Rain splashed heavily against the school's tin roof, turning the playground into a soggy mess. Children huddled in corners, clutching their bags and looking out at the downpour with wrinkled noses. Tushar stood near the gate, his shoulders hunched, the sleeves of his blazer damp and sagging.
The auto he usually took home was nowhere in sight. His mother had given him money for the rickshaw, but all of them were full or gone. Tushar felt the sting of tears behind his eyes—he wasn't sure if it was from the rain or from the thought of walking alone, soaked, for twenty minutes.
A burst of bright color crossed his vision—a red umbrella, swaying in rhythm to small feet splashing in puddles. It was Amrita. She walked quickly but with purpose, her skirt held up slightly to keep it from dragging in the water. Her cheeks were pink from the cold.
She paused when she saw him.
"Tushar?" she asked, lifting her umbrella a little. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting," he said flatly. "There's no rickshaw today."
She looked at him for a second, then without another word, stepped closer and held out the umbrella above his head. "Come. I'll walk with you."
Tushar hesitated. "It's far."
"I know."
"You'll get wet."
"I don't care."
They walked together in silence for the first few minutes, their steps squelching against the flooded street. Amrita held the umbrella steady, tipping it slightly to his side, even though the rain was soaking her shoulder. Tushar noticed.
"You're getting wet."
She smiled. "I've done worse things. Once I fell into a drain on MG Road."
He stared at her in disbelief. "Seriously?"
"Yep. They had to pull me out with a stick." She giggled.
Despite himself, Tushar laughed too. Something about the way she said it—the pride in her voice—made the awful weather seem just a little better.
By the time they reached the small tea stall near Tushar's lane, the rain had calmed to a drizzle. Amrita's socks were muddy, and her umbrella had a small tear at the edge. Still, she looked satisfied.
"Thanks," Tushar said, wiping his wet glasses with his tie.
She looked at him and shrugged. "We can call it… the Umbrella Pact."
"What?"
"You know. If it ever rains, and one of us is stuck, the other comes with an umbrella. No matter what."
Tushar smiled—a real smile this time. "Deal."
She held out her hand. He shook it, sealing the pact.
As she turned to leave, she paused. "You should carry your own umbrella, though. Mine's really small."
He nodded. "Next time, I will."
But deep inside, he hoped that next time, it would still be her red umbrella that came swaying through the rain.
---
Moral: True friendship often begins with simple kindness—like sharing an umbrella in the rain. It's not the grand gestures, but the small ones that build bonds that last.