Marina Kadhal – Part 1: Six A.M. on the Beach

Meena had run the Marina every morning for six months, and in all that time she had learned only three things about the man who ran beside her.

He wore a faded blue cap. He always passed the lighthouse at exactly the same time. And he never looked at her, not once, even when they were running side by side on the wide, empty sand as the sun came up over the Bay of Bengal.

She called him Blue Cap in her head. She had never told anyone about him.

On the first Monday of October, the sky turned grey before five. By six, the rain was coming in sideways off the sea, warm and heavy and sudden. Meena ran to the old stone shelter near the lighthouse, gasping, her shoes squelching in the wet sand.

She was not the only one who had had the same idea.

Blue Cap was already there, leaning against the wall, rain dripping off the brim of his cap. He looked up, and for the first time in six months his eyes met hers.

"Looks like the sea has plans for us," he said, in Tamil, with a faint laugh.

"It's not very sensible of the sea," said Meena.

"It's the sea. It's never been sensible."

They stood side by side under the shelter, watching the grey water hurl itself against the rocks. The lighthouse beam swept over them, pale and steady. Meena wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.

"I'm Arvind," he said. "I work at the bank on Mount Road. I've seen you running every morning. You're very fast."

"I'm not fast. I'm just stubborn," said Meena. "I'm Meena. I work at the hospital in Adyar. I've seen you running too. You never say hello."

"I didn't know what to say," said Arvind, and his cheeks reddened under the rain. "I thought you'd think I was strange."

"You are strange," said Meena, and laughed. "You pass the lighthouse at exactly the same second every single day. It's very suspicious."

He laughed, too, low and surprised. "I've been trying to keep the time for my watch. It's a very old one. It belonged to my grandfather."

"That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me in the rain."

"It's the most boring thing," said Arvind, grinning, and then his expression softened. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to have coffee with me after the rain stops? Here, by the lighthouse, where the stalls open at seven?"

Meena's heart gave a quick, nervous jump. "Yes," she said. "But you're buying. And you can tell me why you never say hello."

"Deal," said Arvind. Then, very quietly, "Meena, may I hold your hand? Just while the rain's loud. Only if you want."

"Yes," she whispered, and let him take it, his fingers warm and steady in the cold morning air.