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thereasonIexist
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Imperfect
 A Whisper from my soul
All things that humans do are all charged to their faults.
God made our mind to control anything and made our heart to balance everything.
But what really lies from that existence depends on one's self.
What you do in your life depends on your strength and courage.
One beginning, different plot, one end; that's the real story of life.
Musings
» Musing: I Told Sunset About You» Musing: Voice Memo #7 » Musing: Confessions in the Hazy Shadow » Musing: +1 » Musing: For the Child That I Was » Musing: Somewhere I Have Never Traveled » Musing: The Luminous Loner » Musing: A Love Letter to Time » Musing: A Letter to Anxiety » Musing: The River That Never Ends My life's story
My scribblings » One Shot Library
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Short Story: Monsoon Season and the Unwritten Chapters
Thursday, July 24, 2025
5:19:00 PM
The windows are fogged up with every breath. Outside, the rain is relentless, slamming against the windshield, turning the world beyond into a blur of light and motion. Inside the car, it’s still. Heavy. The kind of silence that hums in your ears. He’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing holding him together. I don’t know where to look, so I just stare at the dashboard, trying to read something into the blinking lights. Maybe hoping one of them will flash Don’t leave. He breaks the silence first. “Say something.” I inhale, deep and slow, like I need to fill my lungs before I break the both of us. “I don’t think I can fix this,” I say. He doesn’t move. “You’re not even trying.” That stings. But maybe I deserve it. “Because maybe it’s not broken,” I say quietly. “Maybe it’s just... over.” He turns to face me, and the pain in his eyes makes my chest cave in. “That’s it?” he asks. I look at him. I want to reach for his hand. I don’t. Inside, something is already slipping away. And this thought blooms in my head, uninvited but clear: my only defense is that, in my mind, this is the way things should be. It’s not fate or destiny that led me to this conclusion; it’s simply the way things are. Let’s just say that I am like rain. Every rain passes away, leaves things as they are, and allows the sun to shine again. Just as every rain, I move on and go to new places, ready to cleanse everything away and pave the way for a new beginning. I glance at him one more time. He’s breaking right in front of me, and I’m the one making the cracks. “You were my favorite place to fall,” I whisper. “But I don’t think I’m meant to stay.” He turns away from me then, wiping at the fogged window with his sleeve, refusing to let me see him fall apart. I open the door. The rain rushes in. Cold, loud, honest. I don’t look back. If I do, I might stay. I step out into the storm, into the kind of night that makes everything feel far away, and I walk. I don’t know where I’m going yet. Only that I have to go. And maybe, someday, when the rain clears, he’ll understand. Maybe I will too. Labels: stories |