By the time the rain slowed down and the storm began to pass, one of the friends said he wanted to sleep and the other agreed and they both got ready to rest. They asked me to join but I said no it is okay I can manage outside and that they should sleep inside the tent. I thought I would be left alone with the dark and the river for company, but instead she stayed back. The stranger who had helped me move my soaked world to safety was now refusing to go.
I assumed she would go too, but she looked at me and said, "If you are not sleeping then I am not sleeping either". There was no hesitation in her voice. It was not a question or an offer. It was a decision. She sat beside me, with a pack of cigarette and a warm smile, her voice carrying a calmness that felt warmer than any blanket could. I told her more than once that she could go inside, that it was getting colder, but she kept smiling and saying no. She wanted to stay.
And she did. Not for a few minutes. Not for a few hours. She stayed with me the entire night.
We did not need to break the ice. From the first moment it felt natural, as if we had known each other for a long time. The river flowed beside us, the earth held the scent of rain, but none of it felt like a background we needed. We just spoke. It felt like I was not meeting someone new, but remembering someone I already knew.
She pulled out a cigarette. The wind was playful, it kept putting out the lighter’s flame. She tried again and again and each time the wind blew it out. We laughed every single time and it became a kind of rhythm. She kept on striking the lighter and the wind blowed it out. She began cursing the wind, but always with a grin. It became our inside joke, one that did not need words to be funny.
We spoke about Instagram captions. I teased her for how seriously she had worded her long captions. She laughed and fired back by pulling up mine. We laughed over that too, and it struck me how even something as small as captions could feel like sharing a piece of ourselves. But behind all that jokes was the comfort of being seen without having to explain anything.
What struck me most was how she never made me feel younger. Not once did she speak down to me or remind me of the age difference. Instead she listened with full attention as if everything I said mattered. And I found myself listening too, not out of politeness but because I genuinely wanted to know who she was. Her stories and her thoughts and the little things that made her laugh all felt important.
We changed positions throughout the night. Sometimes we sat on the bench. Sometimes we leaned against the poles of the shed. Once or twice we stood by the river saying nothing just watching the water move. It felt like we were walking slowly through each other’s minds discovering little things.
Then sometime between one moment and the next the sky began to shift. A faint blue crept over the horizon. The outlines of the river and hills became visible. And we both realised that we had spoken through the entire night. The storm had passed. The world had changed again. We were still sitting there. Still talking. Still not done.
When she finally said she might nap for a while she leaned on the bench. But I knew she would not sleep. Her eyes kept opening her smile never faded and she kept looking at me. It felt like we were in some strange dream. As if time had stopped. As if neither of us wanted to blink and miss it.
That night was not about the events or unforgettable stories. It was about a stranger who stayed. A stranger who chose not to sleep not to leave not to make the easy choice. A stranger who turned into something more, someone who reminded me that sometimes the most beautiful moments happen when you least expect them.
I have always valued in person conversations. In a world filled with stories shared through screens and feelings put into captions, that night showed me why I love real conversations. You see someone. You hear them. You laugh without hesitations. You read their silence. You notice how their eyes light up before a story begins, how laughter sometimes comes before the joke is finished. No message typed online can replicate this feeling. That night was proof that some conversations are meant to be felt, not just read.
The sun rose like it always does but that morning it felt slower and softer as if even time itself did not want to interrupt what had begun beneath the stars.
To Be Continued...
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