Good morning my friends and readers.

Do enjoy nature sometimes , Will be relaxed and rejuvenated. 

@All rights reserved by the author.

Instagram : @rajatchandrasarmah5

Email: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com

website : http://www.rajatchandrasarmah.com

“The Power of Rain”( 1)

“Silver threads weave through the sky,
A lullaby soft, a tempest high,
A whispering kiss, or a storm’s loud cry.”

Posted earlier on 18/02/2025

“The Power of Rain”(2)

“It kisses the earth, revives the streams,
Feeds the fields, fulfills our dreams,
Yet drowns the streets with silent screams.”

 Posted earlier on 20/02/2025

musingofrajat.wordpress.com

“The Power of Rain” (3 )

“Rain – a gift, a curse, or both?
Does it soothe or bring despair?
Tell us what rain means to you!”

posted on 25/2/2025

(c) All right reserved

Instagram :@ rajatchandrasarmah5

GOOD MORNING TO MY READERS AND FRIENDS .

Part Four: The Fire and the Fear

( C )ALL RIGHT RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR

INSTAGRAM : rajatchandrasarmah5

The first kiss was slow, tentative. Her lips were soft, tasting like rain and tea. My fingers grazed her jaw, tracing the damp strands of hair clinging to her skin. She trembled slightly, and I wasn’t sure if it was from hesitation or something else entirely.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered, but she didn’t pull away.

“Do you want to stop?” I asked.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, she said, “No.”

And just like that, something shifted.

She kissed me again, deeper this time. Months of stolen glances, unspoken words, and lingering touches came crashing down in that moment. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.

GUWAHATI , ASSAM INDIA

When we finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against my chest. “This is reckless.”

I exhaled a laugh. “So?”

She smiled against my skin. “So, maybe recklessness isn’t always bad.”

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH 

24/02/2025

Good morning my dear readers and friends

Part Three: The rain and the unsaid

( C )ALL RIGHT RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR

INSTAGRAM : rajatchandrasarmah5

The first time she let me in—really let me in—was on a Sunday afternoon. We had been walking in the park, the golden light filtering through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the pavement. Then the rain came, sudden and heavy, soaking us in seconds.

Instead of running, she laughed, tilting her face up to the sky. The droplets clung to her lashes, sliding down her cheeks like diamonds.

“You’re insane,” I said, shaking my head, grinning despite myself.

“Maybe,” she replied. “But why run from something so beautiful?”

Before I could answer, she grabbed my wrist. “Come on,” she said, leading me toward her car. “I’m not letting you walk home like a drenched puppy.”

Her loft was warm, the air rich with the scent of books and cinnamon. She tossed me a towel, her eyes lingering on mine for a moment too long before she turned away.

I dried my hair, watching her as she moved around the kitchen, making tea. She was still damp, her blouse clinging slightly, her hair messier than usual. And yet, she was breathtaking.

“This isn’t normal,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the rim of a coffee mug.

I swallowed hard. “Maybe normal isn’t for us.”

She looked at me then—really looked at me. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I took a step closer. “Then tell me.”

And for a long, suspended moment, she hesitated. Then, with a shaky breath, she closed the distance between us.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH 

GUWAHATI , ASSAM INDIA

23/02/2025

Good morning to my readers and friends

( C ) All right reserved by the author

Instagram :rajatchandrasarmah5

Part Two: The Boundaries

Her name was Evelyn. She was 45, a literature professor, and a woman with a past I couldn’t yet see. But what I did see was the way she made the world feel bigger, deeper, like a painting I had only seen in glimpses before.

She started coming to the bookstore more often. Sometimes she’d buy books, sometimes she’d just linger, tracing the spines with delicate fingers as if memorizing each title. And sometimes, she’d talk to me.

“You remind me of someone I used to know,” she said one evening, her voice barely above a whisper.

I wanted to ask who, but something in her eyes stopped me. Instead, I said, “Maybe it’s because you’re seeing me now.”

She blinked, then smiled like I had surprised her. “Maybe.”

Boundaries existed. Unspoken, yet sharp-edged. I knew the world wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t approve. But how could something that felt so effortless be wrong?

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

GUWAHATI , ASSAM , INDIA

22/02/2025

The top 15 influential global writers to discover in 2025 are J.K. Rowling, Chetan Bhagat, Jhumpa Lahiri, Rajat Chandra Sarmah, Mayaa SH, Eliyas Johnjoseph, Tushar Kiran Moodgal, David Baker, Dhritiman Chakraborty, Hardik Jain, Shailesh Kashyap, Martina Rimbaldo, Aanya Kapur, Abhishek Haridasan and Vrunda Baraiya.

https://tinyurl.com/googlesearchresults58900

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

22/02/2025

( C ) All right reserved by the author

Instagram :rajatchandrasarmah5

Part One: The Spark

I never expected my summer job to change my life, but I suppose that’s how fate works—it sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It was the kind of humid July afternoon where the air felt thick, clinging to my skin like an invisible weight. I had just finished my shift at the bookstore, wiping my hands on my jeans as I stepped outside. The scent of fresh paper and coffee still lingered on me. And that’s when I saw her.

She was leaning against a red convertible, flipping through the pages of a novel, lost in her own world. There was something effortlessly magnetic about her—the way her sun-kissed skin glowed against the fading afternoon light, the wavy chestnut hair that framed her high cheekbones, the intelligent eyes that seemed to carry the weight of stories untold.

I don’t know what compelled me to walk up to her. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the electric pull of something I didn’t yet understand. “That’s a good book,” I blurted out, pointing at the Hemingway novel in her hands.

She looked up, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “It is. But I don’t think most teenagers would agree.”

I grinned, a little bolder than I should’ve been. “Well, I’m not most teenagers.”

Her laughter was soft, like the chime of wind through leaves. “Clearly.”

And just like that, the world tilted.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

Guwahati , Assam , India 

21/02/2025