'Rain' by Harshita Nanda

Mira inhaled the petrichor and shivered as the damp breeze made her dupatta dance. Unseasonal rain fell in fat drops, drenching the earth. She grinned, pirouetting on the wet grass eyes closed, soaking in the joy of escaping the oppressive heat.

Babu Ram ignored the pain as rain pelted his bare shoulders, his eyes fixed on the field. The field had been full of golden stalks pregnant with the promise of riches for a year. Now the stalks lay on the ground, battered, muddy, useless. His rain was salty, full of broken promises.