The Uninvited Guest

 

                                              

Some love stories outlast memory. 

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The rain had been pouring heavily since morning.
On the verandah, Raghav and Meena sat side by side in their cane chairs, watching the rain. Both had always loved nature—the fragrance of wet mud, the soft patter on leaves, the steady drumming on the ground. For a while, they sat quietly, letting the rhythm of the rain fill the silence.

Then Meena turned to Raghav, her eyes twinkling. “Raghav, this doesn’t suit us at our age.”

He confused. “What doesn’t?”

“Living together without marriage. People will talk. The neighbours must already be gossiping. I think it’s high time we tie the knot.”

Before Raghav could respond, the front door inside clicked open. A tall young woman walked in, a grocery bag in one hand and house keys in the other.

Both of them startled.

“Excuse me?” Raghav’s tone sharpened. “Who are you? And how do you have our home keys?”

“Your neighbour gave them to me,” she said, trying to look calm. “They… asked me to cook for you.”

Meena leaned toward Raghav and whispered, “See? Sent to spy on us. These narrow-minded people can’t accept an old couple living together.”

The woman didn’t reply, quietly unpacking the groceries and moving into the kitchen with the ease like someone who’d done this many times before.

Over lunch, the tension cooled down—until suddenly Raghav pushed back his chair.
“Alright, it’s late. I need to dress and leave for work before I miss the 7 a.m. local. Meena keep my clothes ready.”

Meena stared at him. “You just had lunch! What 7 a.m. train are you talking about? And that too on a Sunday?”

“What Sunday? Are you mad? This is becoming your daily thing. I’ll get fired!”

“Oh, stop it, Raghav. You retired years ago!”

“I did not! Don’t talk rubbish.”

Their voices rose complimenting the storm outside.

The woman stepped in quickly. “Meena Aunty, why don’t you rest in the other room for a bit? I’ll make chai.”

Still muttering about “stubborn, crazy old man,” Meena left. Raghav folded his arms and glared at the rain through the window.

The woman settled Meena in her room and came to the kitchen. She found her (silent)phone vibrating on the counter. 

Incoming call – USA 

flashed on the screen. She answered quietly, turning her back.

“Hi, bhaiya… Happy Rakshabandhan........

 All good here don't worry........

Amma and Achha are fine........

Today they actually stayed without fighting for a longer time!!

She tried to smile. 

“Oh don’t worry I’ve informed my boss I’ll go to work once the caretakers reach home.......

hmm...no… no, they didn’t recognize me today either.”

She paused, her fingers brushing the simple thread bracelet her brother had couriered to her—a tradition they had shared since childhood. 

From the time they were little, they tied rakhi to each other, breaking the usual custom. It wasn’t just about him protecting her; it was their pact to protect the family, to stand guard over the people they loved, no matter where life took them.

Her voice choked a bit, but she managed it. 

“It’s okay. I’ll remember them enough for all of us.”

When the caretakers arrived, she slipped out quietly.

On the verandah, Raghav and Meena sat once more in their cane chairs, watching the rain. Neither knew where the afternoon had gone, but both felt an odd comfort in the silence—and in each other’s company. From the garden below, children’s laughter rang out as they splashed in puddles.

To any passerby, they were simply an old couple enjoying the monsoon together.

But for the young woman who just left for work they were her dear parents, both living with dementia—where memories are like raindrops on the railing: slipping away slowly, yet shimmering with beauty for the moment they last.

Based on a true story.

-Sharon