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Your morning eyes, I could stare like watching stars

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Ishanvi had always loved the rain. There was something magical about the way it transformed the world—the smell of wet earth, the rhythmic patter on her window, and the way everything seemed to glisten under a watery sheen. Rain was her solace, her retreat from the chaos of her life. On rainy days, she often felt as though the world slowed down just for her, giving her time to breathe, to dream.

That afternoon, the rain fell in a steady downpour, blanketing the streets in a silvery mist. Ishanvi had spent the last hour at her favorite coffee shop, watching droplets race down the glass window as she sipped her latte. She glanced at her phone; it was time to leave. As much as she loved the rain, the thought of stepping into the downpour unprepared made her hesitate. With a small sigh, she adjusted her bag and walked toward the door.

The rain poured relentlessly, drumming against the glass windows of the small coffee shop. The air smelled of wet pavement and freshly brewed espresso, mingling with the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional clatter of coffee cups. Ishanvi adjusted the strap of her bag as she stepped toward the door, bracing herself for the downpour outside.

Just as she reached the threshold, the door swung open, and a gust of cool, rain-scented air rushed in, carrying with it the scent of the storm. He stepped inside, drenched from head to toe, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. For a moment, he paused under the warm glow of the doorway, his breath slightly uneven from the rainstorm he'd battled to get there. His hand swept through his hair in a quick motion, sending tiny droplets scattering like diamonds under the light.

Ishanvi froze, her breath hitching. Her eyes locked on him—his sharp features softened by the rain, his easy movements carrying an understated charm. The way he ruffled his hair with effortless confidence sent her heart into a rhythm that rivaled the rain's. He glanced up then, and for a split second, their eyes met.

His gaze lingered, warm and unassuming, before he looked away, stepping further into the shop. The moment passed like a flash of lightning, but its intensity left her rooted to the spot. It wasn't just his appearance; it was the way he carried himself, as if the rain were an old friend rather than an inconvenience.

She finally stepped aside, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. The rain outside greeted her like an old companion, but today, it felt different—more alive, more meaningful. The image of him, standing in the doorway, rain-soaked but effortlessly captivating, played in her mind like a favorite song on repeat.

For the first time, she realized her love for the rain had deepened. It wasn't just the way it cleansed the air or slowed the world anymore—it was the way it brought him into her life. Him in the rain made her love the rain even more, a feeling she would carry with her long after the storm had passed.