*Sweet Girl Love Story*

When Aarav first met Meera, it was raining so hard it felt like the whole city was melting.He had booked the call almost on impulse, the way lonely people sometimes do things without much thought. A long week, a quiet apartment, the ache of coming home to no one. He told himself it was just for a little while, just business, easy. No expectations. No complications.Meera arrived ten minutes late, her hair damp, her breathing slightly hurried. She apologized softly, not with the forced politeness he had expected, but something genuine, almost shy. She slipped off her sandals by the door and smiled at him as if she were relieved to see a familiar face—even though this was their first meeting."Traffic," she said, rolling her eyes. "And the rain hates me."Aarav couldn't help but laugh. Laughing with her felt strange. He had expected polite conversation, a comfortable distance. Instead, she sat on the edge of the sofa and asked him about his day, really asked, waiting for his answer as if it mattered to her.They talked. Not about anything in particular at first. About the rain. About bad coffee and good books. About how you can feel the loneliest when the city is at its most crowded. Meera listened intently, her chin resting on her hand, her gaze steady. As Aarav spoke, he felt understood, which surprised him.

"You don't have to pretend," she said softly, sensing his nervousness. "You can just be yourself."

No one had said that to him in years. As the hours passed, Aarav began to notice the little things. The way Meera tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking. The faint mark near her wrist, half-hidden by her bangles. The way her voice softened when she talked about her favorite music—old love songs, the kind that believed in forever.He didn't ask why she did this work. She didn't offer any explanations either. Instead, she told him that she liked waking up early and that she didn't like saying goodbye. She told him that she sent money home every month. She told him that she believed people were more than their worst decisions. When it was time for her to leave, the room felt even emptier than before she arrived. "Will I see you again?" he asked, surprised by his own question.Meera hesitated. Just for a second. Then she smiled, affectionately but cautiously. "If you want to."He did. So he booked another appointment. And then another.

Over weeks, then months, their time together became softer, quieter. They cooked simple meals. Watched silly movies. Sat on the balcony and counted the lights in the distant windows. Sometimes they didn't touch each other at all. Sometimes they held hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.Aarav learned to read the tired days on her face, the days when the world felt heavy. Meera learned when his silence meant peace, and when it meant pain. They didn't pretend it was normal. They didn't lie to themselves about the rules that existed outside the room.And yet, love blossoms in the strangest places.One evening, as the sun was setting and painting the walls gold, Meera said softly, "I won't do this forever."Aarav nodded. A wave of pain shot through his chest. "I know.""I need something different," she continued. "A small place. A job where I don't have to be brave all the time."He looked at her then, really looked at her, and realized he loved her—not her ideas, not the role she was playing, but the woman who drank tea too quickly and cried at old songs and came home completely drenched in the rain."You deserve it," he said. "And so much more."Their relationship changed after that. Not dramatically. Not magically. Just honestly. Meera started taking classes during the day. Aarav waited for her without counting the hours. When people asked who she was, he said, "Someone I love," and he said it without hesitation.The day Meera stopped taking calls, they didn't celebrate. They sat quietly on the floor of Aarav's apartment, leaning against the sofa, eating takeout and sharing a comfortable silence.

"This part scares me," she admitted."Me too," he said. "But I want the real version. Even if it's a little messy." He rested his head on her shoulder. "Thank you for understanding." Outside, the rain started again, this time softly, more like a blessing than a storm. And in that small room, two imperfect people chose each other—not because it was easy or right, but because when love is true, it rarely is.