11 hours ago
Scene 1
Hello friends.
My name is Amit. I am 23 years old, and my entire world is confined to a small, suffocating room in Delhi. From morning until night, I sit on a thin mattress, preparing for government bank exams. My father lives in our village, and he tells every relative with confidence, “My son will become a Bank PO this year, just wait and see.” His expectations feel like added pressure on my chest. But what choice do I have? I must adjust. Unlike other young men my age who spend time at malls or wander around the market, I cannot afford such distractions. I eat simple food, wear my plain shirts, and continue studying until my eyes begin to burn.
Today, my pen stopped working. I had planned to prepone my mock test, but without a pen, how could I write? So, I stepped out of my room for just five minutes to visit Sharma Uncle’s stationery shop at the corner of the lane.
The weather in Delhi is always unpredictable. One moment the sun shines brightly, and the next moment dark clouds completely cover the sky. Just as I reached the market, heavy monsoon rain suddenly poured down. It was not a light drizzle; it felt as if buckets of water were being emptied from the sky. Pedestrians scrambled in every direction, shouting and running for shelter. I quickly rushed inside Sharma Uncle’s narrow shop to escape the rain.
Inside the shop, it is very cramped. Small stacks of notebooks, competitive exam magazines, and chart papers are piled up everywhere. The air feels thick with the scent of damp earth that raw mitti smell mixed with the smell of old paper. Sharma Uncle sits behind the counter, casually scrolling on his mobile phone.
“Arre, Amit,” he says without looking up. “You came at the right time. Stay inside. I’m having masala chai. Do you want some?”
“No, Uncle,” I reply softly. “Just give me one black pen.”
I stand in the narrow space between the magazine rack and the counter, waiting. Outside, thunder rumbles loudly.
Then, she walks in.
Later, I come to know that her name is Sonam Gupta. She is 21 years old and a B.Com student. In her small-town home in Uttar Pradesh, family reputation means everything. Her father is a highly respected college principal. Because of this, Sonam is known in our lane as a very good and obedient girl. People often say, “Look at Sonam. She goes to the temple every Tuesday, never talks to boys, and always dresses simply.” Even today, she is wearing a plain yellow cotton suit.
But when I look at her face, Behind her quiet, well-behaved appearance, there is restless emotional hunger. It feels as if she wants to fly, to scream, to experience something real, yet she keeps all those feelings locked within herself. She has never shared this secret with anyone. Day after day, she simply adjusts to her family’s rules.
At this moment, she is completely caught in the sudden downpour. She runs blindly to escape the heavy rain pouring outside. As she enters, she looks back at the flooded street, not paying attention to what lies ahead.
She rushes into Sharma Uncle’s shop in a hurry. The space is too small. Before I can step aside, she crashes directly into me.
It happens so suddenly. She slips slightly on the wet floor, and to stop herself from falling, she grabs my arms. I lose my balance and step backward until my back hits the wooden magazine rack.
Crash.
We collide in unexpected closeness, and for a moment, the entire world seems to stop. It feels as if a sudden electric current passes through the cramped shop. She is drenched from head to toe, her yellow suit clinging to her like a second skin. Because of the impact, she is pressed close against me.
For a second, I hear nothing not the heavy rain, not the thunder. There is only the loud, rapid beating of my own heart, and perhaps hers too, because I can feel it racing between us. I am a serious and quiet boy. I never even look girls in the eye; I only focus on my books. But now this beautiful, respectable girl is in my arms, standing so close that my mind goes completely blank.
Her warmth startles me. I feel a sudden rush of heat spread through my body, unfamiliar and overwhelming. I feel guilty for even noticing it, yet I cannot ignore the intensity of the moment. The scent of rainwater mixed with a faint hint of her body fills the air around us, making my head spin slightly.
There is an unexpected, electric tension between us. It is not only physical; it feels as if a hidden current has suddenly come alive. I can sense the warmth of her body against mine and feel her quick, uneven breathing near my neck. She looks up at me, her large brown eyes wide with shock. Drops of water fall from her wet eyelashes like tiny pearls. I look down at her, completely frozen.
My hands are still on her shoulders to steady her. I can feel the damp fabric of her suit and the slight tremble beneath it. A shiver runs through me, a strange, sweet ache that I do not want to end.
We stand there, locked together in a heavy silence. For that one moment, the pressure of my exams and the weight of her family’s reputation seem to disappear. We are simply two young people, caught in an unexpected closeness while the rain pours outside. The emotional restlessness I sensed in her earlier now feels real and alive between us, quietly matching something hidden inside me.
Slowly, reality begins to return. Sharma Uncle clears his throat loudly from behind the counter. He cannot see us clearly in the dim corner, but the sound breaks the spell.
Sonam takes a sharp breath and quickly steps back. Her face turns bright red. She adjusts her wet dupatta around her shoulders and lowers her eyes to the floor.
“Sorry… I… I didn’t see,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.
Suddenly, my hands feel empty and cold. I step away from the rack and straighten my shirt, though my heart is still racing. “No problem,” I reply, my voice coming out lower than usual. “Please stand here. There is some space.”
She moves to the other corner of the shop and stands near the rolled chart papers. She is shivering slightly from the cold rain. I take my black pen from the counter and place a ten-rupee coin beside it. My hand is still trembling a little.
Outside, the rain continues to pour heavily on the tin roof. We are both stuck inside the shop, waiting for the storm to pass. But the air between us has completely changed. The tension is still there, quiet but alive, like a live wire humming in the background.
I pretend to read the cover of a competitive exam magazine, but my mind is not focused. From the corner of my eye, I steal a glance at her. When I look, I notice that she is also looking at me. Our eyes meet for a brief second, and in that moment, there is a silent understanding between us. A spark. The obedient girl from Uttar Pradesh and the serious boy preparing for exams have just shared something unspoken that no one else knows.
As I hold my new black pen, I realize that my life may not be limited to bank exams and a small room anymore. Today, the monsoon rain seems to have washed away my old routine. Something new has begun, and I do not know what it will lead to. But deep in my heart, a small and steady feeling tells me that this will not be the last time I cross paths with Sonam Gupta.
![[Image: zomynFIO_o.gif]](https://images2.imgbox.com/23/b3/zomynFIO_o.gif)
Hello friends.
My name is Amit. I am 23 years old, and my entire world is confined to a small, suffocating room in Delhi. From morning until night, I sit on a thin mattress, preparing for government bank exams. My father lives in our village, and he tells every relative with confidence, “My son will become a Bank PO this year, just wait and see.” His expectations feel like added pressure on my chest. But what choice do I have? I must adjust. Unlike other young men my age who spend time at malls or wander around the market, I cannot afford such distractions. I eat simple food, wear my plain shirts, and continue studying until my eyes begin to burn.
Today, my pen stopped working. I had planned to prepone my mock test, but without a pen, how could I write? So, I stepped out of my room for just five minutes to visit Sharma Uncle’s stationery shop at the corner of the lane.
The weather in Delhi is always unpredictable. One moment the sun shines brightly, and the next moment dark clouds completely cover the sky. Just as I reached the market, heavy monsoon rain suddenly poured down. It was not a light drizzle; it felt as if buckets of water were being emptied from the sky. Pedestrians scrambled in every direction, shouting and running for shelter. I quickly rushed inside Sharma Uncle’s narrow shop to escape the rain.
Inside the shop, it is very cramped. Small stacks of notebooks, competitive exam magazines, and chart papers are piled up everywhere. The air feels thick with the scent of damp earth that raw mitti smell mixed with the smell of old paper. Sharma Uncle sits behind the counter, casually scrolling on his mobile phone.
“Arre, Amit,” he says without looking up. “You came at the right time. Stay inside. I’m having masala chai. Do you want some?”
“No, Uncle,” I reply softly. “Just give me one black pen.”
I stand in the narrow space between the magazine rack and the counter, waiting. Outside, thunder rumbles loudly.
Then, she walks in.
Later, I come to know that her name is Sonam Gupta. She is 21 years old and a B.Com student. In her small-town home in Uttar Pradesh, family reputation means everything. Her father is a highly respected college principal. Because of this, Sonam is known in our lane as a very good and obedient girl. People often say, “Look at Sonam. She goes to the temple every Tuesday, never talks to boys, and always dresses simply.” Even today, she is wearing a plain yellow cotton suit.
But when I look at her face, Behind her quiet, well-behaved appearance, there is restless emotional hunger. It feels as if she wants to fly, to scream, to experience something real, yet she keeps all those feelings locked within herself. She has never shared this secret with anyone. Day after day, she simply adjusts to her family’s rules.
At this moment, she is completely caught in the sudden downpour. She runs blindly to escape the heavy rain pouring outside. As she enters, she looks back at the flooded street, not paying attention to what lies ahead.
She rushes into Sharma Uncle’s shop in a hurry. The space is too small. Before I can step aside, she crashes directly into me.
It happens so suddenly. She slips slightly on the wet floor, and to stop herself from falling, she grabs my arms. I lose my balance and step backward until my back hits the wooden magazine rack.
Crash.
We collide in unexpected closeness, and for a moment, the entire world seems to stop. It feels as if a sudden electric current passes through the cramped shop. She is drenched from head to toe, her yellow suit clinging to her like a second skin. Because of the impact, she is pressed close against me.
For a second, I hear nothing not the heavy rain, not the thunder. There is only the loud, rapid beating of my own heart, and perhaps hers too, because I can feel it racing between us. I am a serious and quiet boy. I never even look girls in the eye; I only focus on my books. But now this beautiful, respectable girl is in my arms, standing so close that my mind goes completely blank.
Her warmth startles me. I feel a sudden rush of heat spread through my body, unfamiliar and overwhelming. I feel guilty for even noticing it, yet I cannot ignore the intensity of the moment. The scent of rainwater mixed with a faint hint of her body fills the air around us, making my head spin slightly.
There is an unexpected, electric tension between us. It is not only physical; it feels as if a hidden current has suddenly come alive. I can sense the warmth of her body against mine and feel her quick, uneven breathing near my neck. She looks up at me, her large brown eyes wide with shock. Drops of water fall from her wet eyelashes like tiny pearls. I look down at her, completely frozen.
My hands are still on her shoulders to steady her. I can feel the damp fabric of her suit and the slight tremble beneath it. A shiver runs through me, a strange, sweet ache that I do not want to end.
We stand there, locked together in a heavy silence. For that one moment, the pressure of my exams and the weight of her family’s reputation seem to disappear. We are simply two young people, caught in an unexpected closeness while the rain pours outside. The emotional restlessness I sensed in her earlier now feels real and alive between us, quietly matching something hidden inside me.
Slowly, reality begins to return. Sharma Uncle clears his throat loudly from behind the counter. He cannot see us clearly in the dim corner, but the sound breaks the spell.
Sonam takes a sharp breath and quickly steps back. Her face turns bright red. She adjusts her wet dupatta around her shoulders and lowers her eyes to the floor.
“Sorry… I… I didn’t see,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.
Suddenly, my hands feel empty and cold. I step away from the rack and straighten my shirt, though my heart is still racing. “No problem,” I reply, my voice coming out lower than usual. “Please stand here. There is some space.”
She moves to the other corner of the shop and stands near the rolled chart papers. She is shivering slightly from the cold rain. I take my black pen from the counter and place a ten-rupee coin beside it. My hand is still trembling a little.
Outside, the rain continues to pour heavily on the tin roof. We are both stuck inside the shop, waiting for the storm to pass. But the air between us has completely changed. The tension is still there, quiet but alive, like a live wire humming in the background.
I pretend to read the cover of a competitive exam magazine, but my mind is not focused. From the corner of my eye, I steal a glance at her. When I look, I notice that she is also looking at me. Our eyes meet for a brief second, and in that moment, there is a silent understanding between us. A spark. The obedient girl from Uttar Pradesh and the serious boy preparing for exams have just shared something unspoken that no one else knows.
As I hold my new black pen, I realize that my life may not be limited to bank exams and a small room anymore. Today, the monsoon rain seems to have washed away my old routine. Something new has begun, and I do not know what it will lead to. But deep in my heart, a small and steady feeling tells me that this will not be the last time I cross paths with Sonam Gupta.
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