The sound of raindrops pounding against the window woke me up in the middle of the night. I turned to my right to find my husband unperturbed by this sound. I went to the next room to check on my children. Even they were fast asleep. I went back to my room and after tossing and turning for several minutes and finally woke up and went to the balcony.

I loved watching rainfall. Have you ever truly watched rainfall? The way the drops fall, sometimes straight, sometimes slanted, making several mysterious shapes on your window. I did, sometimes for hours together. But my admiration was limited to watching the rains. It never extended to feeling it, except for that one night. That night, when I felt rain for the first time. The feeling of fresh cold water touching your body, drop by drop, taking down with it all your inhibitions, your apprehensions. But that was it. It was the first and the only time I got wet in the rains. If I wanted I could have done it again, but I knew it would never feel the same.

Now that I knew I am not going to get any sleep, I sat comfortably on the sofa and switched on the TV. TV was no good at this hour in the night. There was nothing even remotely interesting. I kept switching channels one after the other. And just then I thought I saw him. I immediately went back to the previous channel.

Yes, it was him. It actually was him. He looked very different from the last time I had seen him. There were several streaks of grey in his hair, he had put on a little weight, and I could see lines on his forehead. He was wearing a black suit and interviewing a panel of guests on some business talk show. Only one thing hadn't changed, his eyes. His expressive, saying million things at once eyes. They looked exactly the way they did when I had first met him.

I was 24, right out of my MBA, when I had to go to Pune for a five day orientation programme for my first job. It was just a 3 hour drive from Mumbai. Still, my father insisted that he will drop me. No girl in our family had ever gone out of town without her parents. I was the first one. And I was allowed to go because it was mandatory.

It was there that I met him. He was a faculty at the programme. A freelancer who conducted such programmes. I think he noticed me in a class of 36 because I stood out from the rest. I was the only one wearing salwar kameez and not business suit. The only one with her hair tied all the time. The only one who had answer to all his questions.

It was on the second day, at the party after the programme that he spoke to me for the first time outside the class.

He asked, “Why aren’t you dancing?”

I said, “I can’t.”

He asked me why.

I said because I am not allowed to.

It was the first time that someone did not laugh at my reply or looked shocked. He simply said, “Let’s dance. Once you do, you will know there’s nothing wrong.”

Before I could resist, he just took me by my arm and started dancing.

It was awkward. Very very awkward. Nothing like they show in movies where the heroine dances gracefully even in such difficult situations.

I thought he would give up on me. But he didn’t. He just said to me, “Feel the music and let your body sway to it.”

I looked into his eyes, those innocent, expressive, honest eyes, and I do not when I got lost in the music and started following his lead. I never thought that I could dance. Nobody had ever asked me to dance before. It was magic. Magic beyond my imagination.

Suddenly, the music stopped, so did the magic. I just let go of him and ran back to my room. It felt weird. It was wrong. I almost thought of bunking class the next day. But couldn’t. I had no option but to go. He took the class as usual and didn’t give me any special attention.

At the end of the class he came to me and said, “You are beautiful, you know. And you will look even more beautiful if you leave you let your hair loose.” And he left.

That night I sat in front of the mirror, let my hair loose and looked at myself. I think I did look better. I don’t know why I had not tried that before.

Next day I left my hair loose and went to the class. He looked at me and smiled. I smiled back at him.

Tonight was our last night in Pune. After class he came to me and said, “Do you mind joining me for dinner tonight?”

I asked him, “Why me? There are so many other girls.”

He said, “There is no one as beautiful.”

I was at loss of words. No one had said this to me. Ever. Like this. Standing so close to me.

I simply walked away from him. He ran behind me and said, “Will wait for you downstairs in an hour.”

I found myself standing downstairs after an hour. He did all the talking on the way. He told me about his dream of becoming a finance news reader some day and how he is trying really hard for it. He told me about his family, his friends, and his passion for music. I kept listening.

Over dinner he asked me, “Why are you not talking? What are you thinking?”

After quite some time I said, “This is wrong. Coming out with a man like this. At our place, we are not allowed to do such things. Go out for dinner with men, dance at parties and so many other things. A girl is not allowed to do these things. A girl is not supposed to do these things.”

He said, “Does it feel wrong.”

I said nothing.

He said, “Then, it isn’t wrong.”

We got out of the restaurant only to find heavy rains outside.

My reaction was, “Oh my God! We do not have an umbrella. How will we get back to the hotel without getting wet?”

Before I could finish my sentence, he ran on to the street and said to me “Come here. It feels awesome.”

I was looking at him and thinking, “‘Feels awesome.’ What is there to feel in rain? How can you feel rain? Getting wet is the only thing I feel. And how can it feel awesome? It’s damp and dirty.”

Suddenly, he pulled me out of the restaurant, held me by my waist and swirled me round and round and round. And then, I felt rainfall. I felt how brilliant it was. The feeling of fresh cold water touching your body, drop by drop, taking down with it all your inhibitions, your apprehensions. The water taking down with it all your worries, your problems. The smell of wet mud rejuvenating every sense in your body. That is when I learnt how rain felt.

On our way back to the hotel both of us were quiet, except for that one time where he said, “What does not feel wrong, is not wrong.”

He dropped me outside my room and scribbled his number on a piece of paper before leaving.

Next day he was his usual self at the class. I wanted to thank him after the class, tell him something. I don’t know what I wanted to say, but I knew that once I meet him, words will flow on their own.

I was walking out of the class with tremendous anticipation in my heart and that is when I saw my father standing at the door, waiting for me.

I left, without saying anything.

I looked at that piece of paper on which had scribbled his number several times in the day. But I never called him. That piece of paper still lies between the pages of my favourite book.

Few months later I married a right man earning right salary from a right family. We had right number of children. I rightly left my job when I had them. I did all of this at the right age.

Did all this feel right? I don’t know. It didn’t feel wrong. But it didn’t feel right either.

I got up from the sofa, took out that book from the shelf, dusted it, took out his number, looked at it again and wondered; how life would have been had I called him. May be better, may be worse. I don’t know. But not calling him definitely felt wrong every time I thought about it.