The smell of rain always reminded Adrishi of one thing — Riddan.

Or, as she used to call him once upon a time — Brother Riddan.

That nickname alone was enough to make her roll her eyes now.

Every drop of rain on the roof of their Dhaka home brought flashes of the boy next door — the boy who used to tease her, protect her, and steal the last piece of fried chicken off her plate like it was his birthright.

He was her brother Armaan’s best friend — the constant, uninvited guest of their household — and the most infuriatingly charming person in her world.

🌧️ Ten Years Ago

“Adrishi, are you making breakfast for Riddan again?” her mother called out from the living room.

Adrishi, barely eleven, stood on a stool, struggling to flip an omelet.

“No, Mummy! I’m making it for myself!” she lied, almost burning her finger.

From the doorway, Riddan chuckled.

“Hey, little chef! Why do you still hide my name when you’re cooking for me?”

She turned sharply, pouting. “You scared me!”

Riddan leaned against the doorframe, his school uniform messy as always, that grin tugging at his lips.

“Didn’t scare you — just impressed you.” He brushed his hair back with his fingers, almost near her face, and added with a wink,

“You’re growing up, Miss Omelet Queen.”

“Stop calling me that!” she squeaked, her cheeks turning red.

Behind him, Armaan yelled, “Riddan! Football practice! Leave my sister alone!”

“Armaan, your sister’s feeding me! I’ll skip practice for this omelet!”

“You eat here more than I do — and this is my house!”

Their mother laughed from the other room.

And he was right.

Riddan was practically family — laughing with her father, helping her mother carry groceries, sharing late-night tea with her grandfather.

It was impossible not to notice him.

It was even more impossible not to love him.

🌸 The Crush

Adrishi’s diary had one secret sentence written on almost every page:

“Riddan Brother, when I grow up, I’ll marry you.”

Of course, she’d die before letting anyone read that.

Everyone teased her anyway — her siblings, her grandparents, even her parents.

“Adrishi’s gonna marry Riddan one day!”

And Riddan — oh, he’d just grin and say,

“Let’s wait till she stops burning omelets first.”

It became a household joke — one she secretly prayed would come true.

🌼 Four Years Later

By the time Adrishi turned thirteen, she’d stopped writing about him in her diary.

But her heart still jumped whenever she heard the sound of his bike outside.

He was seventeen now — taller, sharper, busier — but every time he smiled, her stomach did somersaults.

Until that day.

Until she saw him standing in front of the gate, laughing with another girl.

The girl wore a red scarf and leaned on his bike like she owned it.

Riddan ruffled her hair.

Adrishi froze at the window, her heart pounding.

Then she heard the words that shattered her little world.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Already am, stupid!”

The world fell silent.

Adrishi slowly closed the curtain, her tiny hands trembling.

That night she cried and cried… until her eyes were swollen and red the next morning.

For the first time, she didn’t make breakfast for him.

For the first time, she didn’t run to his house to wake him up.

When he came over that day, she ignored him.

“What’s wrong, little chef?” he asked, crouching to meet her eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t make an omelet today?”

“I don’t cook for strangers.”

He blinked, amused. “Oh, we’re strangers now?”

“Yes. And you have a girlfriend. So go eat her omelet.”

That hit him like a dart.

He tried to laugh it off, but something in her trembling voice made him quiet.

Later that night, he told Armaan,

“Your sister’s growing up too fast.”

Armaan laughed. “Or maybe you just broke her heart, idiot.”

Riddan said nothing. He stayed silent.

✈️ The Goodbye

A few months later, Riddan came over one last time before leaving for abroad.

Everyone was emotional — his father hugged Adrishi’s father and thanked her mother for taking care of them after Riddan’s mother died six years ago.

Armaan clapped him on the back, and Adrishi stood in the corner with her elder sister Adriya, pretending not to care.

He looked at her one last time, smiling softly.

“Bye, little chef.”

She crossed her arms. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a kid.”

He chuckled. “Okay, Miss Grown-up.”

She glared. “You’re never coming back, are you?”

“I will,” he promised. “When I’m good enough for the person I love.”

Adrishi didn’t understand those words then.

She just turned away before her tears could fall.

He left.

And with him, a part of her silly little heart flew away too.

❤️‍🔥 Present Day

Ten years later —

The rain was back.

The smell of omelet filled the air again.

And Adrishi was still pretending she didn’t care.

But destiny, as usual, had other plans.

Because somewhere down the lane,

a familiar voice was telling his driver,

“Stop here. This is my home.”

He stepped out of the car, rainwater glistening on his white shirt, tie loosened, coat in his hand.

“Park the car in that house parking lot,” he added casually.

And when Adrishi opened the door, spoon in hand,

there he was — leaner, sharper, a little wet from the rain,

smirking like he never left.

“Hey, little chef,” Riddan said with a grin.

“Miss me?”

Adrishi froze.

The spoon clattered to the floor.

And just like that,

the chaos began again.

The night before Riddan returned, Adriya was talking to Adrishi while rocking her 3-year-old daughter to sleep.

“Adrishi, he’s coming back.”

“Who?” Adrishi pretended not to know.

“Riddan! Your childhood crush.”

“Oh, him? Come on, sis. Don’t be like that. I was immature back then. Now I know my limits.”

“Are you sure? Don’t come crying to me later like ten years ago.”

The Present Time

Riddan was in front of her now — real, smiling, alive.

And everyone was welcoming him like a hero returning from war.

Everyone except Adrishi.

The day Riddan returned, Dhaka itself seemed louder.

Firecrackers somewhere in the neighborhood, aunties gossiping, uncles congratulating, children running to see “the handsome Riddan bhaiya who came from London.”

The whole lane buzzed like Eid morning.

Everyone was celebrating.

Everyone — except Adrishi.

She stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the chaos.

Riddan was outside, talking to her father, laughing that same laugh she once memorized in her diary.

He looked… annoyingly perfect.

Tall, confident, sharp suit hugging his shoulders like it was tailored by fate itself.

Her mother peeked from the kitchen door.

“Adrishi, go greet him. Don’t just stand there like a statue.”

“I’m busy, Mummy.”

“With what? Staring?”

Adrishi rolled her eyes.

“Please, Mummy. He’s not some movie hero.”

From outside, her father called,

“Riddan’s here for dinner! Everyone, come out!”

Adrishi muttered under her breath,

“Of course he is.”

The Return Dinner

By evening, the house was filled with laughter.

Riddan sat comfortably on the sofa like he owned the place. Her grandparents, her sister Adriya, and her brother Armaan surrounded him.

“Oh, look at you!” her grandmother gushed. “You’ve become so handsome! London suits you.”

Riddan smiled.

“Dhaka’s omelets suit me better, Granny.”

Adrishi froze mid-step, holding a tray of tea.

Did he just—

Her mother smirked knowingly.

“Adrishi made that tea.”

Riddan leaned back, eyes twinkling.

“Ah, then it’s the best tea in Bangladesh already. Or… did it get burnt too?”

“Don’t be like that. Our Adrishi’s a good cook now, Riddan,” her father said, laughing.

“Uncle, I’ve been eating your daughter’s cooking since I was fifteen. I still don’t know how I’m alive.”

The room burst into laughter — everyone except one person.

Adrishi placed the tray down with a soft thud and glared at him.

“Careful. The tea’s hot.”

Riddan grinned, completely unbothered.

“Good. I like things that burn a little.”

Her grandmother coughed to hide her giggle.

“Arre, he even talks like a foreigner now!”

Adrishi shot him a glare that could melt steel.

Riddan just winked.

Then came the casual chatter.

“Adriya, how’s your husband?”

“Fine,” Adriya replied.

“And this must be your daughter? She looks exactly like you! I wish she’d been born earlier — I’d have married her.”

Everyone laughed.

Armaan jumped in and teased, pointing at Adrishi,

“There’s another one who looks like Adriya. You can take her.”

“Is that so? Then I’m ready!” Riddan said — jokingly, yet not quite joking — and everyone laughed again.

Except Adrishi, who rolled her eyes and escaped to the kitchen.

Kitchen War

Later that night, as she tried to stay hidden in the kitchen, she heard familiar footsteps.

“Need help, little chef?”

Her head snapped around.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

Riddan leaned against the counter — sleeves rolled up, tie loose, that smug grin intact.

“What should I call you then? Mrs. Attitude?”

“You can call me Miss Don’t-Talk-To-Me.”

“Hmm. How about Mrs. Riddan?”

Adrishi froze, spatula midair.

“Excuse me?”

He laughed.

“Relax. I’m kidding.”

“No, you’re provoking.”

“Just catching up. You ignored me for ten years — let me have five minutes.”

She sighed, muttering,

“Ten years weren’t enough. Find yourself a girlfriend.”

“Don’t have one.”

That caught her off guard.

“Why— I mean… what about your friends?”

He smiled softly.

“Oh, but I missed you.”

Her heart skipped. For a split second, she saw the boy she used to love — not the man teasing her now.

“Missed me? You didn’t even text.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. You blocked me.”

Her hand froze.

“…Oh.”

He grinned.

“Told you.”

She threw the spatula into the sink.

“Ugh, you’re impossible!”

“And you’re still cute when you’re angry,” he whispered before walking away.

The Neighborhood Buzz

By the next morning, news spread faster than Wi-Fi.

“Riddan’s back! And Adrishi’s still single!”

“Both families are so close!”

“They’ll marry soon, mark my words!”

Adrishi wanted to disappear.

When she stepped out to go to college, the local aunties were waiting like paparazzi.

“Dear Adrishi, Riddan’s become so handsome, na?”

“You two looked so good together last night!”

She forced a smile.

“Yes, Aunty. So good I nearly choked on my tea. But please — if Brother Riddan wants to get married, you have so many nieces. Set him up with one of them!”

The aunties gasped, then ran off to make calls, searching for eligible girls.

Adrishi sighed deeply.

And there he was — leaning against his black car by the gate, having heard every word.

“Done setting me up?” he asked, amused.

“Yes, totally,” she said dryly.

“Need a ride?” Riddan offered.

“No.”

“College is far.”

“So is Mars, but I’d still prefer walking there.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest dramatically. “Rejected before breakfast.”

“Get used to it.”

“I already am — to you.”

She turned away, flustered.

“Hey, little chef,” he called after her,

“Don’t burn your heart while pretending you don’t have one.”

Her cheeks flushed red as he laughed behind her.

Family Dinner Disaster

That night, both families gathered again — “just a casual dinner,” though everyone knew what it really was.

“Adrishi, serve Riddan some salad,” her mother said.

She handed him the bowl stiffly.

“Here. Eat healthy. Maybe it’ll clean your flirt off.”

“If it doesn’t, your anger might,” Riddan quipped.

Her brother Armaan grinned.

“So, Riddan, found anyone in London?”

Riddan looked straight at Adrishi.

“I did. But not in London. Here. She just ignored all my texts.”

The table went silent, then everyone burst out laughing.

Adriya leaned toward her sister.

“He’s clearly in love with you.”

“Shut up, Sis,” Adrishi hissed.

“Riddan and Adrishi, sitting in a tree—” Armaan started singing.

“I’ll poison your food, Bro!”

Riddan laughed so hard he nearly spilled his juice.

The rest of the dinner was filled with teasing and chatter — pure chaos, pure warmth.

Balcony Banter

Later that night, Adrishi stepped out onto the balcony.

The drizzle had started again.

And of course, he was there — on the opposite balcony.

Their houses were still side by side, just like old times.

“Still afraid of thunder?” he called.

“I’m not twelve, Riddan.”

“Then stop pouting like you are.”

“I’m not pouting!”

“You are.”

“I am NOT!”

He laughed softly.

“God, I missed this.”

“You missed annoying me?”

“No. I missed you.”

Silence fell, only the sound of rain between them.

Adrishi turned away.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re adorable when you deny it.”

“Goodnight, Riddan Brother.”

“Goodnight, little chef.”

The Chaos Returns

That night, Adrishi lay in bed, heart racing.

He was back — with his charm, his jokes, that stupid smile that made her knees weak.

And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop her lips from curving.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, Riddan sat by his window, smirking.

“She still hates me,” he murmured.

Then smiled wider.

“Perfect. That means she still cares.”

And as thunder rolled over the city, two hearts — once separated by oceans — began to fall back into rhythm.

Not through grand gestures.

Not through dramatic confessions.

But through laughter, teasing…

and an omelet waiting in the kitchen the next morning.