Rainy Day’s Symphony( part -I)

( C) All right reserved with the author.

Instagram : @rajatchandrasarmah5

The day began like any other—a soft hum of the early morning stirring as the world awoke. But as the first rays of light peeked through the heavy clouds, the anticipation of rain hung in the air, a gentle promise whispered to the earth below. By mid-morning, the sky had turned a shade of grey, pregnant with moisture, ready to drench the land. It was one of those days when nature slows down, inviting you to do the same.

Asha sat by her window, the familiar creak of the old wooden chair a comfort to her ears. She had always loved rainy days, ever since she was a child. There was something magical about the way the world outside transformed with the first drop of rain—how the trees seemed to stand taller, their leaves glistening, and how the earth, dry and cracked, drank greedily from the sky’s offering. She watched now, as the first few drops splattered against the windowpane, running down like little rivers before gathering in a pool at the sill.

The street outside her house began to change. People who had been walking hurriedly moments ago stopped, looking up to the sky, hands outstretched, letting the cool drops fall onto their palms. Children—who moments ago had been trudging home from school—erupted into laughter, throwing their bags to the side and running into the streets. Asha could hear their joyous shrieks as they splashed into puddles, their faces tilted upwards, embracing the rain like an old friend.

The scent of wet earth rose into the air, an aroma so familiar and grounding it pulled Asha from her seat. She stood at the doorway, her hand resting on the wooden frame, watching as the rain grew heavier, the drops thicker, creating a soft, rhythmic sound against the roof. The world outside was awash in shades of green, everything looking more vivid under the soft filter of rainfall. The trees seemed to sway gently with the breeze, as if dancing to the rhythm of nature’s symphony.

Across the street, she noticed Mr. Rao, the old man who lived alone in the house with the blue shutters, sitting under his porch. He, too, was watching the rain. There was a peacefulness about him, a quiet contentment as he sipped his tea. He caught Asha’s gaze and smiled—a small, knowing smile, as if they were both part of a secret club of rain lovers.( To be continued)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

04/10/2025

Leave a comment