Chapter 5 – The Coffee That Started Again

# Protect My Big Puppy

Act 1 – The Rain That Never Stopped

By Anil Verma)

The next morning, I almost convinced myself not to go.

It was easier to stay away—to pretend that yesterday’s apology hadn’t cracked something open inside me. But as I stood by the window, coffee cup in hand, watching the drizzle paint silver streaks across the glass, I found myself thinking about his voice. Not the confident, commanding tone that once filled boardrooms—but the quiet, hesitant warmth of a man asking for another chance.

By 8:30, I was already standing at the corner café. The Bean Counter. The same one where our story had started three years ago.

It looked different now—renovated, brighter, with sleek lights and white marble tables. But the faint scent of roasted beans and cardamom still lingered, just as I remembered. And there he was.

Aarav Malhotra, billionaire, business shark, the man who once wore suits like armor—now sitting at a small table by the window, wearing a plain white shirt and jeans, sleeves rolled up, two cups of steaming coffee in front of him.

When he saw me, his lips curved into a slow smile that reached his eyes.

“You came.”

I hesitated before sitting down. “I wasn’t sure I would.”

“I was sure you would,” he said gently, then quickly added, “Not because I expected it… but because I hoped you still believed in second chances.”

For a few moments, neither of us spoke. The air between us was warm, awkward, yet strangely peaceful. I watched the rain droplets race down the glass, each one catching the soft reflection of his face.

“You know,” I said at last, “last time we sat here, you complained about the coffee being too bitter.”

He chuckled, a low, genuine sound. “I remember. And you told me it wasn’t the coffee—it was my attitude.”

I smiled despite myself. “You were unbearable.”

“Still am,” he teased. “But I’m learning how not to be.”

He slid a cup toward me. “Your favorite—cappuccino with cinnamon, no sugar.”

I blinked, surprised. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about you, Meera,” he said softly. “Even the way you used to hum when you sketched.”

His tone wasn’t dramatic—just honest. And that made it even harder to resist the warmth creeping up my spine.

We talked for hours. About everything and nothing. About the things we’d missed, the silence we’d endured, the way life felt emptier without someone to share it with. He didn’t try to charm me this time; he listened, really listened.

Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, I noticed a small scar near his wrist. “What happened?” I asked.

He looked down. “Oh, that. A stupid accident at the site inspection last month. I didn’t even notice until the doctor pointed it out.”

“You should be more careful.”

He smiled. “You still sound like you care.”

I looked away, flustered. “Old habits die hard.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice gentler now. “I don’t want to be your habit, Meera. I want to be your peace.”

Those words hit deeper than I expected. For a long moment, I said nothing, afraid that if I did, my heart would betray me.

---

The rain outside grew heavier, turning the world beyond the glass into a soft watercolor blur. Aarav stood up and moved to the counter. When he came back, he placed a small paper bag on the table.

“What’s this?” I asked.

He shrugged casually. “The chocolate muffins you loved. The ones you’d always steal from my plate.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You still remember that too?”

“I remember the way you smiled after taking the first bite,” he said, eyes warm. “That smile made me forget meetings, deadlines—everything.”

He wasn’t trying to seduce me. He was remembering us, in all our small, messy, human moments. And for the first time, I let myself remember too.

After a pause, I said quietly, “Do you ever wish we could erase what happened between us?”

He shook his head. “No. Because if we erased it, I’d never have learned what losing you felt like. And without that… I’d never understand what love truly means.”

The sincerity in his voice broke through something inside me. I bit my lip, trying to keep my emotions steady.

“I’m still angry, Aarav,” I admitted. “For how you made me feel—trapped, unseen.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’ll spend as long as it takes proving you’re free to walk away anytime. I just… hope you won’t.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing mine lightly across the table. Not possessive, not forceful—just an unspoken promise.

And for once, I didn’t pull away.

---

Later that day, we walked outside together. The rain had turned into a soft drizzle, and he held out an umbrella, covering both of us. The city was alive with the sound of splashing tires and distant laughter.

“You always said you hated umbrellas,” I said, half-smiling.

He grinned. “I did. But then you left, and I realized rain doesn’t feel the same alone.”

“Poetic,” I teased. “You’ve changed.”

He chuckled. “I’ve had good reason to.”

As we reached my street, I stopped. “Thank you for the coffee,” I said.

“Thank you for coming,” he replied.

He hesitated for a second, then added quietly, “Meera… can I see you again tomorrow?”

I looked into his eyes—the same eyes that once held storms but now glimmered with patience. He wasn’t demanding; he was asking.

“Tomorrow,” I said finally. “Same café.”

His smile was small but genuine, the kind that made the air feel lighter. “Then tomorrow it is.”

As I walked away, I heard him call out softly, “Hey.”

I turned.

He pointed to the sky, where the clouds were breaking apart, letting sunlight spill through. “See that?” he said. “Even the rain knows when to stop.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t get poetic on me now, Mr. CEO.”

But inside, I felt something warm bloom—fragile, cautious, but real.

---

That night, as I lay in bed, my phone buzzed with a message from him:

> “You said once that I didn’t know how to love.

Maybe you were right.

But today… I think I learned how to start.”

I stared at the message for a long time before typing back:

> “One coffee doesn’t erase the past. But it’s a good beginning.”

He replied instantly.

> “Then I’ll see you for many more beginnings.”

I smiled to myself and turned off the light.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped.

And somewhere deep inside me, so had the storm.

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