Under an umbrella where they used to be holding hands,
there is an empty space he created on his own and it is swallowing him a whole.
Under the umbrella he remembers, how the black kajol smiling from her lambent eyes made his world so colorful.
He then remembers all her arrant nonsense he ignored as she speaks, just to watch her lips floating.
Headphones on as usual, holding the same umbrella in one hand and the other empty; the fate picked up a song that she once sent a link calling it “Ours”.
The song is same but now it is only his, or maybe only hers. He squeezed the breath out of it. Yeah, the essence is gone.
Untouched from rain but soaked in memory.