As soon as Ranika arrived in her wedding saree at the auspicious wedding area, which was right in the center of Saileshwar’s ancestral farmland, a surge of positivity engulfed her, mainly from the cheerful birdsong in the air, the golden sun in the sky, and the colorful outfits her Amma and Appa were wearing.
The moment it started to rain, panic spread like wildfire. Dinkara screamed loudly as his white coating started to run down his forehead and his cheeks, washing away into the ground. He let go of Ranika’s hand immediately and dashed from the wedding area as if a hurricane inside him was waiting to erupt. Not for a moment did he care about Ranika, the pheras, or the marriage ceremony at hand.
As Ranika continued to soak in the rain, all the white paint was washed away. She loved the rain. Everything about rain. The whispering hum as sheets of precipitation plummeted to the water-forsaken ground, the often-unanticipated flashes of lightning or the rolls of ominous thunder. She loved it all.
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