"Baarish ho rhi hai," I said as I stepped onto the balcony. The cold wind brushed against my skin, and goosebumps erupted all over my body.

It was night, and the house felt emptier than usual - Mom and Dad had gone back to the village to prepare things.
We decided to hold the wedding in Chandigarh, in a palace. I'm happy - I didn't want to go to the village for marriage. Here, it's costly, but manageable. After all, I've saved enough - more than enough - sometimes sacrificing my own needs. 

"You only have two options, Ritika. Get married or study. Either I will spend my money on your studies or your marriage."

That's the line my dad used to repeat since my childhood. It became my duty to be independent - no, not just a duty, a passion. I wanted to stand on my own feet, not be married off to some stranger I'd have to spend my life with, eating from his money, and had to live in fear of him beating me. 

Men are scary, human beings are scary. One minute they are happy and treating you like the whole world, and the next second you are on your knees begging them to forgive you for the crime you never committed.

"Dad, please stop," I shouted, standing infront of my mom. Like a warrior, the warrior who was just five years old, standing in front of her father to protect her mother. 

"Get aside, Ritika." He roared, and my eyes turned teary.

Dad is scary. So scary. I hate him.

"Nhi. Bilkul nhi." I shouted, and soon his big palm touched my skin. Tears spilled out of my eyes,

(No, not at all.)

My eyes turned teary as that memory flashed back. Was it my fault that I wanted to protect my mother from that monster -the monster I didn't recognize anymore? I wanted to kill him in that moment. His eyes, red and furious, are engraved in me; that anger still haunts me.

I shook my head, rubbing my eyes, trying to wash the tears away that had struck my face.

I sighed, life is strange.   But here I was marrying a stranger. Who didn't feel like a stranger at all. 

A warm feeling settled inside me, and I smiled.  I opened my phone to message him.

I sat in the bedroom, and as I looked out of the window, it was raining. Averting my gaze from outside the window, and opened my gallery. I opened her pic and looked at her. Her brown hair opens, her eyes almost closed as she was laughing. She was beautiful. 

As I was staring at her, a notification popped up from her. I opened her message only to see an attachment. I downloaded the photo and read the caption.

"Bhar dekho barish ho rhi h"

(I always wished to have a romantic dance in the barish and piche baarish song chlna chaiyee!pout)

(See outside, it's raining.)

I smiled. She wished for it? Then she would get it.

"Mrs. Bansal, i need to know all your wishes." 

I stood up from the bedroom and went to my mother, who was sitting on the couch, "Ma, abhi ek kaam hai mai aya thodi der main."

(Ma, there is some work, I will come after some time.)

"Kha ja rha hai?"

(Where are you going?)

"Dipu ne bulaya hai, he needs help for the project."

(Dipu has called me; he needs help.)

"Barrish ho rhi hai ruk kar chale jana."

(It's raining, go after it stops.)

"Ma, it's important," I spoke.

She frowned, but anyway nodded,"Go safely."

I placed my phone in my pocket and stepped outside my apartment. Taking my bike, I made my way towards her apartment.

The cold here rushed around me, and this all felt euphoric. A strange excitement settled inside me. I am going to see her. Oh, it's been only a few days, and here I am restless without her. I want to be near her, hear her yap, and see her. My lips were twitching on their own and forming a huge smile. I am so excited to see her. I raced my bike. 

And soon I was in front of her apartment, fully drenched in rain, my white shirt stuck to me like my second skin. 

I breathed deeply, and with that, I rang the bell. The door opened, and I saw the most beautiful sight in front of me. Her eyes widened the second she saw me - wrapped in a blanket, hair tied messily, her face still glowing even in the dim hallway light.

For a second, we just stood there. The sound of rain filled the silence between us.

She blinked. "Advik?"

"Hi," I said, breathless because of the bike ride, but because of her.

Her eyes trailed over me - soaked head to toe, water dripping from my hair, my shirt clinging to me. "Oh god, aap yha? Itti barish main?"

(Oh god, you here? in this rain?)

I smiled. "Kisi ko dance krna tha mere sath."

(Someone wanted to dance with me)

She shook her head, a laugh slipping out, soft and surprised. "Hn but- oh gosh kya hi bolu?"

(yes, but. Oh god, what should I even say?)

I took a small step forward. "Kuch bhi, Mrs. Bansal. Sunne k liye hi aya hu."

(Anything, Mrs. Bansal. Came here to listen to you.)

Her cheeks flushed. The blanket tightened around her shoulders. And yet, she didn't close the door.

"Come inside before you catch a cold," she muttered.

"Hnji."

I entered her home, which was warm. Just like her-calm and warm. She removed the blanket, and I saw her in tiny shorts and a cute purple crop top. She was tall, but somehow she looked tiny, vulnerable, real in those clothes. I stared at her for a moment longer than I should've before my eyes nervously drifted around her home.

"You want a towel?" she asked, already walking toward the cupboard.

"Yeah... please," I said.

"Sit on the chair." I looked at her and saw her smiling. Is she glad to see me? I shook my head and took the seat.

"Sure, ma'am." 

She shook her head, trying to control her smile. and came near me. She stood in front of me and started rubbing my hair with the towel. Her hands were gentle, yet firm. I looked up at her, and she was focused-her bottom lip caught slightly between her teeth, brows furrowed in concentration. God, she looked adorable.

"You didn't have to do this."

"I know, but I wanted to."

A/N

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