The Rain in Her Eyes

Title: The Rain in Her Eyes

The first day of college was like the first page of a fresh journal. A drizzle painted the campus in silver strokes, and the scent of wet earth clung to the breeze. Rick stumbled into the lecture hall, shaking water from his hair. He was a boy of quiet charisma — tall, messy-haired, eyes always hiding a storm.

That’s when he saw her.

Stella.

She sat by the window, sketching raindrops on her notebook instead of taking notes. Her eyes were a different world — soft, almond-shaped, carrying a thousand secrets. She glanced up, met Rick’s eyes, and smiled — not out of politeness, but as if she'd been waiting for him all along.

Love doesn’t ask for permission. It simply arrives.

In that shared gaze, a silent chord was struck, and two hearts began to hum the same song.

Rick and Stella’s love wasn’t loud. It was found in the quiet spaces — in coffee-scented library corners, shared umbrella walks, and evenings stargazing on the hostel terrace.

She was studying fine arts. He was in literature.

He wrote poems. She painted them.

"Rick," she’d whisper, brushing his cheek with her fingers, "you write like the sky loves the sea."

"And you," he’d reply, "paint like you’ve touched every shade of heaven."

They had a favorite spot: a broken bench under a banyan tree near the old lake. It became their sanctuary, where they dreamt of Paris, cats, coffee shops, and forever.

No story is without shadows.

There was Liam, Rick’s childhood friend — protective, wise, and always watching from the sidelines. He had feelings for Stella, but never said a word. He knew she was Rick’s muse. Still, he stayed close, choosing loyalty over love.

And there was Dr. Meera — Stella’s psychology professor. She saw something rare in Stella, something fragile and poetic, and became more than a mentor. Like a second mother, she often said, “Some souls are born with rain inside. And yours, Stella, needs gentle holding.”

That winter, Rick took Stella to a forest lodge for her birthday. The night was silent, except for fireflies that danced like fallen stars.

He played his guitar. She laughed in a way that made the world disappear.

“I want to freeze this moment,” he said.

“Let it melt,” she replied, “so it flows in every vein of ours.”

They kissed under the sky, and for once, forever felt tangible.

It happened three days later.

Stella was on her way to meet Rick with a handmade painting — a swirl of words and color titled The Rain in His Eyes. She never made it to him.

A speeding truck shattered time. Glass, blood, screams, sirens — everything blurred.

Rick arrived at the hospital with Liam. The world spun as he saw her — bandaged, tubes everywhere, silent.

“She has brain trauma,” Dr. Meera whispered. “There’s a high chance… of memory loss.”

Rick’s voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

“She may not remember you. Or herself.”

Days passed. Stella woke.

But she looked at Rick like he was a stranger.

“Who… are you?” she asked.

That question stabbed deeper than a knife.

Rick tried everything — letters, photos, the bench, the song he wrote, the firefly painting.

Nothing worked.

Worse, Stella became paranoid. The trauma had twisted her memory into fear. Her mind built false stories. She began believing Rick was someone dangerous.

“Please, believe me,” he pleaded once.

But her eyes were cold, frightened. “Why do you haunt me?”

Liam stepped in, helping her with therapy. Slowly, she trusted him. Stella smiled at him the way she used to smile at Rick.

Rick watched from afar. Each day became a funeral.

Dr. Meera warned him, “Sometimes, loving someone means letting go… even when it’s the thing that will break you.”

But Rick couldn’t let go. How could he, when every beat of his heart still whispered her name?

He wrote letters he never sent, poems he never read aloud, and left flowers near her doorstep — anonymously.

Then came the day Stella’s paranoia spiraled.

She believed Rick was stalking her. Her fragmented memory painted him as an abuser, an enemy.

Liam begged Rick to back off. “You’re not helping her heal.”

“But I’m her past. I’m her truth!”

“You're only a ghost to her now.”

And so, Rick disappeared from her days — but never from her nights.

Months passed.

One stormy night, Stella was walking home, drenched in rain, haunted by dreams she couldn’t understand. She felt she was being followed. Fear clawed her mind.

She carried a small knife. Just in case.

That night, Rick couldn’t stay away. He had heard she wasn’t well. She hadn’t been sleeping. He simply wanted to make sure she got home safe.

He approached, softly. “Stella?”

She turned.

The rain blurred his face. Her mind screamed.

“Stay away!” she shouted.

“Please… it’s me. I love you. I always have.”

But her terror was stronger than love.

She stabbed.

Once. Twice.

He didn’t fight back. He only whispered, “I… missed your smile…”

And then, he collapsed — a gentle fall, as if sleep had taken him.

The police came. So did Dr. Meera. So did Liam.

Stella sat there, trembling, soaked in rain and blood.

Later, the truth unfolded. The CCTV. The letters. The bench. The firefly painting.

Every truth came too late.

Memory, like cruel lightning, returned in bursts. A smile. A guitar. That kiss under the stars.

Then the final memory: His eyes, the last thing she saw before the darkness.

She screamed until her soul broke.

Years passed.

Stella now lives in silence, painting the same picture again and again — two lovers in the rain. Always almost touching. Never meeting.

Liam visits her every week, but she never speaks much.

Dr. Meera once found a diary under Stella’s bed.

On the last page, one sentence:

“The saddest part of losing someone is realizing they remembered every piece of you — even when you forgot them.”

The bench still waits by the lake. Broken, old, but loyal.

And every rainy evening, if you look closely, you might see a girl sitting there, whispering to the sky:

“Rick… I remember now.”

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End.