Not suddenly—just slowly enough that the sound of water sliding off the balcony rail became softer, then quieter, until it disappeared completely. Arohi noticed it only when she woke up, her eyes opening to a pale, unsure light slipping through the curtains.

She didn’t move immediately.

There was something heavy sitting in her chest—not pain, not fear—just a weight. Like a thought that hadn’t fully formed yet.

She lay still, listening.

The house was awake.

Somewhere in the kitchen, a steel utensil clinked against another. A low cough. Footsteps moving with purpose. Life, continuing as usual.

Arohi turned her face toward the window.

Yesterday lingered in her mind longer than she wanted it to.

Kabir’s voice.

Not loud. Not angry.

Just… present.

She sat up slowly and reached for her phone. No messages. She hadn’t expected any, but the absence still registered.

After a moment, she put the phone aside and stood.

Downstairs, her mother was already dressed, hair tied neatly, sari pleats perfectly in place.

“You’re awake early,” her mother said, without turning.

Arohi nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Her mother glanced at her then. Not long. Just enough to notice the tired eyes.

“Tea?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Silence filled the kitchen while the water boiled.

Arohi leaned against the counter. “Maa… do you ever feel like you’re… standing somewhere you didn’t plan to be?”

Her mother smiled faintly. “All the time.”

That wasn’t the answer Arohi expected.

Her mother poured the tea. “Life doesn’t ask for permission,” she continued. “It just arrives. Sometimes gently. Sometimes like a storm.”

Arohi wrapped her hands around the cup.

“What do you do then?” she asked.

Her mother shrugged. “You stay. You watch. You decide when to move.”

A pause.

“And sometimes,” her mother added, softer now, “you don’t move at all. You let life come to you.”

Arohi didn’t reply.

She wasn’t sure what she was letting in.

Kabir was already at the site when his phone vibrated.

He ignored it at first.

The structure in front of him demanded attention—half-built, exposed, honest. He liked that about unfinished things. They didn’t pretend to be complete.

“Sir,” one of the workers called. “The measurement on the east side—”

“I’ll check,” Kabir said, walking over.

When the vibration came again, he sighed and stepped aside.

It was his mother.

“Yes?”

“You didn’t come home last night,” she said, not accusing. Just stating.

“I stayed at a friend’s.”

A pause. He knew she didn’t believe him.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said. “Quieter than usual.”

Kabir smiled without humor. “Didn’t know that was possible.”

She ignored that. “Come home for dinner tonight.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try,” she said gently. “Just come.”

The call ended.

Kabir slipped the phone back into his pocket.

He thought of Arohi—not how she looked, but how she stood yesterday. Like someone bracing for something she didn’t yet understand.

He shook his head and returned to work.

They met again in the evening, unintentionally.

The grocery store was crowded, narrow aisles filled with half-heard conversations and impatient movements.

Arohi reached for a packet of rice at the same moment Kabir did.

Their fingers brushed.

She pulled back instantly.

“Sorry,” she said.

“So am I,” he replied.

They stood there awkwardly, neither stepping away.

“You live nearby?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“So do I.”

Another pause.

Arohi picked up the packet and placed it in her basket. Kabir did the same.

“I didn’t know,” she said.

“There’s a lot we don’t know,” he answered, and immediately wished he hadn’t said that.

She glanced at him, then looked away.

The cashier called out to them.

Outside, the air smelled clean, washed by rain.

“I’ll walk,” Arohi said suddenly. “It’s not far.”

Kabir nodded. “Same.”

They walked side by side, not together.

Traffic noises filled the space between them.

“You don’t talk much,” she said, almost casually.

He smiled slightly. “Neither do you.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” he said. “You just hide it better.”

She stopped walking.

He turned back, surprised.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You speak when you think it’s safe,” he said. “When you know you won’t be questioned.”

Her expression tightened. “You don’t know me.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

She exhaled. “No. You’re right.”

That surprised him.

She resumed walking. He followed.

“Does it bother you?” she asked quietly. “Being… seen?”

Kabir thought for a moment. “Only when I don’t understand what someone sees.”

She nodded.

That made sense to her.

They stopped at the corner where their paths separated.

“I’ll see you around,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied. “You will.”

As she walked away, Kabir realized something unsettling.

He was already waiting for that to happen.

That night, Arohi stood on her balcony again.

The sky was clear now.

Her phone buzzed.

A new message.

Unknown number.

You forgot your change at the store.

– Kabir

She stared at the screen longer than necessary.

Then she typed back.

You could’ve kept it.

The reply came quickly.

Didn’t feel right.

Arohi smiled.

Just a little.

And for the first time, she didn’t push the feeling away.

She simply let it sit.

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