It was the pitter patter sound that woke Simran up. The sound of steady fall of water droplets, on her glass window,
The rain seemed to come down in sheets. Everything was wet, washed and the leaves actually looked fresh and green.
This particular shade of green was something she had seen, way back in time, when she was carefree, young and deeply in love.
A period of time, when Simran used to hop onto a local to Lonavala, to trek the Western Ghats along with the love of her life, Raj, and the incessant rain would caress her curves while the mesmerizing greenery would intoxicate her.
Her utterly smitten Raj would share hot cups of masala chai with his Simran as they bundled together, quivering and shivering.
Simran Verma stole a glance towards her husband, Raj Verma, snoring away, utterly unmindful of the beauty of nature, dancing right in front of him, and sighed wistfully.
Her mobile sprang to life. ” MemSaab, Not coming for work today. It is raining cats and dogs”.
The phone was disconnected even before Simran could utter a word.
“Oh these bloody bloody *&^%* rains!!”