Stormy And Garage short Love story
If you think getting stranded with a dead car is bad… try getting stranded in a freaking monsoon-level downpour. 🌧️
No umbrella.
No phone signal.
And a suitcase that’s now 30% mud.
“Brilliant, Tara. Just brilliant,” I mutter, yanking my suitcase across the flooded gravel. My hair’s sticking to my face like wet spaghetti, and my sneakers make that squelch-squelch sound with every step. 🤦♀️
The only shelter?
A rusty old garage blinking like it’s begging to be put out of its misery — “Jai’s Auto Repairs — Cars Fixed, Sarcasm Free (maybe).”
Honestly, I should’ve turned around.
But hey — what’s life without questionable decisions?
Inside the garage, it’s warmer, but it smells like oil, burnt coffee, and broken dreams.
Behind a busted-up truck stands a guy — tall, grumpy, arms covered in grease, and somehow hotter than a cup of bad diner coffee. ☕
He looks up, raises one eyebrow, and deadpans,
“Let me guess. Car trouble. And poor life choices.”
I blink rain out of my eyes. “Wow. Psychic AND a mechanic. Jackpot.”
He tosses me a towel like I’m a stray cat.
“Jai,” he says, wiping his hands. “Local car whisperer. Professional sarcasm dealer.”
“Tara,” I say, squeezing water out of my jacket. “Professional bad luck magnet.”
He smirks. “Explains the drowned rat vibe.”
Charming. Truly. 😒
“So what’s the damage?” I ask, plopping onto a creaky chair.
Jai scratches his head. “Your battery’s dead. Your tire’s flatter than my love life. And your alternator’s hanging by a prayer.”
I snort. “At least my tire and I have something in common.”
He actually chuckles, low and rough. “Touché, Princess Puncture.”
“Did you just… nickname me?” I raise an eyebrow.
He shrugs. “You earned it. Royal level of bad driving decisions.”
You ever meet someone who just gets under your skin… but like, in a kinda sexy way?
Yeah. That’s Jai.
The storm pounds on the tin roof like a rock concert gone wrong. 🌩️
Jai hands me a mug of coffee that could legally be classified as motor oil.
I take one sip and gag. “What is this? Liquid regret?”
He smirks. “It’s an acquired taste. Kinda like me.”
I roll my eyes so hard I almost sprain something. “You’re like a storm cloud with muscles.”
“And you,” he says, leaning against the counter, “are like a glitter bomb that exploded in my garage.”
We sit there, rain pouring, arguing about the best road trip song.
“Born to Run,” I insist.
“Life is a Highway,” he says.
“Typical,” I grin. “You look like you’ve never run from anything in your life.”
“Yeah?” He leans closer, smirking. “You look like you’d get lost in a parking lot.”
Touché again. 🙃
Later, when the rain refuses to quit, Jai offers an old hoodie that smells like engine oil and fresh laundry. Weird combo, but oddly comforting. 🧥
“You sure you’re not secretly nice?” I tease.
He snorts. “Don’t spread rumors. I got a reputation to maintain.”
Lightning flashes outside. Thunder booms so loud I jump — and accidentally spill coffee all over his toolbox.
“Well, crap,” I mutter.
He glares like I just insulted his firstborn. “That was my lucky wrench.”
“Maybe your wrench shouldn’t have been loitering,” I sass back.
He laughs, full and real this time.
“Princess Puncture, you’re a whole circus.”
“And you,” I grin, “are the world’s grumpiest clown.”
Later, sitting cross-legged on the garage floor, we get weirdly real.
“I was supposed to leave this town years ago,” Jai says, staring at the leaking ceiling. “Open a travel garage. Fix cars and surf waves. Y’know… live the dream.”
“What happened?” I ask, picking at a chipped bolt.
He shrugs. “Life. Dad got sick. Then he left me this place. Couldn’t just bail.”
You ever hear someone say something so quietly it feels louder than a scream?
Yeah… it hits different.
I nudge him with my foot. “Maybe the dream’s not dead. Maybe it’s just… idling.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You and your cheesy metaphors.”
“Hey,” I grin, “someone’s gotta give Hallmark writers a run for their money.”
Finally, when the storm softens to a drizzle, Jai hands me my keys.
“You’re good to go,” he says, but he won’t meet my eyes.
You ever leave somewhere and feel like you’re leaving a little piece of yourself behind?
Yeah… that too.
I toss my suitcase in the car, heart doing weird somersaults.
Before driving off, I sneak into his truck and leave a little package:
A mixtape labeled “For Car Whisperers Only.” 🎶
And a note with her phone number :
“Dreams don’t rust. They just need a little fixing sometimes.” love tara
Fast forward three months.
Jai sends me a voice note:
“Hitting the road next week. Fixed my truck. And maybe my guts too. Thanks, Princess Puncture.” 🚙💨
I grin at my phone like a complete idiot.
Sometimes, you meet a storm…
Sometimes, you meet someone who teaches you to dance in it. 💃🌧️
Tell me, reader:
👉 When was the last time you chased a dream instead of parking it?
👉 Are you stuck in neutral… or ready to hit the gas?
Because trust me — the road’s waiting. All you gotta do is move. 🛣️❤️