Monsoon Magic Micro-fiction Contest Voting Round #1

Let the rain kiss you, let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops, let the rain sing you a lullaby. – Langston Hughes

Our creative writers of IF are extraordinarily talented ones , they can spin magic out of every situation and they have proved themselves here. Just give them the hint and LO! Watch them spin magical monsoon microfictions .
Our dear Authors you have literally rained numerous entries with love and made this contest a huge success .
The sound of the rain tapping against the windows, petrichor in the air, cold, grey skies: a perfect day to stay bundled up under the covers. Grab your device and a steaming cup of coffee, it’s reading time!

First voting round has 60 entries spread, over 3 posts .

Second round of voting starts in 10 days
Please Vote for 5 entries

You can not vote for your own entries .Everyone is lovingly welcomed to vote … Please don't edit your votes.Voting starts 28 Jul 2025, ends on 10 Aug 2025 at 2359 hrs IST.

Entry 1

Fell, Like the Hat

The wind tugged, childlike, and his hat flew - a brown blur caught mid-air between monsoon mist and fate.

He chased it. But halted.

There she stood, beneath a flowering gulmohar, raindrops tracing rivulets down her cheeks.

Her lashes - long, rain-drenched, trembling like unsaid goodbyes. She blinked. So did he.

Not at the absurdity of meeting again after six monsoons, but at how time had paused ... precisely like this ... once before.

When she’d cried, and he hadn’t stopped her. This time, he picked up the hat, walked to her, and whispered,

You still blink like a poem. She smiled. And didn’t run.

Entry 2

Borrowed Shelter

The rain didn’t ask; it just arrived. Like longing, or old music.

She ducked under the sudden umbrella he offered - half wet, wholly stunned.

He held her gently, but firmly. Like he used to, before egos diluted their love.

They walked. Shared silence. And shadows. Around them, the city blurred - monsoon-soft, forgiving.

“Still hate the rain?” he asked. “I hate how much it reminds me of you.”

He smiled. “Maybe I never left.” A droplet slid from her forehead to his shirt.

His arms stayed steady. Love, after all, doesn’t always roar back.

Sometimes, it just walks beside you.

Entry 3

Rain over Thar

It rained. Not drizzled ... rained. And the desert exhaled.

Earthen pots overflowed with sweet stormwater; bangles clinked, feet danced, turmeric flew.

But joy isn’t the only thing rain revives. Old betrayals, like cactus roots, stir under soft mud.

She saw him across the fire - his smile unchanged since that night he chose the throne over her.

A slow thunder growled as gul began to sing.

She tightened the anklets he'd once fastened on her wedding night.

“Tonight...” she whispered, “the rain shall wash more than dust.”

Outside, the sky wept. Inside, revenge took its first damp breath.

Entry 4

Afterflash

She laughed at the absurdity of the power cut - holding half a candle, balancing noodles in a chipped bowl.

Then ... Lightning. A cruel white flare. She froze.

In that blink, a shadow. Human. Close. Too close. Next to her.

Her breath staggered, feet unwilling to confirm what her pulse screamed.

The figure didn’t move. Neither did she. The seconds passed, dragging thunder behind them.

When the lights flickered back, there was nothing. No one. Except a puddle.

And a faint trace of sandalwood. Rain slithered through the window crack.

She remembered. He used to stand exactly there.

Entry 5

Four Paws, One Storm

The thunder rolled in like war drums. He whimpered.

Ears pinned back, tiny body tucked under a blanket that couldn’t hide his fear. But he didn’t look at the lightning. He looked at her. The girl with tear-glazed cheeks, staring numbly into nothing.

The scent of loss hung heavier than petrichor. She hadn’t moved since the call. Another clap. He nudged her hand. Whined softly. She blinked. Once. Twice.

Then finally wrapped him into her arms. “I still have you...” she murmured. He licked her wrist like a promise.

Outside, the storm continued. Inside, something brave survived it.

Entry 6

Eyes in the Deluge

The rain fell like fury ... a primal hymn against silence

She ran, breath hitching, heels splashing into puddles, past lampposts that flickered like half-hearted hope.

Then she saw them. Two eyes - unblinking, luminous, animal or human, she couldn't tell.

Frozen mid-step, soaked and shaking, she met their gaze. Not menace. Not mercy. Just… memory.

Like deja vu with teeth. The eyes blinked, then vanished into shadows the monsoon swallowed whole.

She stood trembling ... unsure if she had seen a ghost… Or the part of herself she’d buried.

The storm howled on. But something within her had awakened

Entry 7

The River’s Secret

Rain had fed the river beyond its brim - now wild, now vengeful. And amidst the current, a box drifted.

Not ordinary .. no no Intricate gold inlay, ancient Sindhi motifs, a clasp shaped like a serpent’s tongue.

Villagers whispered it once held vows. Or sins. No one dared retrieve it. Except her. She waded in, sari clinging, heart pounding. Fingers brushed metal. A jolt.

Visions - A bleeding bride. A stolen heirloom. A betrayed kingdom. The river wanted her to know.

To remember. And she did. When she emerged, the box cradled to her chest ...

It wasn’t just gold she carried. It was truth.

Entry 8

Unworthy Splash

She had rehearsed answers. Pressed her best shirt. Borrowed confidence. This job - her lifeline.

The city, soaked and snarling, didn’t care. As she crossed the street, a mobike swerved ... and fate laughed.

Splat. Muddy water. Across her resume, her dreams, her soul.

She stood there, soaked not in defeat, but defiance. Walked in anyway.

“Rain got you too?” the interviewer smiled, sleeves damp. They shook hands. Later, over chai, he said,

“I didn’t hire you despite the mess. I hired you because you showed up anyway.” Outside, the skies wept louder.

Inside, she had already bloomed.

Entry 9

After the Window Broke

Thunder cracked the sky in two ... and her reverie with it. The window burst open, flung by wind's fury, and monsoon rain slapped her face. She blinked. Once, then twice. Her daydream dissolved like ink in a storm.

Gone were castles in Tuscany, proposals in Paris, laughter in foreign tongues. She was back. In a one-room flat, paint peeling, kettle cold. But oddly - thankfull. Because sometimes it takes a storm to end illusions.

To rinse off borrowed dreams. She shut the window. Boiled water. And wrote a new story.

This time, it began with thunder. And her.

Entry 10.

Track 11, Seat 42

The train heaved with bodies ..umbrellas clashing, wet shoulders brushing, monsoon chaos at its peak.

She sighed. Another drenched day, another missed auto, another stranger’s elbow in her ribs.

Then ... He offered his seat. “Only if you promise not to thank me” he grinned. She chuckled. And stayed.

They spoke of obscure poetry, shared fried peanuts, laughed at a leaking window.

He hated rains. She loved them. She believed in fate. He mocked it.

But when their fingers brushed at the next curve, silence bloomed.

At her stop, she looked back. He was still smiling. And just like that ...

The storm had given her a story.

Entry 11

Here's a story from my side.

Drenched in red droplets, she looked down at her feet. Those eyes still looking up at her as if they were alive or.... Were they?

Drenched in black mud, he looked from afar. The woman looking down at the road as if she could see herself on the black surface... Or could she?

Drenched in blue ink, a little girl looked down from her window wiping her face with a cloth. A man looking at a wall as if he could see his wife or... Could he?

Suddenly a splutter of raindrops fell on an old woman's face. And everything got wiped out.

Entry 12

The Void

A few drops rest on her shoulder. A moan escapes her lips as her eyes close down to fully bask in the warmth of his body. Ecstasy bubbles on her entire face. Her body shivers as the cold drops start drenching her being, and not just from the outside.

A tingling sensation fills her completely as her fingers move around to interlock with his. The initial movement turns into frantic search which suddenly comes to a halt as the realisation strikes her like lightning. The void he had left starts to deepen as the raindrops hit her body and the last moment of his love refreshes in her mind.

Entry 13

Lost and Found

Once upon a time, there was a little boy wandering through the woods, unbeknownst to his parents. Little footprints left on the muddy path made his heart both happy and afraid. "What if Mummy Papa found me!" A raindrop fell on his little nose, making his heart jump a bit. He looked up, terrified, has it started again? And lo and behold, the rain had started again. He sprinted back to run to his home only to realise he had lost. Suddenly, a hand patted his shoulder, and a calm washed over his entire being. "Thank God! Mummy Papa found me."

Entry 14

Look Out

"Look out. What beautiful weather!" Her fingers interlocked with his; a sigh escaped her lips as she found him staring at the television. She tried moving her fingers, but there was no response.

She slowly removed her fingers, hoping he'd notice, but his eyes refused to move. Her eyes lingered before hope shattered. She looked out of the window at the fresh leaves, and an earthy smell filled her nostrils. The hopelessness vanished but resurfaced when she saw him.

She stormed up to him and stared angrily into his soul. "That's exactly why you didn't deserve to live. You never cared about me." His lifeless eyes still stared ahead.

Entry 15

The Dark Side

Monsoon had finally arrived in her area. She could hear the clouds gurgling, announcing their presence. Barkha had always loved the darker side of rain – lightning, thunder, and storms, unlike the usual elements songs are written about.

Her name was given by parents who loved the romantic side of rain. They thought their child was an extension of themselves, as is the usual thought of parents. But her temperament proved to be exactly the opposite.

"Was this the reason they...?" A tear dropped down her chin. "Why couldn't they love those aspects of us?" She looked up for an answer. The clouds shed another tear in response.

Entry 16

Bubbles

"Is this all there is to it?" Naveen thought as he saw the bubbles forming for a second and bursting like they never existed. There was no other sound except for the heavy rain that he was witnessing. Alone.

Exactly one year ago, she was here, standing with me, looking ahead and enjoying the rain like a small child. Rain never gave him joy. But her innocence did. This rain gave him his biggest blessing. Ashwini. This very rain snatched her from him. "I hate this. The world might enjoy it but for me, it's nothing but pain."

Entry 17

A Withered Leaf

Dear diary

The little leaf you're holding inside is not just a leaf, it's a remembrance. Of love, of longing, of him.

Today, I saw him. Still majestic. Still serene. Still fresh. Like a leaf freshly bathed in rain. He was holding a tiny finger in his hands. His childhood reflection reflects in those eyes that looked lovingly up at him.

He could be ours. But the child belongs to him and another woman.

The rain stopped a while ago and I can see freshly bathed leaves out of my balcony. Looks like this leaf is the only one that has withered away.

~Khizan

Entry 18

"Monsoon!" a bunch of school kids screamed with joy. Vinay looked up, horrified. He immediately picked up his school bag and ran back.

On the way he heard a radio humming barso re megha at a shop but his mind didn't register anything. He slowed down midway as he saw slippery road. That's when he noticed a few little kids making paper boats and giggling with joy.

"Why are you late?" His mother shouted as Vinay reached home, drenched, and threw a mug to him. Vinay started throwing water out of the house while his parents put buckets under the leaking roof. Vinay inadvertently started humming, barso re megha...

Entry 19

Umbrella

This was one of those days. Jyoti was walking with slow, measured steps. The air was unusually cold. "Maybe it rained somewhere," Kriti commented.

"Hmm." Jyoti mumbled, hoping monsoon wouldn't reach here. Not until she reaches home, at least. She had forgotten her umbrella at home. She glanced fearfully at the sky and noticed a few dark clouds gathering ominously. Her heart started beating faster which quickened her steps too.

"It's raining," Kriti extended her hand forward. Jyoti anxiously looked up and then around for some shelter. Suddenly she found an umbrella over her head. She looked at Kriti who only smiled in return.

Entry 20

Will You?

"Please, no class today, Ma'am," students seemed to shout in chorus. Mita looked at them, confused. "It's raining." One of the students pointed towards the window.

Mita smiled and let them go. Their laughter was contagious which made Mita giggle too. She picked up her things and went outside. All memories came rushing back as she watched students enjoying.

All her friends have settled in their lives and are barely in touch. An old song that never touched her soul today did, wo kagaz ki kashti, wo barish ka pani... Only if she could trade her today with her yesterday... will she? She herself had no answer.

Entry 21

Deep Resentment

Urmi was crying inconsolably when she saw her parents laughing at her. This got imprinted in her mind and never faded because their behaviour never changed, whether she was five, fifteen, or twenty-five.

Today, Urmi went to her parents' home to say her last goodbyes. The moment she saw their quiet bodies, a calm washed over her. This is how she wanted to see them, not laughing at her pain. The thought made her want to puke. Suddenly, she noticed a few clouds in the sky. She prayed to God to withhold the clouds until the cremation. She hoped no one would cry for them, not the clouds, not herself.

Entry 22

Love & Hate

"Heavy rain is likely to occur...," the news anchor reported.

"I hate monsoon." Jiya sighed, sitting on the sofa. It was midnight, but sleep was far away. She changed the channel, foolishly thinking it might stop the monsoon. She had always been a solitary person. Perhaps that's why she chose to live in this faraway place.

Suddenly, she heard a thunderclap and rolled her eyes. "Try enjoying what you hate," she was reminded of a familiar voice. She stepped outside and completely drenched herself in minutes.

She returned and stood in front of the mirror, covered in blood. "He was right." A sinister smile appeared on her face.

Entry 23

Raincoat

"Last time I checked, you were still running after girls! How did this happen?" Punit chuckled as he saw his friend's embarrassed face.

Mohit was a heartthrob in college and not just for his face. All round personality, enviable achievements, smiling demeanor, he had everything. No wonder, he ruled over many hearts. This is why when he got engaged to a girl who anyone barely noticed, everyone was shocked.

"Because of this," Mohit pointed towards raining clouds.

"It's always like this. Girls flaunt their wet hair and trap innocent boys like us," Punit sighed dramatically.

"Actually... She was the only one covered in a raincoat," Mohit giggled fondly.

Entry 24

Storm

"what's your favorite season?" The teacher asked.

"Winter." Chikki replied.

"Summer" everyone booed at Riddhi's answer and she pouted, "I can like whatever I want to."

"Monsoon," everyone seemed pleased at Jitu's answer.

"Why is it your favorite? Paperboats?" The teacher took a guess.

Jitu shook his head.

"Rain bath!" Pinki said excitedly. Jitu again shook his head.

They started taking guesses one by one and Jitu kept denying. The class seemed annoyed at one point.

"You don't like it," Kavita simmered.

"I do."

"Then tell us the reason."

"In monsoon, there's thunderstorm and I cannot hear mummy papa fight." Jitu smiled but the colour on teacher's face faded.

Entry 25

In the torrential rain, she noticed two eyes gleaming in the darkness—watching her from under a broken awning.

Her umbrella had flipped inside out. She was soaked, frustrated, and late.

He stepped out, hesitant. “You okay?” Raindrops blurred her vision, but his voice was warm. Familiar.

“Ravi?” she breathed. High school. First crush. Last goodbye. He smiled, holding out a shared umbrella.

They walked side by side, close enough to feel old memories rising.

A breeze took her hat; he caught it, laughing. She looked up—wet lashes, held breath, soft thunder.

Maybe the rain hadn’t ruined her day after all.

Entry 26

The swirling river current tugged at the intricately carved box with gold inlay, spinning it away like a forgotten memory.

Mira gasped, wading in, rain lashing her face. That box had been locked for generations—her grandmother’s final warning still echoing: Never open it, never lose it.

She reached for it. Missed.

Lightning split the sky. The box vanished beneath the current.

The rain stopped—suddenly, unnaturally. The river stilled.

Behind her, a child’s voice whispered, “Thank you for setting me free.”

She turned. No one there. Just the scent of jasmine, and the water slowly rising around her ankles again.

Entry 27

The breeze swept away her hat, and he caught it mid-air, just before it landed in a puddle.

As he handed it back, he paused—long, wet eyelashes framed eyes that shimmered like the rain-slicked streets.

“Thanks,” she smiled, breathless from chasing it.

“Anytime,” he replied, though they’d never met.

The monsoon hummed around them—horns, thunder, distant chai-sellers shouting.

He opened his umbrella, tilting it toward her. “Need a ride to the station?”

She hesitated, then stepped closer.

Strangers a moment ago, but now sharing silence, rain, and a heartbeat.

Sometimes, the monsoon doesn’t wash things away—it brings them to you.

Entry 28

He held her tightly as they walked, sharing the small umbrella, raindrops tapping a rhythm only they seemed to hear.

The city blurred around them—cars honking, puddles splashing, chai steam rising. But inside their bubble of rain and silence, it was just them.

She leaned in. “Do you think we’ll still do this… next year?” He didn’t answer. Just held her closer.

He was leaving tomorrow—new job, new city. No promises.

As they turned the corner, the umbrella tilted, soaking them both. They laughed.

Some goodbyes don’t come with words—just the sound of rain and the feel of someone not letting go.

Entry 29

She was already running late for the interview—heels slipping on slick pavement, resume half-soaked despite the plastic folder.

And then it happened.

A speeding mobike tore past, flinging a wave of muddy water that drenched her from shoulder to shoe.

Her white shirt looked like a crime scene.

She stood frozen, dripping, eyes wide with disbelief.

A guy at the tea stall nearby winced. “Brutal. Want a tissue… or maybe a new life?”

She let out a laugh—half hysteria, half relief.

He walked over, holding an umbrella. “Come on. Coffee first, job second?”

She hesitated, then smiled.

Sometimes, the monsoon doesn’t ruin your day—it redirects it.

Entry 30

The thunderstorm threw open the window, and cold rain splashed her face, shattering her daydream.

She blinked, pulled the blanket tighter, and stared at the empty chair across the room.

It had been his spot—every evening, tea in hand, teasing her about getting lost in thought.

Now, only silence.

Outside, the rain fell hard, drumming against the windows like impatient fingers.

She stood, walked to the sill, and let the rain hit her again—sharp, cleansing.

She smiled faintly. He would’ve called her dramatic.

Maybe she was. But grief comes like monsoon rain—sudden, relentless, and impossible to ignore.

She closed the window, but left it unlocked.

Entry 31

The little dog looked up at his human as thunder rattled the windowpanes.

She flinched, tears tracing paths down her cheeks, just like the rain on glass.

He didn’t understand storms, but he understood sadness.

He pressed against her leg, tail still, eyes wide.

She reached down absently, fingers curling into his fur like it was the only solid thing in the world.

Outside, the monsoon roared. Inside, it was just the two of them—left behind in a house that once held three.

The storm would pass. But for now, he stayed by her side, guarding her heart the way she always guarded his.

Entry 32

Monsoon chaos blurred the station—announcements drowned in thunder, slippers sliding on wet floors, the scent of chai and damp clothes everywhere.

She squeezed into the crowded train, clutching a soaked file.

He moved slightly, offering her space near the window. Silence. Just rain, rattling glass, and breath shared in tight quarters.

She glanced at his book—poetry. He noticed her resume—biotech. Worlds apart. A drop of rain landed on his page. She covered the gap with her scarf.

They smiled, strangers still, but no longer invisible.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, the pause between two stops felt like something quietly beginning.

Entry 33

In the heart of the parched desert, the first monsoon raindrop hit the cracked earth like a drumbeat.

Villagers cheered, drums rolled, and colors burst into the streets.

After three dry years, the rain returned—and so did they.

Raj and Imtiaz hadn’t spoken since the boundary dispute turned violent.

But now they stood across the festival fire, eyes locked, past blazing brighter than the flames.

Children danced. Women sang. Thunder echoed.

A shared glance. A nod.

Maybe forgiveness could bloom where the rain touched.

But in their pockets, each still held the old map—creased, disputed, and never forgotten.

Monsoon brought life. But it also stirred buried storms.

Entry 34

She froze as the lightning lit up a dark figure standing next to her—tall, silent, drenched.

She hadn’t heard footsteps. The road had been empty.

Thunder growled above. She turned, heart pounding. The figure remained still, face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

“Lost?” he asked, voice barely louder than the rain.

She nodded, unsure why. He pointed toward a narrow lane. “This way.”

She stepped forward, then glanced back—he was gone. Just puddles where he’d stood.

She ran.

Later, soaked but safe, she asked the old shopkeeper about the lane.

He frowned. “That alley? It’s been closed since the flood… when the guide died helping someone find their way.”

Entry 35

I tumbled from the monsoon-soaked clouds, landing with a soft plop on a broad green leaf. For a moment, I rested there, listening to the laughter and chatter below. Then a breeze nudged me, and I slid off the edge. Falling straight down onto the glasses of a boy standing under the tree. My arrival left a tiny blur across his glasses. He blinked in surprise, looking up with a sheepish smile. His girlfriend giggled, reaching out to wipe his glasses with her sleeve. As they smiled at each other with warmth, I realized I’d landed in the middle of something sweet. A little moment just for them.

Entry 36

A single lotus bud stood quietly under the soft monsoon rain. Its green outer petals slowly peeling back as the drizzle softened around it. With each gentle drop, the petals unfolded a little more. Revealing soft pink layers underneath. The rain clung to the silky surface. The half-opened bud a splash of colour in the dim light. It didn’t rush. Just opened a little more with every drop. By the time the rain eased, the lotus was fully open. Rays of sunlight broke through the clouds and made the water droplets glisten on the blossom. Fresh and alive after the rain.

Entry 37

They’d been friends for ages. Always finding reasons to linger after school or walk home together. For months they’d stolen glances and shared shy smiles, waiting for the right time. Now they stood close under the heavy monsoon rain. Both soaked through but too caught up in the moment to care. They looked at each other. Without thinking too much, their lips touched. Soft, hesitant then sure. The world around them blurred into the sound of rain. When they finally pulled apart both were smiling. Knowing this first kiss was something special. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs and neither of them would ever forget it.

Entry 38

Children run barefoot into the street as the first monsoon rain set in, shouting and laughing. They splashed through puddles that seemed to come out of nowhere. They jumped from one puddle to the next without a care in the world. Some threw their heads back to catch raindrops on their tongues, others chased each other around in circles. Their clothes were soaked, but that didn't bother anyone. They‘re too busy having fun in the long-awaited rain. For a short time, nothing else mattered but the fun they‘re having together. All the long, hot days are forgotten as they danced through the rain and were just happy to be kids.

Entry 39

A sudden gust tore the scarf from her neck. It fluttered through the heavy monsoon air. He lunged forward just as the first drop of rain fell. He just managed to catch the fabric before it fell into a puddle. Their eyes met and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. Around them, the rain poured from the leaden sky. The thunder rolled like a distant drum, but all they could feel was the warmth of this moment together. He wrapped the scarf gently around her. His fingers caressed her cheek and she smiled. Standing close to each other and sharing something quietly new.

Entry 40

He held her close to him as they walked huddled under a tiny umbrella while the monsoon rain poured down around them. Every few steps the wind turned the umbrella around so that they had to stop to put it back up. But instead of getting frustrated, they only laughed harder each time. The water soaked their shoes and ran down their arms. But it didn't matter. Every gust of wind, every splash brought them closer together when he desperately tried to shield her from the rain. They realized that sometimes a little chaos is the sweetest way to fall in love and makes a moment unforgettable.

Entry 41
She stood in the dim room, hugging herself. The city lights blurred behind a curtain of monsoon rain. A flash of lightning lit up the glass and for a brief moment she saw a dark figure in the window. Panic surged! Her mind racing with every fear she’d tried to bury: being alone, not being enough. The next flash revealed the truth. It was only her reflection in the rain-streaked window, eyes wide and haunted. She stared at herself, heart pounding. But this time she didn't suppress her feelings. In that moment she decided it was time to face her fears and stop forward. No matter how uncertain the path.

Entry 42

He sat by the window, hands wrapped around a warm mug of chai, watching the rain race down the glass. Usually, he’d be the loudest in the room. Telling stories and making everyone laugh. But tonight, as the monsoon poured outside, he barely said a word. The thunder and the steady drumming of rain seemed to fill the space where his voice used to be. His friends noticed the difference, glancing over with quiet concern, but he just stared out at the storm. The monsoon’s wild energy matched the mess of feelings inside him. So much he wanted to say, but for once, silence felt easier than words.

Entry 43

The monsoon wind brought that familiar tune again, soft and distant. Blending with the steady platter of the rain. He closed his eyes and let the cool drops wash over him. And suddenly he’s back in that tiny kitchen. Her laughter mixed with the thunder outside. The scent of wet earth filled the air. The monsoon always felt like their secret rhythm. Wild and unpredictable. Just like their love. He remembered those rainy nights, dancing barefoot while the world outside drowned in rain. The ache in his chest was sharp but tender. Like the monsoon itself, cleansing and haunting. The music faded away, but the rain holds his memories close.

Entry 44

She folded a paper boat carefully. The soft monsoon drizzle tickled her skin. Setting the boat afloat in a puddle by the roadside, she watched it drift, tiny and fragile. Suddenly, the rain grew heavier and the puddle seemed to swell beneath the boat. The world around her blurred. She felt herself floating, carried by shimmering monsoon waters through misty forests and glowing fireflies. Colours and sounds danced in a magical world where time stood still. Then, a soft breeze ruffled her hair and she blinked. Back on the wet pavement, the paper boat resting quietly in the puddle. She smiled, awakening from her monsoon daydream.

Entry 45

A little girl stood barefoot on the meadow. Her eyes sparkling with excitement. She watched the peacock at the edge of the field. Its feathers spread wide like a colourful fan. As the peacock started to dance, spinning and shaking its beautiful tail, the girl’s heart leaped. She giggled, clapped her hands and twirled around. She felt pure joy bubbling inside her. She believed with all her heart that the peacock’s dance will bring the long-awaited rain When the first raindrops finally fell, her face lit up with a huge smile and she laughed, spinning faster, sure that her wish and the peacocks magic made the rain come.

Entry 46

Dark and heavy clouds drifted over the city skyline. The city disappeared into a diffuse gloom as the rain poured down. It drummed on the rooftops and flooded the neon-lit streets. Nearby stood an old banyan tree. Its branches protected everything underneath. People, stray cats and birds sought its shelter. On its trunk, a mural of Lord Krishna lifting up Govardhan watched over them. A promise of protection. In that moment of the first monsoon rain in the jungles of the city, even the busiest soul paused for a moment. The modern world, caught in the embrace of the monsoon, found a moment of shared peace and joy.

Entry 47

On a moonless, stormy night, a lonely man played his flute near the river. The melody wafted through the air like a whispered secret. The wind died away and drawn by the music, a woman emerged from the shadows. Her eyes reflected the fury of the storm. As the last notes faded away, the woman smiled. With a touch, she turned the surface of the river to silver, and the monsoon clouds opened to reveal a hidden moon. The villagers woke up to find the land lush and the river shining. Little did they know that it was the music that had conjured up the rain and the moonlight.

Entry 48

Every monsoon, Mira sat at her window and watched the rain draw patterns on the glass. Outside, the world shimmered with new possibilities, but her heart clung to an afternoon long gone. She remembered their laughter beneath the heavy clouds, the promises whispered in the warm, humid air. The rain was beautiful, but it could never bring back that lost moment, no matter how sweet his song was. She felt the warmth of his hand in hers again, their laughter, their love. They had dreamed aloud, believing the magic of the monsoon would last forever. Mira smiled through the tears, grateful for the memory, pain and with new hope.

Entry 49

Chapter - Entangle Under the Rain

As rain started to pour, Megha walked hurriedly on the road, covering her head with her hand. She blamed her luck as she was overconfident that today it would not rain despite her mother's persuasion to take an umbrella. Looking forward, she can see her house, but the rain makes it look like a long way. With her head downward and her hand above her head, she walks faster. Suddenly, the rain stopped, but when she looked forward, the rain was still pouring. Feeling confused, she looked upwards and saw an umbrella above her head. Turning around, her eyes met the eyes of the man who was holding the umbrella.

Entry 50

Scars in the Rain

In the torrential rain, Aarohi noticed two eyes gleaming in the darkness—not Tara’s radiant charm, nor Deep’s arrogant perfection, but something… raw. Beastly. Her breath hitched. Beneath the broken streetlamp, stood a figure cloaked in shadow, horns barely visible, pain radiating from his soaked, deformed body.

Deep. But not the Deep who humiliated her.

This one trembled, hiding behind his own reflection.

Aarohi stepped forward, heart warring with hurt. He whispered, “I’ve lost everything… even myself.”
She paused.
Then quietly said, “Not everything.” The rain blurred scars and tears alike. And for the first time, the beast dared to hope love might still find him.

Entry 51

The Quiet Side of the Umbrella

He held her tightly as they walked, sharing the umbrella. The monsoon streets of Mumbai were chaotic, but Tanya’s storm had passed—when Rohan chose betrayal and she chose silence.

Ajit wasn’t her husband. He hadn’t promised her the world—only shade when she’d forgotten the warmth.

She noticed how he tilted the umbrella toward her, letting the rain soak his shoulder.

“You’re getting wet,” she whispered.

He smiled. “You’ve been drenched alone for too long.”

Across the street, hidden in his car, Rohan stared. That same Tanya who once wept for him now smiled—faintly, freely.

She didn’t turn. But Ajit did. And met Rohan’s eyes—quietly victorious.

Entry 52

In Every Birth, Find Me

His breath was warm against her temple as he traced the rim of her ear, murmuring her name like a sacred raag.
“Radhika,” he whispered, “in every birth, find me.”
Her fingers clutched his kurta, hearts beating in rhythm. He leaned in, lips nearly brushing hers—when—

CRASH!
The window banged open. A gust of wind lashed her face with rain. Radhika blinked, gasping, alone in her room.

No ghungroos. No Madhav. Just silence and stormlight.

She touched her lips—still tingling with the ghost of his almost-kiss.

Her heart ached. The dream had ended. But the feeling? The feeling was real. Terrifyingly real.

Entry 53

Monsoon Hearts

Rain fell for the first time in months, drenching St. Xavier’s in scent and shimmer. On the rooftop, Jhanak laughed—arms spread, drenched in monsoon and mischief—while Aniruddh watched, lips curled in a rare smile. For a moment, the world softened.

But under the awning, a group of students whispered. About the queen bee choosing the wallflower. About the bet she’d once laughed over.

Aniruddh’s smile wavered.

She noticed.

Stepping closer, Jhanak gripped his hand tightly, defying the murmurs. “Let them rot in drought,” she said.

And with that, they danced in the rain—rivals outside, but a rebellion of two within.

Entry 54

The Storm That Stayed

She froze as lightning lit up the dark figure beside her—soaked, gaunt, eyeshollow.
Aniruddh Bose.
The man she saved with a letter. The man who left to protect her name.

Now he stood at her door, nine years too late.
Nine years. Nine birthdays. One name.

Her fingers trembled as she signed: Aniruddh.
He didn’t move. Rain blurred her vision—or were those tears?

“I broke you,” he whispered. “But I’ve been breaking ever since.”
Jhanak didn’t speak. She never could.
But her hands moved—ache and forgiveness entwined:
“Then let’s start again.”

He stepped forward. She didn’t stop him. Their lips met—soft, then fierce.
The storm stilled.

Entry 55

It’s raining tonight; the kind that awakens what you thought was buried deep. And there you were again, like a forgotten melody. You were never mine, yet for a fleeting season, you were the rain in my parched summer. I said nothing; ego, fear, and pride stood guard. You didn’t express either. Life moved on, and so did you. But I remained, holding an ache I never learned to name. Maybe it wasn’t love, maybe it was how alive I felt around you. Even now, as the rain taps on my window, I wonder… did you ever feel it too? Or was I always the only one standing in the storm?

Entry 56

They say some touches don’t burn; rather stay. His fingers were gentle and steady as he carefully shaped her guitar nails. “Too long,” he murmured, gently guiding her hand, trimming just enough to let music breathe. The monsoon hummed outside and the windows fogged. She sat still, but something inside trembled. It wasn’t the closeness; it was the restraint. The way his skin brushed hers without claiming. Not a caress, not desire… just an awareness so sharp, it ached. Years passed. But no one ever touched her hands like that again, like she was a song still waiting to be played.

Entry 57

Rain meant joy once. As a schoolgirl, I’d watch from the window, begging Maa to let me soak outside. She never did, instead said I’d fall sick. I dreamed of puddles like seas, where my tiny feet could splash, and school would be my excuse to dive in. Now I wear glasses, avoid the rain, live in a faraway land chasing dreams I once whispered to the sky. No more kichuri, no Maa, no window laughter. Just deadlines, cold nights, and silence. I’m not sad. Just…tired. Of running, of growing, of being so far from that girl who found magic in rain. I hope she’s still somewhere in me.

Entry 58

She watched the rain trace silver veins down the window, silence thick between them.

He nudged the coffee towards her. “You okay?”

She nodded, then quietly asked, “Why does caring always get confused with love?” He looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe because we forget boundaries when hearts feel seen.”

“But I just wanted a friend,” she whispered, “Not promises, not longing glances… just someone who stays without expecting more.”

He didn’t answer right away. Only the rain replied.

“Can’t men just be…friends?” she asked again.

He met her eyes, honest but unsure.

“I wish I could say yes. But maybe it’s harder than we admit.”

Entry 59

Why is it that your silence felt fuller than any words, Mom?

Even now, over the phone, you say, “Eat on time, don’t skip meals and sleep,” with that same soft firmness.

You still give me cooking tips I never cared to learn because you always said, “Just study, dream big, I’ll handle the rest.”

But Mom, now that I’m miles away, I feel lost in this strength you gave me.

Some days, I just miss your kiss.

The time difference makes calls shorter, the loneliness longer.

Why does warmth travel slower than distance?

You still hold me from afar… but Mom, some days, I just want to come home.

Entry 60

Rain poured over the streets of Seoul as Ji-eun rushed, clutching her sketchbook, trying not to slip. Her umbrella flipped in the wind, and just then, someone held theirs over her. She looked up—it was Hyun-woo, the quiet guy from her art class. “You always run without looking?” he asked, smiling softly. They walked together under the shared umbrella, steps syncing without trying. Raindrops tapped like a soft soundtrack, and the city faded around them. At her stop, she turned to thank him, but he was already gone—leaving only his umbrella behind. Her heart skipped. Monsoon magic had just begun.

Dummy voting for example …

Entry #134, 145, 135, 180, 152.

Hello Folks

My Votes Are For The Following

Entry 1

Entry 3

Entry 6

Entry 7

Entry 10.

Thanks

Hey no offence and I am sure all reads would be lovely but here are some of my apprehensions:

Choosing 5 out 122 is overwhelming for voting. Reading anything should not feel like a chore. This actually does feel like it.

People will not read beyond a point or not read at all and will randomly select numbers, which defeats the whole purpose.

It is mostly unfair for people whose submissions are in the middle. No one will read them.

It would be great if a solution is found for this. For example if there are multiple entries (which I am very sure), you can ask them to submit just one. Or you guys can check internally.

But if these contest rules remain unchanged, here are my votes:

7, 37, 77, 107, 117

There can be a judges panel who should filter out more options and then present for re-voting only a few of them.

6, 8, 15, 107, 118.

Entry# 1, 3, 6, 11, 12

Thanks for the invite Suta

Will read all and vote asap.....

Need to vote before 10th August right?

Thank you Suta for the invite

I had kind of left the forum but Will definitely read and vote.