With the Rain
I smile at the raindrops racing down the glass windowpanes. In my lap, lies a diary, faded with time and rough handling. I look at the piece I just wrote. It’s special. For him. Or rather, about him. Anshu. I whisper his name gently and it settles in the air before drifting away. Like a secret, a confession, a feeling I don't even understand fully.
I am still thinking of him when I finally close my eyes for a moment. It was an exhausting day- most days are. Just the life of a school student I guess- piled up assignments, pending homework, due projects and a thousand other things I don't want to think of now.
I flip to the last page of my diary. I write his name like I have written a hundred times before. Then absentmindedly, with nothing justifying the action, I write my name beside his. Mridu








