Chapter 10

Abhimanyu

The sky had been threatening rain since morning, heavy clouds rolling in like silent warnings. By the time school ended, the air was thick with humidity, and the first raindrops had begun to fall.

I stood at the school gate, watching as students rushed past, some laughing, some grumbling as they pulled out umbrellas or sprinted to avoid getting drenched. I had no such luxury. I had forgotten my umbrella, and judging by the downpour, I had no choice but to walk home in the rain.

A movement caught my eye. Shubhi stood a few feet away, staring at the sky with an unreadable expression. She wasn’t rushing like the others. Instead, she seemed… lost in thought.

I didn’t know why I noticed these things about her.

Just as I was about to turn away, a loud voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Shubhi! Come on, let's share the umbrella!” one of her classmates called out.

For a second, I thought she’d agree, but she hesitated, shaking her head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind the rain.”

That surprised me. Not many people willingly walked in the rain when they had a choice.

The raindrops grew heavier, and before I knew it, she stepped forward, completely unbothered by the water soaking into her uniform.

I had already started walking when I realized we were heading in the same direction.

The street was mostly empty, only a few students braving the rain. I slowed my pace, unsure if I wanted to pass her or keep my distance.

She walked steadily, her arms crossed, her expression calm, but every now and then, I caught a flicker of something else—like she was thinking too hard about something.

Something about the way she stared ahead made me wonder. Was she remembering something? Or was she just as lost in thought as I had been the past few days?

I didn’t want to care. But for some reason, I did.

As we walked, the silence stretched. The rain filled the space between us, a rhythmic sound against the pavement.

At one point, I found myself walking right beside her. It wasn’t intentional. The road had narrowed, forcing us closer.

She noticed me, her eyes flickering in my direction, but she didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

The unspoken tension from earlier lingered, heavier than the rain.

Then, almost without thinking, I spoke.

“You didn’t take the umbrella.”

She blinked, surprised that I had spoken first. “You didn’t either.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “I forgot mine.”

A small, almost invisible smile tugged at her lips before she turned her gaze forward again.

For the first time, it didn’t feel like we were two people ignoring each other. It felt like something else—something uncertain, but not entirely unwelcome.

As the rain continued to fall, I realized that this walk, this silence between us, was the longest moment we had ever shared. And strangely, I didn’t mind it.

Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t either.

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