When Our Worlds Collided

In the peaceful village of Karangali, mornings came quietly. The sun rose slowly, as if respecting the calm of the place. Birds sang gently, cows clinked their bells, and the smell of moist soil filled the air. Along the village’s edge ran a narrow lane — muddy during monsoon, dusty in summer, and always decorated with morning dew. Villagers called it “os rala pade hukale” — the path where dew dropped silently and disappeared under footsteps.

On this path grew the story of Ravi and Meera.

Ravi, a shy and observant boy, loved silence and simplicity. Meera, wild and bright, loved running, shouting, and laughing without any care. Their personalities were opposite, yet they belonged to each other in ways neither understood as children.

They walked the dew path together every morning — first as school kids racing each other, later as teenagers sharing secrets in soft whispers. The villagers teased them often.

“Baga re, os rala pade var don phule ugat aahet,” an old lady said once, and Meera blushed while Ravi looked down at his dusty feet.

But they didn’t stop walking that path.


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The Day Everything Shifted

One monsoon morning, with the sky heavy and the air sweet, Meera came running to Ravi’s house, drenched but smiling.

“Ravi! Baba mahnto, mala city la shikayla dyaycha! College! Hostel! Everything!”

Her excitement was like a storm — wild, loud, unstoppable.

But Ravi felt like a tree in that storm — shaken, but pretending to stand strong.

“That’s… good,” he said softly, though inside him something cracked.

He had planned to tell her something that morning.
Something he had carried in his heart for years.
But the words dissolved like dew under sunlight.

That evening, they walked together again. Rain had just stopped. Dew drops hung from leaves like tiny crystals. Meera talked endlessly about the city — buses, buildings, and new friends she would meet.

Ravi listened silently.

“Ravi… tula vatata ka mi jaun yayla pahije?” she asked suddenly.

He wanted to say, “No. Stay. I… love you.”
But instead he smiled.

“Jaa Meera. Ud. Tu mothi ho.”

And once again, she didn’t notice the pain behind his quiet smile.


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A Year Without Her

Meera left.

For the first time in his life, Ravi walked the dew path alone.
The silence felt heavy.
The mornings tasted bitter.
Even the birdsong seemed faded.

Meera called, at first. Excited, full of stories.

“Ravi! City chi traffic! And pizza! Ani college madhe sagle smart log!”

Ravi smiled at the phone, even when his heart tightened.

But slowly, things changed.

Her calls got shorter.
Her messages delayed.
Her voice became distant.

Ravi understood — she was growing, moving, exploring.
He was still in the same village, same fields, same lane.

He never blamed her.

But every morning, he still walked the dew path, hoping for a message.
Some days it came.
Some days it didn’t.


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Then… Silence

After almost a year, Meera stopped calling completely.

Ravi waited the first week.
Hoped the second.
Cried silently the third.

He told himself it was okay.

Some stories end quietly.


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Two Years Later

One winter morning, as the sun rose softly, casting golden light on the dew drops, a small bus stopped at the village entrance.

Meera stepped down.

Her eyes searched the familiar paths, the old houses, the childhood memories hiding behind each wall. She walked straight to the dew lane — the path that held every moment she had ever shared with Ravi.

And there he was.

Fixing a broken fence, sleeves rolled up, hair messy, eyes tired but calm.

“Ravi…” she whispered.

He looked up.

Time stopped.

She approached slowly.
He stood still.

“Mi parat aale…,” she said softly.
“I missed this place. Ani… I missed you.”

Ravi nodded, but his eyes carried years of silence, longing, and hurt.

“Os rala pade hukat,” he said quietly.
“Kahi lok parat yetat. Kahi… nahi.”

His voice cracked slightly, and Meera felt a sting deep in her heart.

“Ravi… mi kase sangau?” she stepped closer.
“City madhe sagla nave hota. Navi lok, nave swapan. Pan kahi tari kami hota. Roz mala lakshat yet hota ki… tu navtas.”

Her eyes filled.

“I thought… I had time. I thought you would wait. But… I realized something too late.”

“What?” Ravi asked, barely above a whisper.

“That you were home,” she said.
“My only home.”

Ravi looked away. “Meera—”

She placed her hand on his.

“Please Ravi… ek chance.
Mi parat yenar navte…
Mi parat aali aahe.”

For the first time in years, Ravi allowed himself to feel hope again.

He didn’t speak.
He simply opened his arms.

And Meera stepped into them — crying softly, holding the boy who had waited quietly, patiently, without ever expecting anything in return.


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A New Morning

The next day, for the first time in years, two footsteps walked down the dew path again.

The sun shone brighter.
The air felt lighter.
And the dew… finally sparkled as if celebrating a love that had found its way home.

“Ravi,” Meera smiled, linking her fingers with his,
“From now on… let’s walk this path together.”

He smiled softly. “Always.”

And this time, Meera noticed his smile.

It wasn’t quiet anymore.
It was full, warm, complete.

Just like the two of them.