Rain VS SunRise (The Ongoing Wall chat)

 

Episode 2 — Rain vs. Sunrise

The next morning, I almost tripped on my shoelaces sprinting to that wall. Forget breakfast, forget roll call—my curiosity had an appetite of its own.

And there it was. Fresh ink, still dark against the faded bricks.

Wall Writing

Rain Person: “So tell me, Sunrise—do you also love summers? Or are you one of those winter sweater collectors?”

I smiled, pulled out my pen, and leaned in.

Me (Sunrise): “I like spring best. Flowers, longer days. Summer is like standing in a tandoor oven. You?”

Rain Person: “Monsoon. Always. Rain makes chai taste like poetry.”

Me: “Wait. Did you just admit to being Team Chai? I was sure you’d be a hardcore coffee person.”

Rain Person: “Hey! Rude assumption. Coffee is… fine. But chai? Chai is emotion. Especially with pakoras.”

Me: “Hmm, interesting. You’re slowly redeeming yourself. But just to clarify—I am a chai person too. Except sometimes I flirt with coffee when exams haunt me.”

Rain Person: “Traitor. You don’t flirt with coffee. Coffee flirts with you and leaves you restless at 2 a.m.”

I laughed—out loud this time, in the middle of the corridor, making a passing junior stare at me.
I bent down and wrote:

Me: “Fine. But tell me—does rain really beat sunrise?”

Rain Person: “Of course. Rain lets you stay in bed and dream. Sunrise pushes you out of it.”

Me: “Exactly. Sunrise is hope. Rain is… hiding.”

Rain Person: “Maybe that’s why we balance. You chase beginnings, I slow them down.”

I froze at that line. Too deep for just scribbles. Too… personal.

Who was this person who could make rain sound like comfort and chai like poetry?

I touched the chalk-dusted wall, feeling its roughness. My heart, however, felt anything but.

The mystery thickened. And I wanted more.

Episode 2 — Rain vs. Sunrise

The next morning, I almost tripped on my shoelaces sprinting to that wall. Forget breakfast, forget roll call—my curiosity had an appetite of its own.

And there it was. Fresh ink, still dark against the faded bricks.

Wall Writing

Rain Person: “So tell me, Sunrise—do you also love summers? Or are you one of those winter sweater collectors?”

I smiled, pulled out my pen, and leaned in.

Me (Sunrise): “I like spring best. Flowers, longer days. Summer is like standing in a tandoor oven. You?”

Rain Person: “Monsoon. Always. Rain makes chai taste like poetry.”

Me: “Wait. Did you just admit to being Team Chai? I was sure you’d be a hardcore coffee person.”

Rain Person: “Hey! Rude assumption. Coffee is… fine. But chai? Chai is emotion. Especially with pakoras.”

Me: “Hmm, interesting. You’re slowly redeeming yourself. But just to clarify—I am a chai person too. Except sometimes I flirt with coffee when exams haunt me.”

Rain Person: “Traitor. You don’t flirt with coffee. Coffee flirts with you and leaves you restless at 2 a.m.”

I laughed—out loud this time, in the middle of the corridor, making a passing junior stare at me.
I bent down and wrote:

Me: “Fine. But tell me—does rain really beat sunrise?”

Rain Person: “Of course. Rain lets you stay in bed and dream. Sunrise pushes you out of it.”

Me: “Exactly. Sunrise is hope. Rain is… hiding.”

Rain Person: “Maybe that’s why we balance. You chase beginnings, I slow them down.”

I froze at that line. Too deep for just scribbles. Too… personal.

Who was this person who could make rain sound like comfort and chai like poetry?

I touched the chalk-dusted wall, feeling its roughness. My heart, however, felt anything but.

The mystery thickened. And I wanted more.