Chapter 15 (When the Rain Remembered)
Riverside Bridge – The Next Night – 11:57 PM
Aarohi stood where the moonlight pooled over the worn stone, one foot on the cycle pedal, the other tapping the bridge's edge. She was early—but her heart wasn't.
It had been racing since last night.
The stranger's eyes still haunted her. Not in fear. In memory.
She didn't sleep. She couldn't.
There was something unspoken in that moment when their eyes locked.
Something unfinished.
Now she had returned—with a flask of tea, a folded blanket, and a nervous heart she couldn't quite explain.
She stared at the spot on the railing where he had stood the night before, half-expecting he wouldn't return.
But something told her... he would.
11:59 PM
A rustle in the shadows.
She turned, alert.
A tall figure emerged at the far end of the bridge, the same layers, the same scarf and beanie. The same hidden presence. He paused, as if unsure whether to approach.
Aarohi lifted the flask. "Tea?"
He blinked.
She added, "No poison, I promise. Unless you like that sort of drama."
Still, he said nothing.
"Okay," she said, taking a sip herself. "Tastes like overboiled regret and soggy hope. But warm."
That almost—almost—made the corner of his eye twitch. A smirk? A memory? She couldn't tell.
She sat cross-legged on the stone, patting the blanket beside her. "I won't ask questions. Just company."
A long silence.
Then... he walked forward.
Slow. Guarded.
He didn't sit. But he did lean against the railing, a few feet away.
It was something.
Aarohi sipped her tea. "This bridge's cursed, you know."
He glanced at her.
"People say you lose something when you cross it alone after midnight," she added. "Me? I lose my filter."
He looked away. "I didn't come for stories."
She raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you come back?"
That silenced him.
She didn't press further.
Instead, she looked at the stars.
Then, softly: "Do you believe two people can feel something... before they even know why?"
Deep tensed.
Aarohi glanced sideways, careful not to look directly. "Because last night, when you looked at me... I felt like I knew you."
His voice, low and gravelly: "You don't."
"I didn't say I do. I said I felt like I did."
Silence.
And then, she did something unexpected. She pulled out the piece of scarf she'd clutched all night.
"This was yours."
He didn't take it.
She folded it back. "I'll keep it till you want it back."
At last, his eyes met hers again.
That same storm. That same ache. But something else now—conflict.
And then... the wind shifted.
Aarohi stood slowly, stepping toward him. "You're not going to jump, are you?"
"No."
"Good. Because next time I pull you back, I won't be this graceful. You're heavier than you look."
A grunt. A breath that might've been a scoff. Or a laugh. He turned away.
But she stepped closer—gently. Not too close. "You don't have to talk. Just don't disappear again."
He didn't nod. Didn't reply.
But he didn't walk away either.
And that was enough—for now.
Singhania Mansion – That Night
Ravindra looked up as Deep entered. His scarf and hoodie still on, but his gait... lighter.
"Long walk?" his father asked.
Deep paused at the doorway. Then, softly: "Someone offered me tea."
Ravindra stared.
"And?"
Deep placed the scarf scrap gently on the table, next to the sand timer.
The grains inside shimmered faintly—slower. Softer.
Deep didn't smile. But for the first time in days, his chest didn't ache quite so much.
"She remembered me," he said under his breath. "Even when she didn't know it."
Kashyap House – Aarohi's Room
Aarohi played her mouth organ again.
Not mournful this time.
Hopeful. Questioning.
Her eyes lingered on a notebook beside her pillow.
She opened it.
A single line written across the page:
"Eyes don't lie. And yours... once promised me forever."
Riverside Bazaar – A Few Days Later – Just Before Sunset
The clouds were heavy with unshed tears as the city bustled around Aarohi. She adjusted her jumpsuit and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, scanning the fruit stalls for fresh oranges and murmuring her grocery list under her breath. She hadn't been sleeping well lately—those hazel eyes kept returning in her dreams.
Every time she tried to sketch them, her hands shook. And yet, the page remained filled with only one word:
"Why?"
As she moved toward the bakery lane, a sudden gust of wind rattled the tin rooftops.
And then the first drop fell.
One.
Two.
A rush.
Within seconds, the sky broke open. Rain poured in sheets, turning the dusty ground into a mirror of puddles and panic.
Stall owners scrambled. Shoppers ran for shelter.
But not Aarohi.
She stood still, her arms open just slightly, as if welcoming the sky.
Until—
A body brushed past her.
Fast. Familiar.
Clad in the same hoodie. The same scarf. The same quiet storm.
Her breath caught.
"Wait!" she called out.
He didn't.
She followed.
They weaved through the rain-slick alleys, her sandals skidding slightly against the cobblestones. Finally, he ducked into an abandoned verandah near the old clock tower.
She reached seconds later—soaked, breathless.
"You really need to stop running into me like a mystery novel," she gasped, stepping into the shade with him.
He turned away, silent.
The rain thundered on.
Aarohi stepped closer. "You're not here for groceries, are you?"
He didn't move.
She crossed her arms. "I get it. You're a riddle wrapped in a hoodie wrapped in a scarf. But those eyes—"
She stopped. Caught herself.
Too much.
Too soon.
But he turned.
Very slowly.
And this time, he pulled the scarf just low enough to speak clearly. His voice was rough, like wind scraping a cliff.
"You should stay away from me."
"Why?" she whispered.
"I'm not what you think I am."
"I never said I thought anything," she replied.
"I'm cursed," he said simply.
Aarohi blinked.
She should've laughed. Mocked. Walked away.
But instead... she stepped forward.
The hoodie was soaked now. The fabric clung to him in strange ways, outlining angles and bulk that weren't quite... human.
But her gaze didn't drift.
It remained locked on his eyes.
Hazel. Stormy. Hurting.
She felt something strange stir in her chest.
And then it happened.
The thunder cracked. Lightning flashed—
—and her hand reached for him just as his slipped, trying to steady himself against the slick pillar.
She caught him by the arm.
And as their fingers touched through his gloves—
FLASH!
A jolt. A memory.
A stage light. A voice. A glittering tiara.
And then—a cruel sentence whispered into her ears.
"...a bony, ugly creature like you has no place in my heart!"
Her eyes widened. Her body reeled back.
He stiffened. "What did you see?"
She stared at him. "Who are you?"
"I told you," he said softly. "No one you'd want to know."
She took a breath. "But I already do, don't I?"
Their eyes met again.
This time, it wasn't a recognition of the present.
It was the memory of pain.
Of a heartbreak too long buried.
Of a connection too strong to break.
"I... I know those eyes," she whispered. "I've cried over them."
And in that moment, a tear slipped down his hidden cheek.
Not from sadness.
But because she didn't run.
She remembered.
Singhania Mansion – That Night
Mr. Singhania watched Deep enter—soaked from head to toe, trembling. But in his eyes... something burned anew.
"Did something happen?" he asked.
Deep nodded slowly, clutching the gold locket under his hoodie.
"She saw a glimpse."
"Of you?"
"No," Deep said. "Of us."
He turned to the sand timer. The grains inside shimmered... and for the first time, slowed.
Kashyap House – Aarohi's Room
Aarohi sat by her window, drenched and shaking.
She held the sketchpad in her lap.
This time, the page wasn't blank.
It was filled with hazel eyes.
Outlined in shadow. Framed by tears.
And below them—one word:
"Deep?"
Old Bus Shelter – The Next Day – Dusk
The rain had passed, but the city still smelled of wet leaves and old secrets.
Aarohi sat on the cracked cement bench beneath the rusted roof of the abandoned bus stop, fiddling with her pencil. Her sketchpad lay open beside her, filled with incomplete eyes, unfinished memories.
She wasn't waiting.
But she hadn't gone home either.
Then came the soft shuffle of boots.
He was here.
Same hoodie. Same scarf.
Same silence.
He leaned against the old pole opposite her, not speaking. But she felt his presence settle into the space like fog.
She didn't smile. Didn't greet him.
Instead, she asked plainly,
"Why do you always hide?"
No answer.
She turned fully toward him now. "You walk around like a ghost, and I'm not sure if you're haunting the world... or if it's haunting you."
He looked down. The scarf shifted slightly.
Aarohi's voice softened. "If I'm not scared... why are you?"
His gaze met hers. A flicker of hesitation. Then he spoke—low and rough.
"I'm on a vrat."
Aarohi blinked. "A vrat?"
He nodded.
"Like a maunvrat?"
"No," he said. "Not silence. Secrecy."
She tilted her head. "A vrat to stay... hidden?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He looked up at the sky, avoiding her eyes.
"To break the curse."
The air shifted. The sound of a scooter whirred past in the background, but in the quiet between them, that word lingered.
"Curse," Aarohi repeated, the syllables trembling on her lips.
"What kind of curse needs... hiding?"
He didn't answer.
So she stepped closer. Carefully.
"You say strange things. You speak like you've lived a hundred lives, but you flinch like you're afraid of the next minute."
Then, gently—
"By the way, I'm Aarohi Kashyap. And you are?"
A pause.
Then, after a breath far too long to be casual—
He said, "Raavan."
Aarohi blinked. "Raavan?"
He turned slightly, eyes unreadable. "It means... beast."
Her eyebrows lifted. "That's not your real name."
"It's the only one that fits," he said, turning his face away again.
Silence. Thick and damp.
Finally, Aarohi stepped forward, her voice steady but sad. "Do you think that hiding your face will hide the truth? Because it won't. Not from me."
She reached toward his scarf—but didn't touch. Just hovered.
"Your eyes already gave you away."
He didn't stop her. But he didn't move either.
Still, she dropped her hand.
"Fine. I won't force you. But if you keep calling yourself a beast, one day you'll forget that you were ever anything else."
A crack of thunder somewhere far away.
Deep flinched—but not from fear. From recognition.
Aarohi whispered,
"You said you're cursed. Is that why you've buried yourself under layers?"
His throat worked, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Or shouldn't.
Then he replied,
"If someone sees me... truly sees me... the curse might break. Or it might finish what it started."
She took a slow breath.
"And which do you fear more?"
He didn't reply.
Aarohi picked up her sketchpad and handed it to him. On the page were hazel eyes. His.
Beneath them, a scribbled word had been scratched out. Again and again.
Deep.
He stared.
"I don't know your name," she said. "But I know your eyes. They've lived inside me longer than my questions."
The scarf rose and fell with his breath.
He handed the sketchpad back.
And before walking away, he murmured,
"Be careful with what you remember, Aarohi. Some memories burn when they return."
She didn't stop him this time.
She just stood there, clutching the sketchpad, her heart thudding painfully against a truth half-said.
As he disappeared into the dusk once more, she whispered to the wind,
"Raavan isn't your name.
And you... aren't a beast."
Singhania Mansion – That Night
Deep stood before the sand timer. The grains trickled slower now, as if even time had paused to listen—for footsteps, for a name, for a fate yet unwritten.
Mr. Singhania entered quietly, his presence more shadow than sound.
"She asked about your name?" he asked softly.
Deep didn't turn. "I lied."
"Why?"
Deep's hand hovered over the timer before curling around the locket hidden beneath his hoodie.
"Because if she says my name aloud... the curse might choose."
Mr. Singhania stepped closer. "Choose what?"
Deep's voice was low. Unsteady.
"Whether to free me... or destroy her instead."
The locket around his neck felt heavier than ever. He clutched it tighter, as if the memory it held could shield her from the weight of his truth.
Kashyap House – Aarohi's Room
The rain had long stopped, but droplets still clung to Aarohi's sleeves as she sat at her desk, scribbling furiously into her journal. Her hands were shaking.
Raavan is a lie.
But his eyes? They hold something older than pain.
Something I knew once... before I forgot.
She stared at the words. And then, after a heartbeat of hesitation, she wrote beneath them:
If he's hiding to break a curse...
Then maybe remembering is how I'll break mine.
Outside her window, the wind whispered, catching a loose page from her notebook and lifting it into the dark.
Celestial Watchpoint – Later That Day
High above, where time flowed differently and stars kept secrets, Tara stood atop a glimmering ledge, her lamp-shaped locket glowing dimly against her chest. In her palm hovered a delicate glass jar—inside it, a flickering heart beat unevenly. Faster now. Stirred.
Her gaze fixed on Earth, sharp and unblinking.
"She's already stirring something in him," she muttered, her voice laced with venom. "No... I won't allow this."
A soft pulse shimmered beside her, and Mayank appeared, arms folded, his eyes tired.
"The more you resist fate," he said, "the more it will pull you toward it."
Tara didn't flinch.
"I don't believe in fate," she spat. "I believe in claiming what's mine."
Mayank turned his gaze to the stars around them. "If you tamper with what is meant to be... you'll lose more than you know, Tara."
But she wasn't listening. Her fingers tightened around the jar. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she summoned a trail of celestial smoke—thin, sharp, and aimed like a curse—directed straight toward the world below.
The jar pulsed.
So did the sand timer.
And far away, a girl's journal page fluttered through the breeze... the name Deep scrawled across it in trembling ink.
Scene Freeze
• Deep, looking at his beastly reflection—his jawline still rough, his horns still hidden—but his eyes alive.
• Aarohi, sitting with the sketchpad, whispering to the wind, "Was it really you all along?"
• Tara, floating in celestial silence, watching the necklace glow—one star pulsating, not fading.
For the first time... it seemed to flicker not in countdown. But in hope.
Iss Ishq Mein Marjawan... tu jo kahe woh karjawaan...
Soft reprise... swelling like a heartbeat.
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To be continued.
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