The Scent of That Moment

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The Scent of That Moment
By [Sudais khan (read me)]

Rain had returned to the city. The scent of wet earth, leaves dripping with raindrops, and the cold breeze dancing through the streets brought back memories Aisha thought she had buried. With a warm cup of coffee in her hands, she sat by the window of her apartment, watching the rain trickle down the glass like silent tears.

This wasn’t the first time she had witnessed a rainy evening like this. But something about today felt different. Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of a new chapter.

Two days earlier, Aisha had moved to this new city for a job. Everything was unfamiliar—new office, new home, no friends. Loneliness had slowly started wrapping itself around her. But Aisha believed in one thing: “Everything happens when it's meant to.”

With that belief, she had walked into a quiet coffee shop after work. The rain outside was pouring like it had no intention to stop. She chose a seat by the window, ordered her usual cappuccino, and pulled out her diary to write.

A gentle voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

She turned to see a young man, slightly drenched, holding a book in one hand and offering a warm smile.
“I’m Armaan,” he said, extending his hand.

She smiled politely and shook his hand. It was strange—she didn’t usually talk to strangers, but something about this moment didn’t feel strange at all.

They ended up sharing the table. Conversation began with the rain, then coffee, favorite authors, and slowly drifted into life itself. Armaan told her he was a freelance writer who often visited cafes for inspiration.

To Aisha, it felt like he was saying everything she had once thought but never spoken. There was calmness in his voice and depth in his words. Sitting across from him, with rain outside and soft music in the background, it felt like the kind of scene you only read about in books.

In the weeks that followed, the coffee shop became their place. Every time it rained, Aisha would be there, and somehow, so would Armaan. They didn’t always need words—their silences became comforting, like shared secrets.

One day, Armaan asked, “You always look lost in the rain. Aren’t you afraid of getting drenched?”

Aisha smiled and said, “I used to be. Rain used to make me feel lonelier. But now, with you, even the rain sings.”

That day, Armaan seemed unusually quiet. Before leaving, he handed her a small notebook. On the first page, he had written:

"Meeting you felt like the first drop of rain,
Falling gently on my heart… soaking everything I’d buried."

That night, Aisha slept with the notebook next to her pillow. She didn’t say it out loud, but something had changed in her heart. Armaan was no longer just a part of her rainy evenings—he had quietly become part of her thoughts, her smiles, her pauses.

Then, one afternoon, Armaan arrived late. His usual smile was missing.

“I have to leave the city for a while,” he said. “A writing retreat. But when I come back, there’s something important I want to tell you.”

Aisha didn’t say much. A strange uneasiness crept in. It wasn’t about his absence—it was the fear of losing the rhythm they had built.

Three weeks passed. No calls. No messages. Aisha visited the coffee shop every evening, hoping he’d be there. But the chair across her remained empty. The rain felt cold again.

Then one day, the café manager handed her an envelope with her name on it. It was from Armaan.

> "Aisha,
I didn’t leave the city because I wanted to.
I left because I needed to know if I could stay—for good.
Every story has a turning point… and mine begins with you.
Will you be the rain in my life, forever?
– Armaan”



Tears welled in her eyes. As she looked up, Armaan stood by the door, holding an umbrella. No words were spoken. She ran to him.

Rain was falling again. And this time, they let it soak them—together.


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The End


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