Once in a blue moon

Whiskey's Rain

USA
Research Lab, Late at Night

Ishaan (whispering): Dr. Parker, I've been staring at these numbers forever. It's like trying to connect dots in the dark. But I can't find the pattern.

Dr. Parker: Patience, Ishaan. Science isn't a sprint; it's more like a marathon across the universe. Each data point is a clue, leading us toward answers. Curiosity is our guide.

Ishaan: But what if we're lost in this maze of equations? What if our ideas fall apart?

Dr. Parker: Ah, the existential crisis of a budding scientist! I've been there. Remember, science thrives on uncertainty. Embrace the chaos—it's where breakthroughs hide.

Ishaan: And what about love? Can science and matters of the heart coexist?

Dr. Parker: Love fuels our late-night experiments, our scribbled notes. It's the secret ingredient in every test tube. Science and love dance together, my dear.
Ishaan: What if I never make a dent in the universe?

Dr. Parker: You already have. Every question you ask, every failed experiment—it's a ripple in spacetime. Even the tiniest pebble creates waves.
Ishaan: And this silver locket—my grandmother's. She believed it held wishes. What if I wish for answers?

Dr. Parker: Wish away, Ishaan. The universe conspires with dreamers. You're a comet hurtling toward discovery.
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AT 2:00 AM
Ishaan's apartment

In the dimly lit apartment, Ishaan stumbled through the door at 2:00 AM, his leather black coat slipping off his shoulders and landing carelessly on the couch.

His movements were a blend of exhaustion and rugged charm. With a languid grace, he reached for the remote control and switched on the TV. The screen flickered to life, illuminating the room with the latest news.

And there it was—a weather forecast that seemed to mock Ishaan's disheveled appearance. "Heavy rain expected today," the news anchor declared, her voice echoing through the empty space.

The raindrops would soon dance on the city streets, washing away the sins of the night.

He stepped out onto the balcony, the cold air biting at his skin. His puppy, a tiny ball of fur named Whiskey, wagged its tail in excitement.

Ishaan crouched down, his fingers brushing against the wet pavement. Whiskey's eyes sparkled with anticipation as Ishaan placed a bowl of kibble in front of him.

Ishaan crouched down, his fingers brushing against the wet pavement. Whiskey's eyes sparkled with anticipation as Ishaan placed a bowl of kibble in front of him.

"Here you go, little guy," Ishaan murmured. "Eat up. It's going to be a wet one out there."

Whiskey devoured the food, blissfully unaware of the chaos brewing in the heavens. Ishaan silently adoring whiskey.

He closes his eyes, inhaling the airport's sterile air of 1 year 6 months ago, the scent of departure clinging to his skin. Maggie's eyes, wide and searching, had followed him until the last possible moment. They held questions, unspoken fears, and a silent plea: Don't leave me behind.

Guilt settled heavy in his chest. He had boarded the plane, leaving Maggie standing there, her fingers pressed against the glass. The distance between them grew with each passing mile, and he wondered if promises were like paper boats, fragile and easily lost in the currents of time.
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