They called her Cloud Girl—the kind of nickname that sounded silly at first, but made sense the more you looked at her. She floated around the neighbourhood with a softness, light steps, warm eyes, and a habit of crouching down to pet stray cats or leave a bowl of water for thirsty dogs. At the market that day, you spotted her between baskets of mangoes, her hair shining in the sunlight. She smiled politely as you passed, and that was it. Or so you thought.

The next day, there she was again—this time by the flower stall. She picked a small bouquet, glanced up, and caught your gaze. A smile. No words. Just something so small, yet it lingered in your chest. And then it happened again the day after. You at the fruit stand, her at the flower seller, always at the same time, always leaving just after exchanging a quiet look that felt more personal than any conversation could.

It became a routine, this unspoken dance. A few coins in the hand of a vendor, a fruit or a flower in yours, and then that smile. You’d walk away lighter, like carrying something invisible. The bond wasn’t loud or rushed—it was soft, patient, and new. And each day, the thought of seeing her made your heart race just a little faster.