy chasing the future.
He should have left. He should have walked away, let her revel in her rain-soaked moment and gone back to his structured, predictable life. But instead, he found himself asking, "What's your name?"
Mira's eyes sparkled under the streetlight. "Mira."
The name settled in his mind like a melody waiting to be remembered.
"Well, Mira, I hope this 'real' moment is worth pneumonia," he muttered.
She stepped closer, close enough that he could see the raindrops caught in her lashes. "Maybe you should try it sometime."
He scoffed. "Standing in the rain?"
"No," she said, tilting her head. "Letting go."
Something about the way she said it made his chest tighten. Letting go. He had spent so much of his life holding on—to expectations, to responsibility, to the idea that he had to be someone important before he could allow himself to just be.
But this girl—this complete stranger—was challenging that in a way no one ever had.
A silence stretched between them, thick with something neither of them could name.
And then, as if deciding something for herself, Mira took his hand. Her fingers were warm despite the cold.
"Come on," she said, tugging him forward.
Aarav didn't move. "What are you doing?"
She grinned. "You hate the rain, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Then it's time to change that."
Before he could protest, she was pulling him into the open street, past the flickering streetlamp, past the safety of the sidewalk. The rain hit him full force, soaking through his hoodie, dripping down his face. He stiffened instinctively.
Mira, however, simply twirled, arms outstretched like a child who had just been set free.
Aarav let out a breath.
This was ridiculous.
But then, something shifted. The weight of the week, the pressure, the exhaustion—it all seemed to dissolve into the downpour. The city noises blurred, leaving only the sound of the rain and Mira's laughter.
And for the first time in years, Aarav didn't feel the cold.
He only felt her.
Her presence, her infectious joy, the way she seemed to embody the very essence of freedom, was something he had never experienced before. The rain, once a source of irritation, now felt like something gentle, something that washed away the barriers he had carefully constructed around himself.
He realized, as he stood there in the middle of the street with Mira, that for once, he wasn't trying to control everything. He wasn't trying to be the perfect intern or the perfect son, or even the perfect man. He was just there, in the moment.
Mira twirled again, her laughter mingling with the sound of the rain, and Aarav couldn't help but smile.
For the first time that evening, his mind stopped racing, and he simply breathed.
"Okay," he said, his voice softer now, "Maybe this is worth it."
Mira gave him a playful wink. "Told you."
And for the first time, Aarav truly believed her.