The rain was merciless that afternoon, drumming against the city streets with the kind of persistence that blurred everything into shades of grey.

Cars honked impatiently, people rushed with umbrellas tilted at awkward angles, and the air smelled of wet asphalt.

Geet tightened her dupatta around her shoulders as she hurried along the footpath. Her sandals were already soaked, her handbag pressed tightly against her chest.

She loved rain, but only when she was indoors with a hot cup of chai and a book. Right now, it was nothing short of an inconvenience.

Just as she was about to give up and hail a rickshaw, her eyes caught a wooden sign hanging crookedly under the awning of an old building:

Turn the Page:
Rare & Old Books

She paused.

The name alone tugged at her curiosity.

Without thinking twice, she ran to it's shed and pushed open the glass door.

A little bell tinkled overhead, and a wave of warmth greeted her.

The shop smelled of old paper, ink, and freshly brewed coffee. Dust motes floated lazily in the golden lamplight. Shelves towered from floor to ceiling, filled with books whose pages looked like they’d traveled through time.

For a moment, Geet forgot about the rain.

She wandered to the poetry section, her favorite. Her fingers traced faded titles until they stopped at one that made her heart flutter.

Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore.

A rare edition she had only ever dreamed of holding. It was the original one, not those printed by people to earn money..

She reached out eagerly, but just as her hand brushed the spine, another hand touched hers.

Geet froze.

A man stood beside her, tall, with rain-damp hair falling across his forehead. He wore a simple grey sweater, sleeves pushed to his elbows, and his presence was calm.

His fingers rested on the same book as hers, warm against her skin.

“I think I saw it first..”

he said softly, his voice deep and unhurried. There was a hint of amusement in his tone.

Geet raised her brows, recovering quickly.

“You think?”

“I know.”

His lips curved in a half-smile.

She narrowed her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Well, unless your name is printed on the cover, it’s still fair game.”

Before he could respond, the shop owner, a kindly old man with spectacles perched on his nose, looked up from the counter.

“Ah, you’ve found the treasure! Only copy left in the shop, it's been here since 1994...”

He chuckled, glancing between them.

“But perhaps… you can share it?”

“Share?”

Geet echoed, startled.

The man beside her chuckled.

“Why not?”

He pulled the book gently off the shelf and turned to her with a small nod.

“Shall we?”

Something in his calm gaze disarmed her. Against her usual cautious nature, Geet found herself agreeing.

“Alright… just for a while.”

The shopkeeper intrups..

"Ahha.. wait wait. First give the money. Read that board what's written...
first pay, then read.."

They both divided the cost and paid the shopkeeper, then settled at a round wooden table in the café corner of the shop. A single yellow lamp cast a warm glow, and the rain tapping against the glass window created a cocoon of intimacy.

The man placed the book between them with quiet reverence.

“I’m Aahan..”

he said, extending his hand across the table.

“Geet.”

Her name slipped off her lips like a whisper as she shook his hand briefly. His grip was firm, steady.

“Would you like to read first?”

he asked, sliding the book slightly toward her.

Geet hesitated, then opened it.

Her voice, soft yet clear, filled the quiet corner as she read aloud

“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.”

(I took that phrase from Google by Rabindranath Tagore)

Aahan’s gaze lingered on her, not just on the words but the way she spoke them.

“You read it beautifully..”

he said after a pause.

"Like it means something to you.”

Geet’s cheeks warmed.

“Poetry always does. It… says what I can’t.”

His expression softened, almost vulnerable.

“I know what you mean. Sometimes words feel safer than people.”

The admission surprised her.

He didn’t seem like the kind of man who shared such thoughts with strangers.

They continued reading, alternating between passages, sometimes laughing when their interpretations clashed, sometimes falling into thoughtful silence.

Geet noticed little details about him.. the way his fingers traced the edge of the page, the crease between his brows when he thought deeply, the faint smile that softened his otherwise serious face.

Aahan noticed her too.. the way she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear, how her lips curved in concentration, and the light in her eyes whenever a line of poetry resonated with her.

At one point, Aahan leaned back, watching her as she spoke animatedly about a stanza.

“You know,” he said

“I don’t usually talk like this. Not with strangers.”

“Me neither..”

she admitted, smiling shyly.

“I’m usually… quieter. Books are easier.”

"Then maybe this book wanted us to meet.."

he said simply, his eyes holding hers with quiet intensity.

Her heart gave an unexpected flutter.
Time slipped by unnoticed.

The rain outside softened, and the jazz tune from the old radio hummed low in the background.

When Geet finally closed the book, she sighed.

“I should go. My family will be waiting.”

Aahan rose too, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“I will walk you out.”

They stepped into the cool, rain-washed air. Puddles glistened under the faint sunlight peeking through clouds. For a moment, neither spoke, as though prolonging the silence that had bound them inside.

At the bookshop door, Aahan did something unexpected. He pulled a small notepad from his pocket, tore a sheet, scribbled something, and carefully slipped it between the pages of the poetry book.

Then he handed it to her.

“For you..” he said, his tone steady but his eyes unreadable.

“Since we shared the book… maybe we can share more conversations too.”

Geet blinked, her fingers closing over the book, her pulse quickening. She wanted to ask, to be sure, but his gentle smile stopped her.

She nodded, returning a small, genuine smile of her own.

“Maybe we can.”

As she walked away, the city glimmering with the after-rain glow, she could feel the weight of the book in her arms, and hidden within it, the slip of paper with his number.

Her steps felt lighter,

her heart??

It felt strangely full.

That afternoon, Geet had entered the bookshop to escape the rain. She left with something far more unexpected, an encounter that felt like the first page of a story waiting to be written.

...~THE END~...
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Thank you,
Happy Reading:)

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With Love,
AUTHOR♡