A New Beginning

As Roopa’s life in London continued to blossom, the city began to feel more like home. Her friendship with Amina deepened, her bond with Noel strengthened, and the Flamingo Hat Society became a regular part of her week, where students from various backgrounds gathered to create, share, and laugh. But in the middle of the laughter and the hustle and bustle of her social and scholastic life, Roopa experienced a new type of stirring inside of her—a desire she was unable to fully express. She had no idea that this was the start of a new chapter in her life—one in which love would find her.

Roopa first met him on a rainy April afternoon. She had just hurried to the bus stop from the library, the cool London drizzle seeping through her jacket. Roopa was left to fend for herself in the unexpected downpour after Amina called off their regular coffee appointment. She curled up beneath the small bus shelter, thinking about her impending tests and the cosy cup of chai that was waiting for her in her dorm room.

That’s when she saw him.

Just outside the shelter, a man who was not much older than she was standing with his body stooped against the rain. Despite not having an umbrella, he appeared unconcerned by the rain. Roopa’s attention was drawn to the book he was holding and using his body to protect it from the rain. His outfit consisted of a light jumper that was now drenched and dark jeans. As if the world didn’t exist, his deep brown eyes were fixed on the book, and his hair was a jumble of dishevelled curls.

“Do you want to enter?” Softly but clearly enough to get his attention, Roopa asked.

Startled, he looked up as though he had not noticed anyone else. Something snapped when their eyes briefly locked, an unspoken bond that made Roopa’s heart skip a beat.

With a faint accent, he said, “Thank you,” and entered the shelter. His voice was soothing, warm, and deep. “I had no idea it was raining so heavily.” Droplets of his hair shook as he laughed quietly.

Roopa smiled, feeling a bit shy. “I noticed you were more concerned about your book getting wet than yourself.”

He grinned, holding up the book. “It’s a rare edition of Rumi’s poetry. I couldn’t let it get ruined.”

Her curiosity piqued. “Rumi? I love his work! His poems have this timeless beauty, don’t they?”

The man’s face lit up. “You’re a fan too? Most people don’t even know who he is.”

They began to talk about their favorite poems, the conversation flowing effortlessly between them. She learned that his name was Arjun, a literature student from India, studying at a nearby university. Like Roopa, he was new to London and found the city both exhilarating and isolating at times.

Their shared love for poetry, literature, and art created an instant bond. As the rain continued to fall around them, they lost track of time, their conversation stretching far beyond the arrival of the bus. It was only when Roopa’s phone buzzed with a reminder of an assignment due that she realized how late it had gotten.

“I should get going,” Roopa said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. “But maybe we could continue this conversation another time?”

Arjun smiled, his eyes warm. “I’d like that. How about we meet again at the café by the library?”

With a nod and an exchange of numbers, they parted ways, though the feeling of their connection lingered long after.

Roopa felt her steps lighter as she left the café, and she imagined the busy streets of London to be somehow calmer. With the newly exchanged number still flashing on the screen, she gripped her phone tightly. With her heart pounding somewhat more quickly than normal, she put the phone into her pocket and grinned to herself, a little, personal smile. The gloomy clouds that hung low over the city now seemed soft, as though a faint brightness had crept through them, and the air seemed warmer.

For a while, she wandered aimlessly, her thoughts drifting back to that simple but significant exchange. There was something about the way he had looked at her, as if he had seen through the layers of the city, the studies, the noise. His gaze had lingered, not in a way that made her feel observed, but understood. She mentally reenacted their exchange, analysing every word and every tiny grin to determine why it seemed different. She didn’t know if it was love or even the beginning of it, but there was an undeniable connection, a spark that felt both foreign and familiar all at once.

She got lost in the rhythmic flow of the Thames as she walked back towards the South Bank, the river shimmering beside her. Despite their height, the Shard, the London Eye, and the Tower Bridge seemed insignificant in comparison to the fluttering warmth that now resided within her. Her mind kept circling back to the moments she had shared with him, the ease of their conversation, and the way his smile had made her feel seen.

Time seemed to stretch out as she walked, the minutes blending into a hazy warmth. The buzz of London’s streets, the noise of buses, the chatter of tourists—it all faded into the background as she lost herself in the quiet thrill of possibility. Was this what it felt like to meet someone who could change the rhythm of your days? She had been so caught up in her studies, her routine, the small world she had carved out for herself in this vast city. But now, something had shifted.

Back in her dorm room, she found herself absentmindedly staring out of the window, the sounds of the city faint in the distance. Her books lay untouched on the desk. She was supposed to be studying for an upcoming lecture, but her mind kept wandering to him—his voice, the way his laughter had made her laugh, the way time had slipped away when they talked.

The evening light dimmed, casting a soft glow across the room. Roopa sighed, leaning back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the day slowly settle into her bones. Yet beneath that tiredness was a quiet hum, an anticipation she hadn’t felt in a long time. She wondered when they would speak again, meet again. Would it be soon? Or would days go by before she heard from him?

Roopa shook her head, amused at herself. It had only been a chance encounter, after all. But why did it feel like more than that? She had met so many people in this city—students, professors, strangers on the street—but no one had lingered in her thoughts like this.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at his number again, her thumb hovering over the screen. Should she text him? Say something simple like, “It was nice meeting you today”? She hesitated, then put the phone down. No, she didn’t want to rush it.

Instead, she let the moment stretch out, allowing herself to bask in the soft glow of possibility. There was no need to hurry. Whatever this was, it felt like something that should be savored slowly, like the city itself—a blend of history and modernity, of hidden beauty revealed only to those who took the time to truly see it.

As the night deepened, Roopa finally lay in bed, the hum of London lulling her to sleep. Her last thoughts were of him, of the way the world had seemed just a little brighter today. And as she drifted off, she realized that perhaps, this was the beginning of something more—something that, like a great work of art, would take time to reveal its full beauty.

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