The Rain on the grill

The rain had started again.

I was standing on the balcony, holding the cold iron grill, watching each drop race down and disappear. It was the kind of evening that made you think too much. The sky was grey, the air smelled like wet earth, and the city below was quiet except for the sound of water hitting rooftops.

People say they love the rain.

I used to too.

But now, rain just reminds me of him.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about him today. Maybe because it’s been exactly one year since I last saw him. Or maybe because the word “Ente Priyam” has been stuck in my head for days.

In Malayalam, it means “My Beloved.”

I learned that from him.

He was from Kerala. I wasn’t.

We were supposed to be strangers.

Two different states, two different languages, two different worlds.

And yet, somehow, the universe decided to put us in the same room for thirty minutes during a college fest three years ago. Thirty minutes. That’s all it took.

He had this calm voice. The kind that made chaos feel small.

He told me stories about backwaters, about Onam, about how his grandmother made payasam in a brass pot.

I told him about my city, about noise, about traffic.

We laughed.

And when we had to leave, he looked at me and said, “Ninte priyam nee kandu pidikkum.”

“You will find your beloved.”

I didn’t know then that he meant himself.

The rain got heavier. A drop slipped through the grill and landed on my hand. Cold.

Just like the last message I got from him.

“Take care.”

Two words. Nothing more.

Sometimes I wonder if he remembers.

If he also stands by a window when it rains.

If he also says my name in his head and then stops, because saying it out loud hurts too much.

“Ente Priyam,” I whispered to no one.

The words felt heavy and light at the same time.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

I didn’t look.

Because what if it wasn’t him?

And what if it was?

The rain kept falling.

And I kept standing there, holding the grill, holding onto a name that was never mine to keep.

The phone buzzed again.

I stared at the screen through the blur of rain on the glass door.

Unknown Number.

+91 974...

Kerala code.

My heart did something stupid. It jumped.

Three years. Three years of silence.

And now this?

I should have ignored it.

I should have put the phone down and gone inside.

But my fingers were already moving.

My thumb slid across the screen before my brain could stop it.

"Hello?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

Silence.

For two seconds, there was only the sound of rain.

"Can I come up?"

The question was still hanging in the air when I dropped the phone.

Not literally. But it felt like I did.

He was standing there.

Across the street.

Drenched.

Holding a black umbrella that was doing nothing to keep him dry.

Three years.

And he looked the same.

Same messy hair. Same tired eyes. Same way of standing like the world was too heavy.

I didn't answer him.

I couldn't.

My legs moved on their own. Down the stairs. Two at a time.

The door. The gate.

And then I was standing in front of him.

The rain was falling between us.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

What do you say after three years of silence?

"You came," I whispered.

"I did." His voice was rough. Like he hadn't used it in a while.

Water was dripping from the edge of his umbrella onto his shoes.

"I know I shouldn't have. I know I don't have the right. But I saw that line... 'Ente Priyam'... and I couldn't breathe."

"Why now?" The words came out sharper than I meant.

"Why did you disappear? Why did you leave me with just 'take care'?"

He flinched.

"I was scared."

He laughed, but it wasn't a laugh.

"I was scared of what I felt. Scared of dragging you into my mess. My family, my problems... I thought leaving was the kind thing to do."

"The kind thing?" My voice broke.

"Do you know what the last three years were like for me?"

"I do." He stepped closer. The umbrella tilted, and now the rain was falling on both of us.

"I know because mine were the same. Empty."

I wanted to be angry.

I wanted to slam the gate and walk away.

But his eyes... God, his eyes were the same.

Lost. And searching for me.

"Why 'Ente Priyam'?" he asked softly.

"Why did you write that?"

"Because that's what you are," I said before I could stop myself.

"Even when you're not mine. Even when you left. You were still... mine."

He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, they were wet.

And I couldn't tell if it was rain or something else.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"Just talk. Inside. Please. Five minutes. And if you want me to leave after that, I will."

The rain kept falling.

My heart kept breaking and healing at the same time.

I stepped aside.

Opened the gate.

"Five minutes," I said.

He nodded.

And followed me inside.

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