Aarohi was strolling in a small, lonely street, clad in a plain, beautiful, yet simple, unadorned white suit. She wore velvet bangles on her hands and had delicate earrings on her ears. The dampness was so dense that a fine spray of rain was falling that carried with it that faint odor of wet soil. She pulled at her own long, silky hair, which was attempting to be blown to her face by the wind. I never remember an umbrella until I really need one the most! She said to herself. She attempted to shield her head in her hands, but the rain was unremitting, and it quieted her head with the soft music of rain, stilled her mind, smashed her cheeks, and dipped the bottom of her suit in it. A long-limbed figure came to her side, and he held an umbrella over her, which was ironical considering he was wet as well. It was as though he were waiting to be showered while holding the umbrella. The rain slushing the umbrella appears to kill the world in silence. Arijit was waiting. "Thank you for the help. I forgot my umbrella. I... I really appreciate it." Her voice. Can I hear it just as it melts with the fall of the rain? "You're still getting wet." He also smiled as he picked the umbrella to offer to her. They were reversed. Chaos of a storm. It walks away smiling and carrying an umbrella. He is a generous soul. And can I as soon give my heart? Arijit Sharma. They were both determined and soft-spoken, so that Aarohi was disarmed. It was a glance, an awakening adoration, and they did not separate. In that momentary second, they had it. It was a bond. There was an unseen fiber between them. A bond where no separation was necessary. Hark. To think, and but one glance. It was an invisible thread. It was a bond. There was a certain invisible relationship between them. I am thinking of you, rain, all over the still open window. Whispering, heart. It was fate. It was a plan. It was still a rainy night, the window open. There was a storm in one of the enclosed tunnels. A man who had fire and fiery eyes. He was Arijit. "Are you okay?" Her heart was touched by the anxiety of his voice. She ran into his arms crying in haste. He covered her in his jacket. She had never had someone to protect, stand with, and fight by her side, and that was him. Aarohi felt that she was worth fighting for, for the first time in a long time. She had someone who not only cared but also put her needs before his needs. Since then it has not turned back. Getting his phone calls was the best thing in her days. Singing was one of the numerous passions that Arijit had. Arijit and Aarohi would swap worlds whenever they have the opportunity. opportunity. Their relationship grew stronger, and Aarohi's business went on in the two following years. The career of Arijit then got a start, and so did the happiness that surrounded them. On one playfully memorable evening, when they were counting the stars and the lights that were illuminating her boutique in the anniversary celebration, Arijit seized his opportunity. You cannot live without me." Everybody said, looking deep into her eyes and gripping her hands, "Marry me, Aarohi," he said. She rose in heart and felt and sensed a moment of utter elation, and even the happiness of her eyes was, at least for a moment, to be compared with the happiness of her heart. But the best of times, as these two, and all others too, knew by this time, in a few moments, was better than I thought a few moments. The father and mother of Arijit were traditional as well as protective; it was the parental instinct. His mother said, "She is beautiful, but our boy is a rising star. "Will the world accept this?" "I love her," Arijit answered, at that very moment, with self-serving motives, as though he sought to sell the world to her and to the world. Nothing will alter that I will marry her. But that, as though out of the goodness of that moment, it would be best to keep things as they are—tragedy must occur. Aarohi fears tragedy. Aarohi is getting. Bit by bit, even the trivial ones, such as the dates, the discussions, who Aarohi is, and the surnames of the nearest. "Get me a doc" was the last thing he said before, to the rest of the world, small and, as these few words would be repeated to all the talk, even the nearest. Arijit found her in a care center in Shimla. She looked at him blankly. Even the smile on her face was a dry grain of laughter. Arijit fell down on his knees by her bed and took her hands. "I do not want you to forget me," said he. I shall love you, both of you, every day. Arijit returned to her house with her and became her full-time attendant. He had her day-to-day routine, would sing to her, and would discuss old tales and moments in a desperate effort to pander to her waning memories. It was a slow, painful, and emotionally exhausting process. However, Arijit always loved. One night he took a risk and arranged a live show in Delhi; Aarohi vowed to attend it. The stage lights were a mild golden, and within the golden light, Arijit sang the song that he had written her. He sang about their love affair, about rain and umbrellas, about first kisses, about laughs, and about tears. Aarohi was captivated. She had lived the emotions in the song, and they awakened forgotten memories. She grabbed him by the hands and wept. "I... I remember," she whispered.