Chapter 1
There were some people who entered your life loudly.
And then there were people like Sahir.
Quiet. Unannounced. Like winter sunlight slipping through half-open curtains.
The kind you never noticed becoming important until one day your entire life started sounding like their voice.
The university campus looked softer after rain.
The pavements still glistened under the pale afternoon sky, carrying reflections of students rushing past with umbrellas and unfinished assignments. Somewhere near the business faculty building, someone was playing an old Bengali song through a cheap speaker, the sound distorted by the damp air.
Nuhrain hated rainy days on campus.
Mostly because the roads became slippery.
But also because Sahir became unbearable during them.
“Nur.”
She kept walking.
“Nurrr.”
Nuhrain tightened her grip on her tote bag and ignored him harder.
Behind her, Sahir sighed dramatically enough for three nearby students to turn around.
“She’s ignoring me again,” he announced to absolutely nobody.
“You deserve it,” said Abeer immediately, not even looking up from his phone.
Sahir clicked his tongue. “You’re supposed to support your emotionally suffering friend.”
“You ate her fries.”
“They were community fries.”
“They were not,” Nuhrain snapped, finally turning around. “I bought them.”
Sahir grinned instantly.
There it was.
That stupid grin.
The one that made every argument feel temporary.
The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, softening the sharpness of his face. His black hoodie sleeves were rolled up messily, hair slightly damp from rain, glasses slipping lower on his nose as usual.
Nuhrain hated how easily her anger disappeared around him.
“You’re smiling,” he pointed out proudly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You wanna kiss me so bad right now.”
Abeer gagged loudly beside them.
“Please,” he muttered, “there are single people here.”
Nuhrain burst into laughter before she could stop herself.
Sahir looked victorious.
“That’s all I wanted,” he said softly.
And just like that, her irritation melted.
It always did.
Everyone on campus knew them.
Not because they were overly dramatic or clingy.
But because they fit together too naturally.
Like conversations that never forced themselves.
Like songs you accidentally memorized.
Like stars finding their places in the sky without asking permission.
Fourth-year students knew Sahir as the sarcastic senior who somehow became everyone’s unpaid therapist.
Second-years knew Nuhrain as the girl with sleepy eyes, messy notes, and a laugh that echoed too brightly through hallways.
Together?
They were chaos.
Beautiful, exhausting chaos.
“You two make me never want to fall in love,” their friend Maira once said while watching them argue over iced coffee.
“It’s because you’re jealous,” Sahir replied calmly.
“I’m jealous of peace.”
Nuhrain nodded seriously. “Understandable.”
Sahir looked betrayed.
“Nur!”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to defend me.”
“You stole my fries today. Your reputation is damaged.”
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Five years together and this is how I’m treated.”
“Four years and eight months,” Nuhrain corrected automatically.
The entire table went silent for exactly two seconds.
Then Abeer groaned.
“Oh my God. She counted.”
“She always counts,” Maira said.
Sahir looked at Nuhrain carefully then smiled in that quiet way he only smiled at her.
Like she was something fragile.
Something holy.
“You remember everything,” he murmured.
Nuhrain suddenly became interested in stirring her drink.
Because yes.
She remembered everything.
Especially the beginning.
04 July.
The date lived inside her like pressed flowers between old pages.
Nuhrain had been sixteen then.
Annoying. Emotional. Terrified of math exams.
It was raining that day too.
Her school had arranged some intercollege cultural event, and she remembered sitting alone near a corridor window while everyone else screamed over performances and group pictures.
Then someone sat beside her.
Not too close.
Just enough.
“You look like you’re planning murder,” the stranger said.
She turned immediately.
College uniform.
Messy black hair.
Silver watch.
Sleepy eyes hidden behind glasses.
And the audacity to smile at her like they already knew each other.
“I failed my math test,” she replied flatly.
He nodded sympathetically. “Tragic.”
“It is.”
“What’s your name?”
“Nuhrain.”
“Hmm.” He leaned back against the wall. “Pretty name.”
She narrowed her eyes instantly. “Do you flirt with every girl?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’m Sahir.”
That should have been all.
One conversation.
One rainy afternoon.
One forgettable stranger.
But somehow—
He stayed.
First through random replies to Instagram stories.
Then late-night conversations.
Then voice calls.
Then dependence.
Then love.
The kind that arrives quietly enough for you not to notice it destroying your ability to imagine life without them.
“Nur.”
Nuhrain blinked out of her thoughts.
Sahir was looking at her from across the cafeteria table now, chin resting lazily on his hand.
“What?”
“You disappeared again.”
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous activity.”
She rolled her eyes.
Maira suddenly leaned forward dramatically. “Okay but genuine question. What do you guys even talk about all night?”
Sahir answered instantly.
“Her.”
Nuhrain choked on her drink.
Abeer looked disgusted. “You people are unbearable.”
“I know,” Sahir said proudly.
Nuhrain kicked his leg under the table.
He didn’t react except for smiling slightly.
That was another thing about Sahir.
He noticed every version of her.
The loud one.
The quiet one.
The overthinking one.
The angry one.
The exhausted one she never showed others.
And somehow, after all these years, he still looked at her like she was worth understanding.
Outside the cafeteria windows, evening slowly settled over campus.
The sky looked bruised purple.
Streetlights flickered awake one by one.
And for a brief moment, while laughter echoed around the table and Sahir absentmindedly stole another fry from her plate—
Nuhrain thought love might actually survive everything.
She did not know yet that some stars were only meant to shine before dying.
Or that one day, years later, she would remember this exact evening and realize happiness had always sounded like their laughter mixed together beneath rainy skies.
