A Colourless Day, A Colourful Night

[Scene: Rainy Evening, A Lonely Bus Stop]

The sky had wept all day.

[Scene: Meher is standing near a bus stop]

Meher stood at the edge of the bus stop, her dupatta clinging to her like a second skin, soaked in the merciless rain. The city blurred in front of her—grey roads, dull lights, and people hurrying past with umbrellas and headphones, like the world had forgotten how to look at one another.

She didn’t have an umbrella.

She didn’t have anyone.

The rain poured harder now, as if echoing the ache buried in her heart. Her bag, damp and heavy with books and worries, slipped from her shoulder.

But she didn’t pick it up.

Her eyes stared ahead—blank, distant. Another argument with her mother. Another slap. Another silence that screamed louder than words.

Why does love feel like a punishment at my home?

She blinked rapidly, as if the water streaming down her cheeks was just supposed to be rain and not the tears which she didn’t let them fall at her HOME.

Behind her, the world passed. But inside her—stillness.

Until…

A quiet hump sliced through the storm. A sleek black car rolled into the view, headlights cutting through the haze like fireflies dancing on a dying night. It came to a slow halt, right infront of her.

For a moment, Meher didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then the door opened.

And just like that… the rain paused in her world.

Aarav Rathore stepped out, a black umbrella in hand, looking like midnight dressed in royalty. His shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair damp from a drop or two that dared to touch him, and eyes—

Eyes that had searched for her in every corner of the city.

She gasped, barely audible, “You…”

He took a step closer, holding the umbrella out towards her. Not a word left from his lips yet.

Just two pairs of eyes speaking between each other.

Her lips trembled. “How…?”

He spoke softly, voice like velvet cutting through thunder, “I sent my assistant to every college in this city… every arts department, every literature batch, every library list. All I had was your name… Meher.”

Her heart dropped.

“No girl with that name matched… until one did. A quiet girl. Barely spoke to anyone. Always carried a book, and never smiled.”

He took a deep breath, “I knew that was you.”

She couldn’t believe it. No one had ever looked for her before.

She’d always been the girl whom people overlooked. The shadow. The ghost in her own home.

Yet this stranger… this man whose world was full of power, blood, and danger… searched for her like she was light.

She wanted to speak but her throat clenched.

Aarav looked at her again, then stepped closer and gently placed the umbrella over her.

“You don’t deserve to be standing alone in the rain, Meher.”

A pause.

Then he bent down and picked up her fallen bag—without a word, without expecting a "thanks".

That simple act shattered something inside her.

She whispered, “Why… why are you doing this?”

He looked up, holding her gaze. “Because I can’t forget your eyes… the day we met. And I think you’ve forgotten how it feels to be seen. I want to remind you.”

Her breath hitched.

Around them, the world was still grey and soaked. But inside her?

A riot of color bloomed.

Red for the blood in her cheeks that warmed for the first time in weeks.

Blue for the calm she hadn’t felt in years.

Gold—for the way his presence lit her up like the sky cracking open at dawn.

She slowly reached for the umbrella he held, her fingers grazing his. Her heart thundered at the touch.

He opened the car door.

“I can drop you. Just this once,” he said, his voice unsure, almost hesitant.

She looked at the rain behind her, the bus that would take her back to a house where pain lived.

Then she looked at the car—a moment of warmth, a fleeting escape.

She didn’t get in.

But she didn’t walk away either.

“I… I write stories,” she said suddenly.

Aarav blinked. “Stories?”

She nodded slowly, voice fragile. “About people I meet… people I want to remember.”

He smiled softly. “Did you write about me?”

She bit her lip. Then whispered, “I tried.”

His eyes darkened in curiosity. “Can I read it?”

She stepped back gently. “Not yet.”

Another pause. Their eyes locked again.

“But one day?”

She nodded once.

He didn’t push further. He never did.

Instead, he whispered something that stayed with her long after the car rolled away that night.

“I’ll wait.”

[Scene: Meher’s Bedroom, Later That Night]

Rain tapped the windowpane like a song from another life.

Meher sat with her diary open, pen trembling between her fingers.

She wrote—not as an escape, but as a surrender.

The Stranger Who Found Me – by Meher Sharma

"In a world where my silence was never noticed,

He listened to the unspoken."

"When the rain washed away my hope,

He stood like a shelter I didn’t ask for…

but needed the most."

"I don’t know his story.

But I know his eyes.

And they told me—

That for once… I wasn’t invisible."

She paused, then scribbled down a final line of Shayari beneath it:

“Us anjaane ko kya naam doon main,

Jo dil ko be-awaaz choo gaya.”

(What name should I give to that stranger,

Who touched my heart without a word?)

She closed the diary.

But for the first time in a long time, she slept with a smile.☺️

To be continued....

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