Love, Interrupted

Months passed.

Cambridge shifted into monsoon.

With the rains came memories soaked in gray skies and fragrant damp earth, streets glistening like spilled ink under the weight of the heavens. The world grew quieter during this season, as if even time paused to listen to the soft symphony of rain on rooftops.

For most, it was just another weather change.

But for Krithi, it was magic.

She had this ritual—a devotion, really—not to any god or guru, but to hot chocolate. And not just any kind. No. It had to be the one from that tiny café tucked between a bookstore and an abandoned theatre near our university. Thick, rich, almost sinful, the way it clung to the mug like it had secrets to share.

Every year during monsoon, Krithi's craving for it turned borderline obsessive. She'd call it her "liquid therapy." Sometimes, her hot chocolate bills soared so high, I joked they competed with my gym supplement expenses.

She'd laugh. God, that laugh.

Like bells in a haunted chapel.

One evening, the rain fell heavier than usual. Cambridge wore a cloak of mist and shadow. The roads blurred under the weight of water, streetlights flickering like dying stars. I was driving us back from university. She sat beside me, face turned toward the window, watching the droplets trail down like they were racing.

Her fingers danced across the glass, tracing patterns. Constellations, perhaps. Dreams.

Then we stopped at a red light.

She suddenly gasped, eyes wide, sparkling. "There! Look! My café!"

I followed her gaze.

There it stood.

Dim lights glowing like embers, windows fogged from within. The scent of cocoa and cinnamon seemed to bleed through the walls even from across the street. It was the kind of place that time forgot, and lovers discovered.

She turned to me.

Hands clasped. Lower lip bitten. That look.

Like I held the entire monsoon in my palms.

"Please?"

She didn't need to say more.

I sighed dramatically, though I was already pulling over. "You'll drain me dry, woman."

She grinned, mischief in her eyes. "You'll survive."

We dashed through the rain, laughing like teenagers sneaking into forbidden places. Inside, warmth embraced us instantly. The walls hummed with jazz and the scent of memories. Krithi placed her order—extra whipped cream, a dash of nutmeg, the works.

She took that first sip and moaned softly. Her eyes fluttered shut.

"God, this should be illegal."

I didn't even taste mine. I just watched her.

Every flicker of her eyelashes, every soft sigh, every drop of whipped cream that clung to her lips like it was lucky to be there.

For that moment, she was the center of the universe, and I was a helpless satellite caught in her orbit.

Eventually, we stepped outside.

The rain hadn't let up. In fact, it had become wild—like a beast finally let loose.

She didn't care.

She let the umbrella fall to her side and tilted her face to the sky, eyes shut, lips parted, drinking in the storm like a poem.

"I love this," she whispered.

And I loved her.

Without thinking, I stepped closer. Our breaths mingled. Time slowed. The world dissolved into nothing but rainfall and heartbeats. I brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek. My hand found her waist. Her breath hitched.

Then…

We kissed.

A kiss born of rain and cocoa.

Of unsaid things.

Of promises neither of us fully understood.

She tasted of sweetness and warmth, of storms and salvation. And for a second—a second that felt infinite—there was only us.

But fate is cruel.

A crack ripped through the air.

Not thunder.

Something worse.

Sharper. Mechanical.

A gunshot.

She gasped.

Her body jerked.

Then… slumped.

My arms caught her before she hit the ground. Confusion clouded my mind, seconds stretching into eternity.

And then… I saw it.

Blood.

Bright. Hot. Blooming against the soft beige of her coat like a dying rose.

"No. No. No—KRITHI!"

People screamed. Tires screeched.

I held her, my shirt soaking in both rain and blood.

Her eyes met mine.

And in them—I saw apology. Regret.

And love.

So much love.

I carried her to the car, hands trembling, screams lodged in my throat. The road twisted. Lights flashed. Sirens wailed like banshees. My name left her lips once. Then silence.

By the time we reached the hospital, her pulse was a whisper.

By the time the doctor came out, it was a memory.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Two words. That's all it took to break a man.

Hours later

I returned to the scene.

The café was closed. The street, abandoned. Rain fell gentler now—like it mourned with me.

I walked slowly, every step heavier than the last. Something drew me across the street, into a narrow alley I'd never noticed before.

And there…

Half-pinned to a brick wall under a broken umbrella, fluttering in the wind—

A note.

I pulled it free.

Soaked. Torn at the edges.

But the ink hadn't run.

Three words.

Bold. Brutal. Final.

"Leave it. Back off, kiddo."

My blood turned to ice.

The edges of the note crumpled in my grip as rage surged through me.

They had watched us.

They knew me.

And they killed her… because of me.

As I turned to leave, something shifted behind me.

A shadow moved.

And from the puddle at my feet, I caught the reflection—

A figure. Coat. Hat. Watching.

By the time I spun around, the alley was empty.

But something was left behind.

Another note.

Tucked into the doorframe of the café.

Just four chilling words.

"Next time, I will aim better."