During that moment alone, the difficulties of destiny were forgotten, and love reigned. Aarohi and Arijit hugged and gave up to the time and gave way to the world and its noise to fade. Although they were going to face even greater challenges, they had been united again, which is the testament to the strength of true love, which withstands even the most violent of trials. The Tale of Isha and Arhan:In still another place in the city, Isha was sitting in her nuptial robes with a kind of fear and eagerness in her face. She had married Arhan, her boyhood friend, in circumstances neither of them particularly wished. Their marriage was based on vows, family demands, and responsibility instead of love. It is occupational, emotional, and emotionally professional, and it attempts to provide painful emotions and occupational romantic statements of emotional things and emotional disconnect. Disillusionment and disappointment are about to grow. The roles and associations of a marriage transforming a potentially good relational relationship into a bad exchange in marriage are painful to experience. There is an emotional plea. It is emotional to the individual attempting to view and provide an alternative point of view. It is concerned with the agony of what may be good. Eugene Garfield wrote on the emotional appeal of sensations of rational order and disorder. There is an amalgamation and intervention of hope and pain in an attempt to make things material. It is a cross-section between a burden and a gift. Hopefully, with the feelings and the reason with the vacant sides of rational, the pain and the wait come as a reward. It changes to the weight of the soul, a time-limited present. It weighs and mortifies the waiting. One disjoins rationally what can be when something is going wrong. Eugene Garfield. Naturally, the rational functions of the world are 1. Mutual respect. 2. Empathy. 3. Stress. 4. Relationships. 5. Thinking should be the new 5! These are the three new primitive functions, or chaotic relations of order, upon the rational functions of the world. Mutual respect. Empathy, stress. Attempting to bridge the irrational feelings, attempting to bridge to be blindly rational. It bears a brunt in attempting to displace the blind rational with a blind rational, trying to. There is tension and pain. Suffering and dismay with limited or no feelings. Aarohi was walking in a small, desolate street, with a plain yet classy white suit on her. She wore velvet bangles, and delicate earrings dangled from her ears. Light rain made the air humid, and the earthy scent of the rain was a little comforting. To keep the wind from her face, she tied her long, silky hair back. "I need a brolly now," she said to herself, with a vain attempt to keep her hands over her head, but the rain was heavy. It was as if the downpour was a gift to silence her and soothe her troubled mind while it soaked the hem of her suit. A tall figure appeared and held an umbrella over her. It was ironic because he was drenched too and had the look of a rain lover, the one waiting for the downpour with open arms. The slosh of the rain on the umbrella seemed to block the world in waiting. Arijit was waiting. "Thank you so much for your help. I… I really appreciate it. I forgot my umbrella." I focused on her voice. I wished I could listen to it forever as it harmonized with the rhythm of the rain. "You're still getting wet." Sensing her reluctance to take the umbrella first, he smiled and changed the order of the umbrella. Tucked under one umbrella, he wishfully thought of the chaos of the storm, of the drenching rain and the… generous soul. And she. But could I, so easily, for him, give my heart? Arijit. They shared that kind of will. That, and the great resolve of Aarohi's gentle charm. A simple stare, direct and for each other, and it was enough, and for that fleeting second, it was shared. A bond, so intact, so invisible, the thread, disarming, yet unchained. Acoustic. One man. One glance. An invisible thread. A bond. I think of open windows, and I think of you; I think of rain. Whisper. Heart. One plan. One fate. One storm. One evening. One Arijit. “Are you okay?” The concern in his voice moved her. In a rush, she dashed into his embrace, and he wrapped her in his jacket. He was the first person she had met who was willing not only to protect her but also to stand and fight for her. For the first time in a long time, Aarohi felt like she was worth fighting for. There was a person in her life who not only cared but also kept her needs above his. There was no going back from that point. Receiving his phone calls became the highlights of her day. One of Arijit’s many loves was singing. Whenever they found the time, Arijit and Aarohi would trade stories. He would talk about the small gigs, late-night recording sessions, and the endless hustle, and she would share her world of fabrics and fashion design. In the following two years, both the relationship and Aarohi’s business expanded. The surrounding happiness in their lives also was Arijit’s growing success, which, after all, was only fitting. One starry evening, as they playfully counted the stars and the lights strung around her boutique for the anniversary celebration, Arijit claimed his moment. “I can’t live without you,” and locking his gaze with hers, pulled, “Marry me, Aarohi.” There’s a moment, and the heart gets inflated. Elation is complete, and even the joy in her eyes is, for a moment, equal to the joy in her heart. But every one of these, and everyone else too, would understand in a few years that these were the best of times. No, better for moments. Being protective and caring went hand in hand for Arijit’s parents. However, they were also traditional. His mother said, "She’s lovely, but our son is a rising star. Will the world accept this?" "I love her," Arijit said as if he wanted to compromise the whole world for her. "I will marry her, and nothing will change that." But even to keep the best of times, if nothing had to change, tragedy had to happen.