It wasn’t love at first sight.
But something about Rhea's quiet presence in the college library always caught Varun's eye. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t one of those girls everyone knew. But she had that thing — calm eyes, a tucked hair strand, and the way she bit her pen while reading.
Varun was the complete opposite — confident, charming, cricket lover, and late to class 9 out of 10 times.
They crossed paths often, but never really spoke.
Until one rainy afternoon.
It wasn’t love at first sight.
But something about Rhea's quiet presence in the college library always caught Varun's eye. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t one of those girls everyone knew. But she had that thing — calm eyes, a tucked hair strand, and the way she bit her pen while reading.
Varun was the complete opposite — confident, charming, cricket lover, and late to class 9 out of 10 times.
They crossed paths often, but never really spoke.
Until one rainy afternoon.
It was 4:30 PM. The college was almost empty. The sky was grey, and rain hit the windows hard. Rhea was sitting at the bus stop, drenched halfway, waiting.
Varun was walking by, holding a broken umbrella.
“Hey… you going home?” he asked.
She looked up, surprised. “Trying to… but my bus didn’t come.”
“Same here. You want to split an auto?” he asked, wiping rain off his forehead.
She hesitated. Then nodded.
That short 12-minute ride changed everything.
They started talking more after that. Slowly. Naturally. Rhea would smile more around Varun. He’d notice little things — like how she always added extra sugar to chai, or how she saved the last bite of samosa for her best friend.
He began to wait near the canteen just to walk her to class. She started leaving tiny post-its in his notebook: “Sleepy in stats? Don't worry. I made notes :)”
There were no proposals. No dramatic “I love you” scenes. Just two people, slowly learning each other’s rhythms.
One evening, they were walking on the terrace of the college library. It had just rained. Everything smelled like wet mud and beginnings.
“Do you believe in perfect couples?” she asked him suddenly.
He thought for a second.
“No. But I believe in people who don’t give up on each other… even on bad days.”
She smiled. That was the day she knew — he was her person.
Months passed.
They started spending weekends together — coffee shops, bookstores, beach walks.
They had fights too.
She once got angry because he forgot their "first chai anniversary."
He was upset when she canceled a movie plan for a family event.
But they always came back to each other. Always.
Because their love wasn’t just about hearts and flowers. It was built on small understandings — like how she needed 10 minutes of silence after a long day, and how he liked his tea lukewarm with two biscuits.
One night, they sat under a roof, hiding from the sudden rain.
Neither of them spoke.
Then Varun said, “You know, I’ve seen prettier girls. Funnier ones too. But no one’s ever made me feel this… safe.”
She looked at him, her eyes filled with something soft and permanent.
“I don’t want exciting. I want real,” she said. “Someone who’ll sit with me in silence. Someone who understands that I’m not okay even when I smile.”
That night, they didn’t say “I love you.”
But that silence was louder than words.
Years Later…
They moved to a new city for work. Life got busier. Calls became shorter. But they held on.
On rainy nights, they still made tea together. Half cup for her. Full cup for him.
And every time Varun looked at her — messy bun, oversized hoodie, reading some book with a highlighter in her hand — he whispered to himself:
“I didn’t find love.
Love found me…
Sitting on a wet bench…
Wearing a maroon kurti and waiting for a bus that never came.”
Love isn’t loud.
It’s in the little things.
In understanding, showing up, and staying.
Even on rainy days.