Aarav Sharma, a young accountant in a crisp but inexpensive shirt, sits cross-legged on the worn sofa, glancing at his phone. Across from him, Meera Singh, a schoolteacher with gentle eyes and a simple braid, folds laundry with practiced hands. Their parents’ voices drift in from the kitchen, blending with the scent of frying onions. "Do you remember our first walk together in the rain, Meera? We were drenched, but I never felt so alive." "How could I forget? You bought that tiny umbrella, but insisted we both squeeze under it," Meera laughs softly, her eyes shining.

Aarav stands beside Meera, clutching a worn suitcase. He scans the departure board, his brow furrowed. "The job in Bangalore is a big step. I wish I could take you with me right now, but... you know my family," he murmurs, voice heavy with longing. "We both have responsibilities. Your father needs the money, and my students need me here," Meera replies, forcing a smile as tears gather at the corners of her eyes.

Aarav sits hunched over a laptop, his face illuminated by the cold screen glow. The sound of WhatsApp notifications fills the silence. He rereads Meera's latest message, fingers hovering over the keys. "It's harder than I thought. This city is so big, yet I feel so small without you," he types, hesitating before hitting send.

Meera[/@ch_2] sits at her desk during lunch break.] Meera holds her phone close, rereading Aarav's message. Her heart aches as she watches raindrops racing each other down the windowpane. "I miss you too, Aarav. Sometimes I catch myself waiting for your footsteps on the stairs," she whispers to the empty room, voice trembling with longing.

Meera[/@ch_2] stands silent on the apartment balcony, her saree catching the glow of fireworks above.] Meera clutches her phone, watching couples stroll below. Her mother appears behind her, concern etched on her face. Mrs. Singh, Meera's mother, quietly supportive but worried, places a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder. "He will come back, beta. Some distances are only for a while," she soothes, though her own eyes glisten.

Aarav stands at the threshold, damp from the rain, hope flickering in his tired eyes. Meera rushes down the stairs, her hair loose, breathless with anticipation. For a moment, time pauses—the worries, the waiting, the longing—replaced by the simple joy of reunion. "No matter where I go, Meera, I’ll always find my way back to you," he promises, his arms open as she runs to him, the monsoon rain blurring the world behind them.