He took Vishnu’s hand. “Then let’s start with the next bus ride home.” If you’d like more stories—romantic, coming-out, or everyday life—just let me know. I can also adjust the tone, length, or setting (Kochi, Kozhikode, rural Kerala, etc.).

One lazy Sunday, while waiting for the bus at the East Fort stand, he noticed a familiar face from his college days: Vishnu. They had been classmates but never close. Vishnu, now a photographer, was clicking candid shots of the rain lashing against the old stone sculptures. Their eyes met, and Vishnu smiled—a warm, unguarded smile that made Arjun’s pulse skip.

Arjun’s eyes welled up. Not from sadness, but from the sheer relief of being seen.

They grabbed coffee at a nearby Indian Coffee House. As the rain roared outside, they talked about everything except the obvious. Vishnu spoke of his travels, his art, and casually mentioned, “My ex-boyfriend used to hate monsoon shoots.” He said it so naturally that Arjun nearly choked on his filter coffee.

One evening, under the pink and orange sky of Varkala cliff, Vishnu turned to him and said, “I’m not looking for a fling, Arjun. I’m looking for someone who’ll hold my hand when we visit our ammaveedus during Vishu.”

“Still avoiding the rain?” Vishnu teased, remembering how Arjun used to dash between buildings to stay dry.