The Momma Clan

In the heart of Kolkata, the monsoon arrived with its usual fervour, painting the city in hues of green and grey. The rhythmic patter of raindrops against the window panes was music to Ananya’s ears as she sat by her favourite corner in the cosy bookstore she owned. The scent of old books mixed with the earthy aroma of rain was intoxicating.

Ananya’s bookstore, “Kitaab-e-Dil,” was a haven for book lovers and romantics alike. She had inherited it from her grandmother, and it was her sanctuary. One rainy afternoon, as she was organizing a stack of new arrivals, the door chime rang, and a tall, drenched figure stepped in. He shook off the rain from his umbrella and smiled sheepishly.

“Hi, I’m Aarav,” he introduced himself. “I was just passing by and thought of escaping the rain for a bit.”

Ananya smiled back, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Welcome to Kitaab-e-Dil. Feel free to browse around.”

Aarav wandered through the aisles, his fingers trailing over the spines of the books. He paused at the poetry section, picking up a collection of ghazals. “Do you like ghazals?” he asked, glancing at Ananya.

“They’re my favorite,” she replied. “There’s something so profoundly beautiful about them.”

As the rain continued to pour outside, they found themselves engrossed in conversation. Aarav shared his love for Urdu poetry, and Ananya spoke about her dream of writing a novel someday. They discovered shared interests in classic literature and a mutual fondness for Rabindranath Tagore’s works.

Days turned into weeks, and Aarav became a regular at the bookstore. He and Ananya spent countless hours discussing books, sharing their dreams, and laughing over coffee. Their bond grew stronger, and it wasn’t long before Ananya realized she was falling for Aarav.One evening, as the monsoon sky painted the city in shades of twilight, Aarav found Ananya sitting in her usual corner, lost in a book. He approached her with a bouquet of jasmine flowers, her favourite.

“Ananya,” he began, his voice soft and earnest, “these past few weeks have been the happiest of my life. I feel a connection with you that I’ve never felt with anyone else. I know this might sound sudden, but I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Ananya’s heart raced. She looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and affection in them. “Aarav, I feel the same way,” she confessed. “I’ve been scared to admit it, but I’ve fallen for you too.”They embraced, the warmth of their love contrasting the cool monsoon breeze that blew through the open window. Their first kiss was tender, filled with the promise of a beautiful future.

As the monsoon season gave way to the festive spirit of Durga Puja, Ananya and Aarav’s relationship blossomed. They spent their evenings exploring the pandals, enjoying street food, and making memories that would last a lifetime. On the night of Vijayadashami, with the sound of dhak and the aroma of incense filling the air, Aarav took Ananya to the Howrah Bridge. Under the moonlit sky, he knelt down and presented her with a ring.

“Ananya, will you marry me?” he asked, his voice trembling with anticipation.

Tears of joy welled up in Ananya’s eyes as she nodded. “Yes, Aarav. A thousand times yes.”

Their love story, which had begun in the quaint corners of a bookstore on a rainy day, had found its forever. As they stood on the bridge, holding each other close, they knew that their love was as timeless and enduring as the city they called home.

And so, amidst the rains and the bustling life of Kolkata, Ananya and Aarav’s romance flourished, a testament to the magic of love found in the most unexpected places.

-Twisha Ray