The Monsoon
The monsoon rain was falling softly over the rooftops of Delhi. The air smelled of wet earth and hot, sweet cardamom tea.
Silas sat at a small wooden table outside a cafe in Connaught Place. In his hand, he held two train tickets to Shimla, a quiet town in the mountains. He had saved money for a whole year to buy them. He wanted to take Tara away from the loud, busy city so they could see the green hills together.
But Tara was late.
Silas looked at his watch. One hour had passed. He started to worry. He looked at the crowded streets, watching the yellow and green auto-rickshaws drive through the rain.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Tara.
“I am so sorry, Silas,” it read. “My family is moving away to Mumbai tonight. My father found a new job there. They are taking me with them. I am at the railway station now. I don’t think I can say goodbye.”
Silas felt his heart drop. The world around him went completely quiet. He looked down at the two tickets in his hand. They were useless now.
He did not want to go to the mountains alone. He did not care about the beautiful views if Tara was not there to see them with him.
Silas stood up, leaving his warm tea behind. He held the tickets tightly and walked out into the rain. He didn't run, and he didn't shout. He just let the cool raindrops mix with the tears on his face, watching the Delhi traffic rush by, knowing his heart was leaving on a different train.
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