Almost forever
Muse in the Rain
I’ve always been the storm in every story. The loud one, the messy one, the one who can’t sit still for more than a moment. My mind is a constant whirlwind, a kaleidoscope of thoughts and feelings, and most people can’t handle it. I don’t blame them. Even I find myself exhausting sometimes.
But then there was Kabir.
I met him on a rainy evening, the kind of day that makes the world feel alive and electric. I’d stormed into this little café, drenched, furious after a fight with my best friend. I was ranting to no one in particular, shaking out my wet hair like some kind of feral cat, when I accidentally knocked over a notebook on the table next to me.
That’s when I saw him.
Kabir. Quiet, calm, with eyes that looked like they held entire worlds. He didn’t get angry, didn’t even flinch as I picked up the notebook, my hands smudging the ink on his pages. He just smiled—a soft, knowing smile—and said, “Maybe the story needed a twist.”
I laughed, more out of surprise than humor. Who was this guy? He didn’t just tolerate my chaos—he seemed to welcome it, like it was something worth watching.
That night turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Kabir became my anchor, the one person who could steady my storm without trying to quiet it. He’d listen to my endless stories, my wild ideas, and somehow he’d turn them into something beautiful on paper.
He said I was his muse. I didn’t know what that meant until I saw the way he wrote—how he turned my madness into magic, how he made me feel seen in a way no one ever had before.
But I should’ve known. I should’ve realized that anchors don’t stay forever.
It was a monsoon evening, just like the day we met, when he handed me a manuscript and said, “This one is for you.”
I read it, sitting across from him, the rain tapping against the window like it was trying to warn me. It was our story. Every moment, every laugh, every argument, written in his quiet, thoughtful way. But it didn’t end the way I thought it would.
In his story, the storm and the storyteller part ways. Not because they stop loving each other, but because they’ve given each other all they can.
“Why?” I asked him, my voice trembling, my hands clutching the manuscript like it could somehow hold him in place.
Kabir looked at me with that same soft, knowing smile he had the day we met. “Naira, you’ve taught me how to live in chaos, how to see beauty in the unexpected. But I’ve told the story I needed to tell. Now it’s time for you to write your own.”
And then he left.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream, cry, throw things, but all I could do was sit there, the storm inside me quiet for the first time in years.
It’s been months now, and I still miss him. But I understand what he meant. Kabir wasn’t meant to stay—he was meant to teach me. To show me that my chaos isn’t something to hide from, but something to embrace.
So, I’ve started writing. My words are messy and unpolished, but they’re mine. And every time I put pen to paper, I feel him there, guiding me, reminding me that the best stories are the ones that leave you a little broken, but a lot stronger.
Kabir may be gone, but the lessons he gave me—the love he gave me—they’ll always be a part of my story.
Call to My Quiet
I first saw her on a rainy evening, the kind of rain that soaks the city in chaos and beauty all at once. I was sitting at my usual corner table in the café, notebook open, pen poised, waiting for the words to come. That’s when she stormed in—Naira. She was loud, brimming with energy, and utterly impossible to ignore.
She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. Where I was quiet, she was fiery. Where I sought stillness, she thrived in turbulence. I watched her argue with the barista over the pronunciation of a drink she barely knew, and when she finally turned around, our eyes met. She smiled—a bright, reckless thing that left me startled.
Before I knew it, she was sitting across from me, asking about the notebook. She didn’t ask for permission; Naira didn’t seem like someone who waited for anything. Her curiosity was relentless, her questions tumbling over each other faster than I could answer. She laughed at my awkward replies, teased me about my serious demeanor, and just like that, she became a part of my life.
Our days together were chaotic in the best way. Naira turned my neatly ordered world upside down, her stories spilling into my own, her energy filling the spaces I didn’t realize were empty. She would devour books and then recount their plots with dramatic flair, often acting out scenes right in the middle of my apartment. I found myself smiling more, writing more, and feeling things I hadn’t felt in years.
But I knew from the beginning that we were different. Naira was a storm—beautiful, wild, and impossible to hold on to. And me? I was the calm after the storm, meant to clean up but never to stay.
As much as I tried to push the thought away, it lingered: we were meant to cross paths, not stay on the same road. I started writing our story, weaving her chaos and my calm into pages that would stay even when we couldn’t. Every word felt like a goodbye I wasn’t ready to say.
The night I handed her the manuscript, I saw the confusion in her eyes as she read it. She looked up, her voice trembling. “Kabir, what is this?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It’s our story, Naira. The way it was always meant to be.”
She didn’t understand at first. She begged me to stay, her fiery spirit refusing to accept the inevitable. But I knew staying would only dim her light, and I loved her too much to let that happen.
As I walked away, I felt her absence like a hollow ache. But I also felt lighter, knowing she would channel her storm into something extraordinary. She would write her own story, and I would carry the memory of her—of us—forever.
Naira taught me to embrace chaos, to let go of control, and to find beauty in the unpredictable. And though our story ended, she remains the most vibrant chapter of my life, the storm that changed me for good.
Destiny’s Final Verse
*Destiny Played a Role in Our Story*
That was the note from her which made me remember that
It had been three years since I walked away from Naira. Three years since the storm she carried had left my life, leaving behind a quiet calm that felt heavier than I ever expected. I buried myself in stories, hoping they would fill the void she left behind, but nothing came close. Life without her felt muted, a world without color, and I wondered if I had done the right thing by letting go.
They say destiny has a funny way of playing its hand, nudging us toward moments that feel inevitable, even if we try to resist. I never believed in fate, not back then at least. But now, standing in the aisles of a bookstore, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe had orchestrated this moment for me to face my past.
One morning, as I walked into a local bookstore, my eyes caught something that made my heart skip a beat. "Dancing in the Chaos" by *Naira Kapoor*. Her name, printed in bold, bright letters, jumped off the shelf like an electric jolt. It felt as if the universe had forced me to confront the past, pulling me into a space I wasn’t ready for. I froze for a moment, staring at the cover, the title so fitting, so her—chaotic, unpredictable, yet beautiful. Without a second thought, I grabbed the book and bought it, my hands trembling as I sat down at a nearby café to read.
Her words were alive, just like her—vivid, chaotic, full of life. She had captured the essence of our time together: the arguments, the laughter, the late nights filled with conversation. It felt like I was reliving those moments, the good and the bad. But what struck me most was how she spoke of me.
She wrote about the night we met, her first impression of me as a “mystery man with ink-stained fingers,” and how she immediately felt drawn to the calm I offered her. I’d been her anchor in the storm of her life, and she’d been the spark that lit up my creativity.
I continued reading, each word drawing me deeper into the memories I thought I had locked away. Then, as I read on, I came across a passage that I hadn’t expected—a chapter that mirrored the night I left. I had thought that walking away would be the right thing, that Naira needed to find herself without me. But she had taken what I gave her and turned it into something profound.
"Kabir taught me something I’ll carry forever. He showed me that love isn’t about losing yourself in someone else—it’s about finding the parts of you that you didn’t know existed. He taught me that storms don’t need to be tamed; they just need direction. And so, I found my direction in writing. I found my voice because of him."
I stopped reading, the words blurring before my eyes. The realization hit me hard—Naira had learned from me in ways I hadn’t even imagined. I hadn’t just been a part of her life; I had helped shape her, helped her find a purpose in the chaos that was her.
The final chapter, “Dancing in the Chaos,”was a declaration of her transformation. It wasn’t about me, or about us—it was about her journey. How she learned to embrace the unpredictability of life and channel it into something meaningful. She had become everything I had hoped for her, and so much more.
With every page, I felt both a sense of pride and an aching regret. I had given her the space she needed, but in doing so, I had let go of something extraordinary. Her book was a gift—a beautiful tribute to what we had, and a testament to what she had become because of it.
I closed the book, the weight of her words settling deep inside me. I couldn’t change the past, but through her writing, I realized that maybe she had changed me too. Maybe our story had never really ended; it had just shifted. Our love wasn’t meant to last forever in the traditional sense, but it had left behind something far more lasting—lessons, growth, and memories woven into the fabric of who we were.
I walked out of the bookstore, Naira’s book clutched tightly in my hands, knowing I would never forget her. She had found her direction, her voice, and in doing so, she had made me a part of her story forever. Even if our paths had diverged, I knew she would always be dancing in the chaos—and I would always be a part of the storm that made her who she was.
~Jagritvaibhav
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