Chapter 1: The First Meeting
The ballroom buzzed with the polite hum of networking
conversations, punctuated by the clink of teacups and the faint, canned music
from the hotel speakers. The organizers had labeled the break as “High Tea,”
but the buffet counter betrayed the truth—lukewarm samosas, tiny sandwiches
with more bread than filling, and coffee that tasted suspiciously instant.
Aarav Sharma stood slightly away from the crowd, his
blazer draped over his arm, balancing a cup of coffee that he already regretted
picking up. He wasn’t much for corporate mingling. Years of architectural site
visits had taught him to prefer the blunt honesty of dust and blueprints over
the carefully rehearsed smiles of these events.
On the other side of the counter, Meera Kapoor was trying
to juggle her notepad, a tote bag filled with brochures, and a plate with one
samosa. Her pen slipped, clattering softly to the carpet before rolling toward
Aarav’s polished shoes.
He bent down, picked it up, and held it out.
Aarav (smiling, a touch amused): “I think this
belongs to you. Or is it a new networking strategy?”
Meera (laughing, slightly embarrassed): “If it were, it
clearly needs work. Dropped pens don’t seem as effective as exchanged business
cards.”
She accepted the pen, brushing back a stray strand of
hair as she steadied her plate. Aarav noticed her eyes—alert, bright, with a
hint of mischief that felt out of place in the otherwise formal room.
They stood side by side for a moment, both eyeing the
refreshments.
Meera (muttering under her breath, enough for him to
hear): “High tea, they said. I was expecting something elegant.
Not reheated samosas.”
Aarav chuckled, taking a sip of his bitter coffee.
Aarav: “And this coffee tastes like it’s been
filtered through regret. You’d think for the registration fee we paid, they
could’ve managed a barista.”
Meera burst out laughing, almost spilling her chai.
People nearby turned briefly, surprised at the casual humor cutting through the
otherwise polite corporate chatter.
Meera: “So, Mr…?”
Aarav (nodding politely): “Aarav.
Architect. Panelist.”
Meera: “Meera. Marketing. Audience.”
They exchanged a knowing smile, one professional to
another, bound by the shared irony of conferences that promised more than they
delivered. For a few minutes, the conversation flowed—about the panel
discussions, the jargon-laden presentations, the irony of people discussing
sustainability while handing out glossy pamphlets no one would read.
Then, as the bell rang to signal the next session, the
moment broke. Attendees began shuffling back into the hall, adjusting their
lanyards, collecting their notes.
Meera tucked her pen back into her notepad. Aarav placed
his empty cup on the tray.
They looked at each other, both as if about to say
something more—but didn’t.
No phone numbers were exchanged. No LinkedIn requests
made. Just a polite nod, a small smile, and a quiet sense that this was not
quite the end.
As Meera walked back toward her table, she found herself
glancing over her shoulder once. Aarav was already lost in the crowd, but the
conversation lingered—like the faint aftertaste of chai, warm and unexpected.
Chapter 2: The Digital
Thread
Back at his desk the next morning, Aarav stared at the
glow of his laptop screen. He had deadlines waiting—layouts to finalize,
contractor calls to return—but his mind kept circling back to yesterday’s
conference.
That laugh.
That effortless way she had turned a dull coffee break into something
memorable.
And the way she’d walked away without leaving even a trace behind.
He wasn’t the kind of man to chase strangers. His life
was built on discipline and restraint—he was married, committed, and in a
routine that didn’t allow for distractions. Yet, there was something about
Meera Kapoor that clung to his thoughts like the faint scent of rain after a
storm.
On an impulse, Aarav opened LinkedIn.
The search bar blinked at him expectantly. He typed
slowly, almost guiltily—Meera Kapoor.
Dozens of profiles appeared. He scrolled past a few until
he saw her: the same sharp eyes, the same professional smile in a neatly taken
display picture. Digital Marketing Manager at a prominent Bangalore firm.
His cursor hovered over the blue Connect button. He
hesitated.
What if she thought it strange? What if she wondered why
an architect she’d spoken to for all of five minutes was suddenly adding her?
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. This
wasn’t about crossing boundaries. It wasn’t flirtation. It was… curiosity. A
need to extend that unfinished conversation.
Finally, with a small exhale, he clicked Connect.
He added a note, deliberate, careful:
“Good to meet you at the Sustainability Conference
yesterday. Enjoyed our brief conversation over the samosas and coffee. Would be
glad to stay connected professionally. — Aarav.”
He read it twice, making sure it was neutral.
Professional. Safe. Then, he pressed Send.
The request floated off into the digital ether.
For the rest of the day, he found himself checking
LinkedIn more often than usual, though he’d never admit it. Every refresh of
the page brought a tiny flicker of anticipation.
That night, just before logging off, the notification
appeared:
“Meera Kapoor has accepted your invitation.”
Aarav stared at the screen, smiling faintly. Something
shifted—subtle, invisible, yet undeniable.
In the quiet glow of his study lamp, it felt like the
beginning of a thread. A thread spun delicately between two strangers, now
tethered by nothing more than a click and a memory of samosas and laughter.
Chapter 3: The Coffee
Invitation
Two weeks passed since the conference. Their LinkedIn
connection had grown into a polite trickle of likes, the occasional comment on
a post, and a few safe exchanges about work. Nothing personal, nothing
reckless—just enough to keep that faint thread alive.
On a Friday afternoon, Aarav found himself near Meera’s
office. He had been at a client site visit in Indiranagar, and while waiting
for his cab, he noticed the familiar glass-fronted building with the logo of
her firm.
The thought came uninvited: She works here.
For a few minutes, he stood uncertain. Then, almost
before he realized what he was doing, he pulled out his phone and typed a
message.
Aarav (text):
Hey Meera, I just realized I’m near your office for a site visit. Thought I’d
check—any chance you’re free for a quick coffee? No pressure, only if you can
step away for a bit.
He read the message twice before hitting send.
Professional enough, casual enough, but with just enough warmth to make his
intent clear: I’d like to see you again.
The three dots blinked for what felt like an eternity.
Meera (reply):
Ha, what are the odds! Give me 10 minutes—I’ll escape before someone drags me
into another meeting.
Aarav smiled, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He
felt strangely lighter, almost like a schoolboy making impromptu plans after
class.
The Coffee Shop
They met at a small café tucked away from the main road,
one of those places frequented by office-goers escaping cafeteria food. Meera
walked in briskly, her ID card still around her neck, hair slightly out of
place from the afternoon’s rush.
Meera (teasing): “So, you’re sight-seeing around
my office now? Should I be concerned?”
Aarav (grinning): “Pure
coincidence. Though I’ll admit, not a bad one.”
They ordered—her usual masala chai, his black coffee. The
conversation, at first, was work-safe: campaign strategies, architecture
deadlines, the eternal Bangalore traffic. But slowly, as the minutes stretched,
it slipped into softer spaces.
They spoke about childhood cities, favorite authors, even
the kind of music that kept them sane during long days. Aarav discovered Meera
had a weakness for old ghazals, the kind his father used to play on Sunday
mornings. Meera learned Aarav carried a sketchbook in his bag, always, in case
inspiration struck.
Between the laughter and the pauses, the air held
something unspoken. Not romantic in a loud, reckless way—but intimate, like the
warmth of a candle between them.
The Return
When her phone buzzed with a reminder for a client call,
Meera sighed.
Meera: “Duty calls. If I disappear any longer,
my team will send out a search party.”
They walked back toward her office. Before parting, she
glanced at him and smiled.
Meera: “Thanks for the coffee. It was… nice.
Unexpectedly nice.”
Aarav (softly): “Unexpected things usually are.”
As she disappeared into the glass building, Aarav stood
for a moment longer on the pavement, the noise of traffic rushing around him.
It was just coffee. Just conversation. Yet he felt the
quiet certainty of something beginning—something neither of them had named, but
both had already stepped into.
Chapter 4: The Gentle Shift
It began, as most things do, with something ordinary.
Aarav had messaged Meera about helping with the branding
for one of his upcoming architectural projects — a cultural center he was
designing in Whitefield. Her firm had experience in that space, and asking her
advice felt natural, even professional.
Aarav (text):
Would you mind giving me a quick perspective on this? Only if you have a few
minutes.
Meera (reply):
Of course. Send it across. You architects make things look beautiful, but
sometimes forget people have to actually find them on Instagram.
Her teasing reply made him smile.
They met one afternoon in a quiet café near her office to
discuss his project brochure. At first, the conversation was firmly
on-topic—fonts, color palettes, the tone of the campaign. Aarav took notes
diligently, asking thoughtful questions. Meera, in her element, spoke
animatedly about digital storytelling, her hands sketching invisible ideas in
the air.
But as the coffee cooled between them, the conversation
drifted—without either of them noticing.
Fonts gave way to favorite books.
Color palettes led to a discussion of old Bollywood film posters.
And somewhere between debating whether 90s music was cheesy or iconic, they
both realized they were laughing too easily, too freely, for two people who had
met under the banner of “professional networking.”
The meetings repeated themselves—sometimes planned,
sometimes spontaneous. Once it was about his client presentation, another time
about a campaign she was struggling with. Slowly, the lines blurred.
The café meetings began to include conversations that had
nothing to do with work at all: childhood memories, funny stories about school,
even the odd rant about family expectations. Neither of them announced this
shift. It just happened.
One evening, as they were packing up after reviewing
layouts, Aarav caught himself saying:
Aarav: “I don’t think I’ve laughed this much
during a work discussion before.”
Meera paused, her eyes lingering on his for a beat longer
than usual.
Meera (lightly, brushing it off): “That’s because
this stopped being just work a while ago.”
The words hung in the air, casual and joking, yet
carrying a truth neither dared to unpack.
By the time they walked out into the Bangalore evening
traffic, the change had already happened. They didn’t label it, didn’t discuss
it. But somewhere along the way, professional courtesy had softened into
companionship.
And they hadn’t even realized when.
Chapter 5: The Quiet Restlessness
The days slipped into a rhythm neither Aarav nor Meera
had planned, yet both found themselves following. Messages exchanged under the
pretext of work. Quick coffees that stretched into an hour. Walks after
meetings that had nothing to do with deadlines.
It was all so ordinary, yet it carried a weight neither
of them could name.
Aarav’s Side
At his desk one morning, Aarav found himself opening his
phone without thinking, waiting for the small blue dot of a new message from
Meera. When it didn’t come, the silence felt oddly heavy.
He shook his head, frustrated with himself. Why am I
waiting? He had no right. His life was already spoken for—his home, his
commitments, his marriage. And yet, there was no denying it: the thought of
meeting her again made his heart beat faster than it had in years.
Meera’s Side
For Meera, the realization came one late evening, after a
long day of work. She caught herself smiling at her phone—not because of a
meme, not because of a funny reel, but because she was rereading a message from
Aarav:
“Don’t forget to breathe. Even deadlines need patience.”
Simple, harmless words. But she couldn’t ignore the
warmth they carried.
She sat back, pressing the phone to her chest, feeling
both foolish and alive. It wasn’t love, she told herself. It couldn’t be. But
whatever it was, it made her day lighter.
The Meetings
Each time they met, the pull grew stronger. Not dramatic,
not reckless—just a quiet, undeniable joy.
A shared cup of chai at the street corner outside her
office.
A spontaneous walk in Cubbon Park after a client meeting.
A conversation in a bookstore aisle that lingered long after they should have
gone home.
Every time they parted, both promised themselves it would
be the last “casual” meeting. And every time, the urge to meet again proved
stronger.
The Confusion
Neither spoke of it. Neither confessed. The silence was
both a shield and a torment.
There were moments when the air between them grew
charged: a pause too long, a glance that lingered, the brushing of hands while
passing a book across the table. Each moment passed unacknowledged, tucked away
under the safe cover of friendship.
But when they were apart, the confusion pressed harder.
Aarav’s thought: Am I imagining this? Or does she
feel it too?
Meera’s thought: Why does seeing him make everything brighter? Why does
it also scare me?
The Unspoken Truth
One evening, as they stood outside the café where they
had just finished coffee, a strange silence fell. Neither wanted to leave.
Neither wanted to name the reason.
Meera (finally, softly): “We keep
meeting… again and again.”
Aarav (smiling faintly, his voice low): “Yes. And
somehow, it never feels enough.”
They didn’t look at each other after that. They didn’t
say more.
They simply walked away in opposite directions, both
carrying the same restless truth in their hearts:
They were happy—achingly, dangerously happy—in each
other’s presence.
And happiness, in this form, was both a gift and a wound.
Chapter 6: The Weight of Two Worlds
The cab ride home felt heavier than usual. Neither Aarav
nor Meera spoke of it, yet both carried the same quiet storm inside. The
laughter they had shared over coffee still echoed in their minds, mingled with
the confusion of unspoken truths.
When Aarav reached his apartment, he paused at the door
for a moment, his hand resting on the keys. He took a deep breath, as if
bracing himself, before finally turning the lock.
The door swung open.
“Papa!” A small pair of feet rushed across the tiled
floor. His seven-year-old daughter leaped into his arms, wrapping him in a
fierce hug that knocked the air from his lungs. Aarav bent low, hugging her
tightly, kissing the top of her head.
His wife, Ananya, appeared from the kitchen, wiping her
hands on her dupatta. She smiled warmly, walking up to embrace him.
“You’re late today,” she said softly, slipping her arms
around him in a familiar, practiced affection. “Dinner’s almost ready. Fresh
rotis. You must be starving.”
Aarav smiled faintly, holding both his daughter and his
wife close. A wave of guilt, sudden and sharp, surged through him. This is
home. This is love. What am I doing searching for joy outside of it?
On the other side of the city, Meera was living her own
version of the same moment.
The elevator doors opened to the chaos of toys scattered
in the hallway. Before she could even place her bag down, her son barreled
toward her, laughter bubbling as he clung to her waist.
“Mumma! You’re finally home!” he shouted, his voice full
of innocent delight.
Meera knelt, pulling him into her arms, breathing in the
familiar scent of soap and crayons. In that instant, her heart ached with both
love and something unnameable.
Her husband, Karan, walked in from the living room,
smiling as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. He took her bag from her shoulder.
“Long day?” he asked, genuine concern in his tone. “Come,
sit. I made chai for you.”
Meera blinked, forcing a smile. She nodded, grateful yet
unsettled.
In the quiet of their respective homes, Aarav and Meera
lived the same contradiction:
Loved by their families. Needed by their children. Anchored by marriages that
were safe and stable.
And yet, in the deepest corners of their hearts, they
carried a warmth that didn’t belong to these walls—a warmth born from someone
else’s laughter, someone else’s presence.
It was not betrayal, not even confessed affection. But it
was something real.
As they lay in bed that night beside their spouses, both
found themselves staring at the ceiling, restless, replaying the same unspoken
thought:
Why does happiness feel heavier when it comes from the
wrong place?
Chapter 7: Drawing Lines
The morning sunlight streamed into Meera’s kitchen as she
packed her son’s tiffin, carefully layering parathas between sheets of foil.
Karan kissed her forehead before leaving for work, his usual, easy affection
steady and familiar.
On the outside, everything was normal.
On the inside, Meera’s heart was restless.
The memory of the previous evening lingered—her son’s
laughter, her husband’s concern, the warmth of her family’s embrace. It
collided with another memory: Aarav’s smile across the café table, the comfort
of his words, the strange happiness that bloomed in his presence.
Meera knew she was standing on a precipice. One more step
forward, and the balance of everything she had built—her marriage, her
motherhood, her reputation—could tilt dangerously.
By the time she reached her office, she had made her
decision. Distance. It’s the only way. Better to step back now, before the line
blurs further.
The First Call
That afternoon, her phone buzzed.
Aarav (call): Incoming…
Meera’s thumb hovered over the screen. For a heartbeat,
she considered answering. Instead, she let it ring out, her pulse quickening as
she forced herself to focus on the open spreadsheet in front of her.
Moments later, a message appeared:
Aarav (text): Hey, thought I’d check if you’re free for coffee today.
I’m nearby.
Her fingers hesitated, then typed carefully:
Meera (reply): Hey, Aarav. Sorry, packed schedule today. Too many
meetings. Maybe another time.
She read it twice before hitting send. It was polite.
Neutral. Professional. But even as she pressed Send, she felt the hollowness in
her chest.
Aarav’s Confusion
Across town, Aarav frowned at his screen. Meera’s message
was simple, harmless—but he could sense the distance in it. For the first time
in weeks, he felt an unfamiliar pang.
Was she pulling away? Did he do something wrong? Or was
he only imagining the shift?
He typed a reply, then deleted it. He didn’t want to
push. Not yet.
The Pattern
Over the next few days, the pattern repeated.
Whenever Aarav called, Meera responded with a polite excuse: client meeting,
deadline pressure, late-night work. None of it was untrue—her work was
demanding—but none of it was the full truth either.
What she didn’t tell him was that she missed their
conversations. That she felt her fingers itch to reply more warmly. That she
had to stop herself from re-reading their old chats late at night.
Instead, she chose silence—believing it was safer for
both of them.
The Quiet Ache
That evening, as she watched her son draw messy stars in
his notebook, Meera felt a wave of tenderness. This is my world. This is where
I belong.
And yet, in the quiet corner of her mind, she heard the
echo of Aarav’s laughter, felt the shadow of his presence.
It hurt, this deliberate distance. But sometimes, she
reminded herself, pain was the price of dignity.
Chapter 8: The Unspoken Question
The universe, it seemed, had its own plans.
Despite Meera’s careful attempts to pull away, a new
assignment brought her and Aarav back into the same orbit. His cultural center
project had officially engaged her firm for branding, and she was part of the
core team. There was no avoiding him now.
That morning, they found themselves sitting across the
same conference table in a glass-walled office, the hum of a projector filling
the silence between presentations. Their colleagues discussed logos and
campaigns, but Aarav’s gaze kept drifting to Meera. She was composed,
professional, her pen tapping lightly against her notepad.
When the meeting ended, she gathered her files quickly,
almost too quickly, avoiding his eyes. Aarav hesitated, then finally spoke:
Aarav (quietly, as they stepped into the corridor): “Meera… can we
talk? Just for a few minutes.”
She froze for a moment, then nodded, her face unreadable.
The Conversation
They walked to the café on the ground floor, away from
their colleagues. The smell of coffee and the soft background music did little
to ease the tightness in the air.
For a while, neither spoke. Aarav stirred his coffee
absently, his eyes fixed on the swirl. Finally, he broke the silence.
Aarav: “You’ve been… distant. I thought we
were friends. Did I do something wrong?”
Meera shifted uncomfortably, her fingers curling around
her cup. She wanted to avoid the conversation, but she knew she couldn’t
anymore.
Meera (hesitant, after a pause): “You didn’t do
anything wrong, Aarav. It’s me. I… I needed to step back.”
Aarav (frowning softly): “Step back?
From what? We only talk, have coffee, share ideas. Is that so wrong?”
Meera looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time.
There was concern in them, genuine and searching. It made it harder.
She took a deep breath.
Meera (slowly, carefully): “Aarav… I’m
married. I have a family. A husband. A son. This—” she gestured between them,
her voice trembling slightly “—whatever this is, it makes me happy. Too happy,
maybe. But if you have… any kind of romantic expectation from me, then it will
only lead to complications. It will be a failed attempt. And I can’t… I won’t
allow that.”
The words hung in the air, heavy, unflinching.
Aarav’s Response
For a long moment, Aarav said nothing. He simply watched
her, his jaw tight, his hands clenched lightly around his cup. Inside, his
heart twisted—not because her words surprised him, but because he already knew
them to be true.
Finally, he nodded, his voice low and steady.
Aarav: “I know. I’m married too. I have a
family waiting for me every evening. And I would never want to hurt them. Or
you. But… can I be honest with you, Meera?”
She swallowed hard, bracing herself.
Aarav (softly): “I don’t know what this is
between us. I don’t have a name for it. But it feels… rare. And no matter how
much I try, I can’t ignore it.”
Meera’s eyes burned. She looked away, focusing on the
window where the city traffic blurred into streaks of red and white.
Meera (whispering): “That’s what
scares me.”
The Aftermath
They sat in silence, the weight of honesty pressing
between them. Neither reached for the other’s hand. Neither dared to move
closer.
When they finally stood to leave, there were no promises
made, no declarations exchanged. Only the quiet knowledge that the line between
them had now been spoken aloud.
It was not love confessed.
It was love restrained.
And sometimes, that was even harder.
Chapter 9: The Silence of No Secrets
The following week, they both tried.
Tried to go back to what they had been before.
At the office meetings, Meera spoke only when necessary,
keeping her tone clipped and professional. Aarav responded in kind, nodding
politely, speaking only about the project. On the surface, everything looked
normal.
But beneath that practiced restraint, there was an unease
neither could shake. The absence of their private warmth felt louder than any
laughter they had once shared.
The Slip
One evening, after another long round of presentations,
they found themselves alone in the empty conference room. The rest of the team
had already left. Papers lay scattered on the table, the projector humming
softly before fading into silence.
Meera began gathering her files quickly, but Aarav’s
voice stopped her.
Aarav (quietly): “Meera… we can’t keep
pretending.”
She froze, her hands clutching the folder. Slowly, she
looked up. His face was calm, but his eyes carried something deeper—something
he had been holding back.
He drew in a breath, steadying himself.
Aarav: “You told me your truth. That you’re
married, that you have a son. And you were right to remind me of the
boundaries. But if you think I’m untouched by the same—” he hesitated, his
voice low “—you’re wrong.”
He paused, then continued, the words spilling out as if
they had been caged too long.
Aarav: “I have a family too. A wife who has
stood beside me for years. A daughter who runs into my arms every evening. And
I love them. Truly. But still… every time I see you, Meera, something inside me
feels alive in a way I can’t explain. I’ve tried to silence it. I’ve tried to
hide it. But I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from you.”
No Secrets Left
Meera’s breath caught in her throat. She had known, of
course. But hearing it, spoken aloud, stripped away the thin veil they had both
been clinging to.
She sank into a chair, setting her folder aside, her
hands trembling.
Meera (softly, after a long pause): “So now it’s
all out. No secrets between us.”
Aarav nodded, his gaze steady.
Aarav: “No secrets.”
The words settled into the air like a confession and a
burden both.
For a moment, the silence between them felt unbearable.
But then, strangely, it also felt freeing.
There was nothing left unsaid. No hidden glances, no
unspoken questions. Just two people, sitting in the quiet, aware of the pull
between them, aware of the lives that anchored them elsewhere.
The Stillness
They didn’t move closer. They didn’t reach for each
other.
They simply sat there in the silence of truth, letting it
wrap around them like a heavy shawl. For the first time, there was no pretense.
And yet, even stripped bare of secrets, the feeling
between them remained—steady, undeniable, and all the more poignant for being
restrained.
When they finally stood to leave, there were no promises
of distance and no reckless declarations. Just a shared look, an understanding:
They had reached a place where silence spoke louder than
words.
And in that silence, they would have to learn how to
live.
Chapter 10: The Weight of Goodbye
The decision came quietly, like the settling of dust
after a storm.
They didn’t fight about it. They didn’t dramatize it. One
look across the table in the small café they had once made their own, and both
understood what had to be said.
Meera (softly): “This isn’t sustainable, Aarav.
We both know it.”
Aarav (nodding, his voice low): “I know. Every
time I go home, I feel the weight of what we’re doing. Or not doing. Even
silence feels like betrayal now.”
Neither of them touched their cups. The tea and coffee
sat cooling, forgotten between them.
The Decision
Meera: “We should stop meeting like this. Step
back. Move on. Before this becomes something… we can’t undo.”
The words hurt as they left her lips, but she forced them
out. Her mind replayed her son’s laughter, her husband’s gentle concern. She
had no right to gamble with that.
Aarav (after a pause): “If distance is
what protects what we love, then yes. You’re right.”
There was no anger in his tone. Only resignation.
But inside, Aarav felt something crack—quiet, invisible,
but real.
The Heaviness
When they parted that evening, they didn’t look back. No
lingering glances, no unspoken promises. Just two people walking away in
opposite directions, each carrying a burden heavier than they had expected.
For Meera, the heaviness came in small moments: staring
too long at her phone screen, waiting for a message that wouldn’t come.
Reaching for her cup of chai at the office and remembering his quiet jokes. The
ache of absence lived in the most ordinary routines.
For Aarav, it appeared in the silences at home. He
watched his daughter chatter about school, his wife discusses weekend plans,
and he felt both love and guilt twist inside him. He smiled, he nodded, he
played the role he was meant to play. And yet, in the quiet spaces of his mind,
he missed the laughter that only Meera could draw out of him.
The Restless Nights
Nights became the hardest. Both of them lying beside
their respective spouses, eyes open in the dark, staring at ceilings that
offered no answers.
The decision had been right. They both knew it.
But the right thing did not always feel like the easy thing.
Meera’s thought: If it hurts this much to let go,
what does that say about what we had?
Aarav’s thought: If silence feels heavier than words, can we really call
this moving on?
The Unfinished Story
Days stretched into weeks. They avoided calls, messages,
and meetings unless strictly professional. On the surface, life carried on as
it always had—children to raise, deadlines to meet, households to manage.
But deep within, both carried the same truth:
Their decision to part ways was not an end.
It was only a pause—an ellipsis in a sentence that refused to close.
And the heaviness of that pause followed them everywhere.
Chapter 11: The Unavoidable Meeting
It had been nearly a month since their quiet decision to
part ways. A month of silence, of messages left unsent, of conversations
swallowed before they reached the surface.
Meera had thrown herself into her work, doubling her
hours, hoping exhaustion would numb the ache. Aarav, too, had buried himself in
site visits and sketches, trying to draw lines on paper that would distract him
from the lines he could no longer cross in his own heart.
But fate, as always, had its own designs.
The Event
The cultural center project—their project—was finally
entering its public phase. The client had arranged a soft launch event: an
evening gathering at the nearly completed site, with media, stakeholders, and
all collaborators invited.
Meera almost considered backing out. The thought of
seeing Aarav again made her stomach twist. But it was her work. Her
responsibility. She couldn’t avoid it.
When she arrived, dressed in a crisp kurta with a dupatta
draped neatly, she caught sight of him across the hall. Aarav stood near the
stage, in a simple blazer, speaking with a group of architects. The sight of
him—familiar, steady, achingly close—made her breath hitch.
For a moment, she thought of leaving. But then his eyes
found hers.
The world seemed to fall away.
The Encounter
Later, after the formal speeches, they crossed paths by
the display boards. Neither could pretend anymore.
Aarav (quietly, his voice steadier than he felt): “So… here we
are. Again.”
Meera looked down at the floor, then back up, her lips
trembling with words she couldn’t say.
Meera (softly): “I told myself I wouldn’t… feel
this way again. But…”
Her voice broke. She didn’t finish the sentence. She
didn’t need to.
Aarav’s hand tightened around the folder he was holding,
as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.
Aarav (low, almost to himself): “I tried too.
God knows, I tried.”
Their eyes locked. No words could capture the storm
raging in that silence—relief at seeing each other again, guilt at feeling so
much, the undeniable rush of happiness they had both been starving for.
The Overwhelmed Heart
They didn’t touch. They didn’t move closer. Yet both felt
the air between them crackle with everything they weren’t saying.
Meera’s heart pounded so loudly she feared someone nearby
might hear it. Aarav could feel his throat tighten, his chest heavy with
emotions he had sworn to bury.
For a moment, it seemed as though the world might tilt,
that they might abandon all boundaries.
But just as quickly, reality reasserted itself.
Colleagues drifted past, voices filled the air, and the spell broke.
The Aftermath
They parted with nothing more than a nod, their faces
composed for the watching world. But inside, both carried the same truth:
Distance had failed. Restraint had failed.
The heart, despite everything, had remembered.
And now, the silence between them was heavier than
ever—because it was no longer about what they hid, but about what they could no
longer deny.
Chapter 12: Facing the Truth
The meeting at the cultural center had shaken them both.
For days after, neither Meera nor Aarav could focus fully on their lives.
At home, Meera moved through her routines like
clockwork—packing tiffins, attending client calls, reading bedtime stories—but
in the spaces between, her thoughts wandered. Aarav’s voice, his eyes, his
silence—they haunted her more than his presence ever had.
Aarav, too, felt the strain. His sketches blurred. His
wife asked him twice if something was wrong, and he smiled it away. But every
night, when he lay awake, it was Meera’s face that lingered in the darkness,
her half-finished sentence playing on a loop in his mind.
They had tried silence. They had tried distance. Neither
had worked.
So finally, almost as if led by the same invisible pull,
they decided.
Aarav (text):
We can’t keep circling this, Meera. Let’s meet. One last time, to come to a
conclusion.
For a long while, there was no reply. Then, her message
appeared.
Meera (text):
Yes. We should.
The Meeting
They chose a quiet café tucked into one of Bangalore’s
older neighborhoods—a place where no colleagues or acquaintances were likely to
stumble upon them. The café smelled of cardamom and old wood, its dim corners
offering a kind of anonymity.
When Meera arrived, Aarav was already there, seated at a
table near the window. He stood as she walked in, his eyes betraying the storm
inside him despite the calm of his face.
They sat in silence for a while, the clatter of cups and
spoons around them filling the void.
Finally, Meera spoke.
Meera (hesitant, almost whispering): “We can’t keep
living like this—caught between what we feel and what we owe. It’s… tearing me
apart.”
Aarav’s fingers curled around his coffee mug. He stared
at the steam, then looked at her.
Aarav (softly): “I know. I feel the same. I’ve
tried to bury it, Meera. But every time I see you, every time I even think of
you… it’s there. Alive. Unshakable.”
Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t look away.
Meera: “And yet… we’re married. We have
children. Families who love us. How do we reconcile this, Aarav? How do we hold
both truths in our hearts?”
The Confusion
The silence that followed was heavy, almost unbearable.
For the first time, everything lay between them—naked,
unhidden. No professional mask, no polite excuses, no half-truths.
Just raw emotion.
Aarav (voice low, almost breaking): “Maybe what we
share was never meant to be lived out loud. Maybe it’s meant to exist only
here—in these stolen moments, in the unspoken spaces. Not every bond needs a
name. Not every feeling needs a future.”
Meera closed her eyes, her throat tightening. A single
tear slipped down, but she quickly brushed it away.
Meera (whispering): “But if we try
to ignore it, it will still live inside us. That’s what scares me.”
Their eyes met—aching, searching, desperate.
For the first time, neither of them had an answer.
The Unfinished Decision
They didn’t touch. They didn’t lean across the table. But
the intensity in the air was undeniable.
Two married souls, bound by love elsewhere, yet bound to
each other by something neither could erase.
As they sat there, surrounded by strangers sipping
coffee, they realized that coming to a conclusion would not be simple.
Because sometimes, the heart’s truth defied conclusion.
And in that moment, they both understood:
The real question wasn’t whether they should part.
The question was whether they could.
Chapter 13: The Middle Path
The café grew quieter as the evening crowd thinned. Meera
stirred her chai absently, her mind tangled in the words they had just spoken.
Across from her, Aarav leaned back, his face calm on the surface but his eyes
betraying exhaustion—exhaustion from weeks of fighting what both of them knew
was inevitable: the bond they shared.
For a long time, they sat in silence. Then Meera finally
broke it.
Meera (softly): “Maybe we’ve been asking the
wrong question, Aarav. It’s not about whether we should erase this… because
clearly, we can’t. It’s about how we carry it.”
Aarav’s gaze lifted, steady on hers.
Aarav: “Carry it… without letting it break
everything else?”
She nodded, her fingers tightening around her cup.
Meera: “Yes. We don’t need to define it. We
don’t need to name it. But we can keep it… here. Safe. In this space. We stay
in touch. We talk. We laugh. But we don’t cross the lines that protect our
families. That way, we don’t lose what we already have—and we don’t lose…
this.”
Her voice wavered on the last word, but Aarav understood.
The Agreement
He leaned forward, his hands resting on the table.
Aarav (quietly, firmly): “A middle path.
Not friends in the usual sense. Not lovers. Something in between. Something
that’s just ours.”
Meera’s eyes softened, relief flickering through her
sadness.
Meera: “At least this way, there are no lies.
No guilt. Just… peace.”
For the first time in weeks, they both breathed easier.
Not because the storm had passed, but because they had chosen a way to live
with it.
The Peace
When they left the café that night, there was no
heaviness in their steps. They didn’t hold hands. They didn’t linger. But there
was a quiet assurance between them, a pact sealed not by words but by
restraint.
Aarav returned home and hugged his daughter a little
tighter. Meera tucked her son into bed and kissed his forehead with steadier
hands. Both knew they were carrying something delicate, something that existed
outside the walls of their homes—but it no longer felt like betrayal.
It felt like a quiet truth, acknowledged and contained.
The Unspoken Understanding
Days flowed into weeks. They messaged each other
sparingly, spoke when work allowed, occasionally met for coffee. And though the
air still carried the warmth of something more, it no longer felt like a
dangerous temptation.
It felt like companionship—rare, unexplainable, but
dignified.
For the first time, both Aarav and Meera found a measure
of peace in the very thing that had once unsettled them.
Chapter 14: The Secret World
It began quietly, almost without intention.
A late-night message after a long day.
A phone call during a traffic jam.
A coffee when neither of them wanted to go home just yet.
Slowly, a rhythm emerged. A world that belonged to no one
but them.
A Space Apart
Aarav and Meera never spoke of it openly, never defined
it. But they both knew it existed.
It wasn’t their families’ world, filled with
responsibilities, routines, and expectations.
It wasn’t their professional world, crowded with colleagues, deadlines, and
polite façades.
It was theirs alone.
A small, invisible place built out of shared silences,
inside jokes, and confessions too fragile to voice elsewhere.
The Confessions
On one such evening, they sat in their usual corner of a
quiet bookstore café, rain pattering against the glass. Aarav closed his
sketchbook, setting it aside.
Aarav (gently): “Sometimes I feel like I’ve
forgotten who I was before… before marriage, before work swallowed me whole.
And then with you, I remember.”
Meera looked at him, her eyes soft.
Meera: “I know. With you, I don’t have to
perform. I don’t have to be the perfect wife, or the perfect mother, or the
perfect professional. I can just… be.”
Her words trailed into silence, but the quiet between
them was full—not empty.
The Peace
They never crossed the lines they had drawn. No stolen
touches, no reckless declarations. But within the walls of their secret world,
they found something even rarer.
Peace.
It was in the way Aarav listened when Meera spoke of her
unfulfilled dreams.
It was in the way Meera laughed at Aarav’s dry jokes, the kind no one else
seemed to understand.
It was in the comfort of knowing that, for at least one hour in the chaos of
their lives, they were seen. Truly seen.
The Promise in Silence
When it was time to leave, they always walked back into
their respective worlds with steady faces and practiced smiles. Their families
never suspected, their colleagues never noticed.
But in their hearts, they carried the quiet assurance of
their shared sanctuary.
It was not love as the world defined it.
It was not friendship as others practiced it.
It was something unnamed, delicate, and theirs alone.
A secret world—hidden in plain sight.
A world that made them feel alive, even as they honored the lives they had
chosen.
And in that paradox, they found their strange, tender
peace.
Chapter 15: Sukoon
Over time, the unnamed bond between Aarav and Meera began
to carry its own language.
It wasn’t written in texts or spoken aloud in
declarations. It lived in the pauses, the ease of silences, the way one could
sense the other’s mood in just a single word.
When Aarav had a rough day at a construction site, he
found himself reaching for his phone—not to call his wife, not to complain to a
colleague, but to send a single message to Meera: “Long day.”
And she would reply, “Tell me.”
When Meera felt weighed down by endless meetings and the
invisible expectations of being everything for everyone, she knew she had one
space where she didn’t need to pretend. Aarav would listen, not with solutions,
but with a rare, patient stillness that let her breathe.
A Bond Without Name
They never tried to justify it. They never labeled it. In
the real world, perhaps it looked wrong, even dangerous. But within their
secret world, it felt simple, almost pure.
They weren’t trying to hurt their partners. They weren’t
trying to rebel against their marriages. They still loved their families, still
returned home every night to the embraces that anchored them.
And yet, in each other, they found something their homes
could not give—an unexplainable calm, a gentle refuge, a mirror to their truest
selves.
Sukoon
One evening, as they sat quietly in their familiar corner
at the bookstore café, Meera smiled faintly, her eyes far away.
Meera (softly): “Do you know what this is for
me, Aarav?”
He looked at her, waiting.
Meera (whispering): “Sukoon.”
The word lingered between them like a prayer. Aarav
repeated it under his breath, almost reverently.
Aarav: “Yes… Sukoon.”
And in that single word, they both understood everything
that could not be explained.
The Message
It might have sounded wrong in the real world, but for
them, it was their truth.
They called it Sukoon.
They knew they had each other for all the good times and
the bad times.
They did not mean to hurt their partners, but it just happened.
An unexplainable feeling.
A quiet love.
The End.
