Never Returned!
They walked slowly to the gate, splashing through puddles. The rain softened a little as if the clouds wanted to eavesdrop.
Vihaan Arora (ML)
What’s your name? (he asked)
It settled in his memory like ink in water.. Anaya.. Pretty..
Vihaan Arora (ML)
Why were you standing alone?
Anaya Sharma (FL)
My mother’s late. She usually comes with the scooty but… (She trailed off. Her voice was musical. Like those lines in Hindi poems that stick in your head)
Vihaan Arora (ML)
You like poems? (he asked suddenly)
Anaya Sharma (FL)
I write them. (she smiled wide)
Vihaan Arora (ML)
What? (Vihaan stared at her)
Vihaan Arora (ML)
You look like someone who writes poems.
Anaya Sharma (FL)
What does that even mean? (her cheeks flushed)
Vihaan Arora (ML)
I don’t know. Just… you look like you’d write about the clouds or trees or something.
Anaya Sharma (FL)
I do. And flowers. And sometimes chocolate. (she gives a proud smile)
Vihaan couldn’t help it.. he smiled. His first real smile in days. The gate came into view. Her mother had just arrived, honking the scooty horn loudly. Anaya turned to him and said.
Anaya Sharma (FL)
Thanks, Vihaan. You saved me and my bleeding notebook.
Vihaan Arora (ML)
Take it!! (He held out the yellow umbrella)
Anaya Sharma (FL)
But it’s yours. (her eyes widen)
Vihaan Arora (ML)
I don’t like it anyway.
Anaya Sharma (FL)
Will I return it? (she hesitated)
Vihaan Arora (ML)
Yeah. Just throw it across from your balcony.
Anaya Sharma (FL)
You live in the white house with the brown roof? (she laughed)
Anaya Sharma (FL)
I’ll return it tomorrow.
Vihaan Arora (ML)
(he simpily nodded)
And then.. she ran through the gate, yellow umbrella bobbing behind her like a sunflower in the wind.
Vihaan stood on his balcony at dusk, a mug of black coffee in his hand, eyes lost in the soft orange sky. The town hadn’t changed much. Still quiet. Still sleepy. But she had changed. He looked across at the blue house with the mint curtains.
The girl with the yellow umbrella.
She had grown up.. her braid now a messy bun, glasses swapped for contacts, but her eyes.. still that same shade of soft mischief. She always looked like she was thinking of something magical. Or someone.
And Vihaan never asked. He leaned on the railing and sighed.
She never returned the umbrella. Not really.
She had just smiled at him once after the storm and waved the umbrella from her balcony. And somehow, since that day.. Vihaan always thought of her when it rained.
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