Winter in Durgapur always arrived quietly—wrapped in silver fog, trembling mornings, and long breathless evenings. The trees stood still as if frozen in thought, and the soft sunlight struggled to push through the mist.
Arnab never liked winter.
To him, it felt lonely. The cold crept into his hands, into his chest, into places he didn't know needed warmth. He was a third-year engineering student, practical and reserved, living a life measured in classes, assignments, and unspoken dreams.
And then, one winter morning, everything changed.
At the bus stop, through a curtain of fog, he saw her.
She was wearing a pale yellow shawl, her cheeks pink from the cold, her hair slightly damp with dew. In her hands was a novel. A sudden gust of wind made it slip and fall near his feet.
He picked it up.
The title read: *Shesher Kobita.*
"Thank you," she said, smiling.
That smile—soft and radiant—felt like sunlight breaking through the coldest morning.
Her name was Meghla.
Like her name, she carried calmness, but inside her was something powerful and alive. She studied literature at a nearby college, loved poetry, sang beautifully, and believed winter was the most romantic season of all.
---
### The Beginning of Warmth
Their conversations began simply.
"It's freezing today," Arnab would say.
Meghla would laugh softly. "Winter teaches us to appreciate warmth."
Day after day, they met at the same bus stop. Words turned into laughter. Laughter turned into comfort. Comfort slowly turned into something neither of them named—but both of them felt.
One evening, she invited him to her college cultural program. The auditorium lights dimmed, and Meghla walked onto the stage.
When she began to sing, the entire hall seemed to pause. Her voice carried emotion so pure that Arnab felt something melt inside him.
In that moment, he realized—she was not just a girl he met at a bus stop.
She was becoming the warmth he didn't know he needed.
---
### The Storm in the Cold
But winter is never just gentle sunshine.
One morning, Meghla didn't show up.
The next day, she didn't either.
An emptiness grew inside Arnab. The bus stop felt colder than ever. Finally, he received her call.
Her father had been transferred to Siliguri. She had to leave within days.
"I didn't know how to tell you," she whispered.
Arnab stared at the fog outside his window. "So… this is the end of our winter?"
There was silence. Then she replied softly,
"Winter returns every year. And so does the sun."
---
### The Farewell
They met one last time in a quiet park, wrapped in mist.
Meghla handed him a small diary.
"These are my poems. For you."
Arnab looked at her, struggling to keep his voice steady.
"When you leave, winter will feel unbearable."
She held his hand gently.
"You taught me that even the coldest days can be beautiful."
At that very moment, the sun pierced through the fog and rested on their faces, as if nature itself was blessing their goodbye.
---
### The Surprise
Weeks passed.
Calls and messages filled the distance, but distance is still distance. Arnab buried himself in studies, yet every winter morning reminded him of her yellow shawl.
Finally, during winter break, he made a decision.
He boarded a train to Siliguri.
Standing outside her college gate, his heart pounding louder than the train he arrived in, he called her.
When Meghla stepped outside and saw him, she froze.
"You came… all the way here?"
Arnab smiled softly.
"To find my sunshine, I had to follow the winter."
Her eyes filled with tears—not of sadness, but of something deeper.
The cold mountain breeze brushed against them, but their hands were warm, tightly intertwined.
---
### A Piece of Sunshine
Winter did not separate them.
Instead, it taught them that love is not about constant closeness. It is about warmth that survives distance, about light that refuses to fade.
No matter how thick the fog becomes, no matter how cold the air feels, Arnab knows one thing—
As long as Meghla is there, somewhere in this world, he will always carry a piece of sunshine in his winter.
And sometimes, that is enough. ❄️☀️