28

Aryan stood under the hot stream of the shower, his palms pressed against the cold tiles, head bowed as the water ran down his face and chest. His breathing was slow, controlled—on the outside. Inside, his heart was racing. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something—something that could either break him completely or finally set him free.

Today. He had to do it today.

He couldn't carry this silence anymore. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her—not like this. Not when there was still a chance to make her understand. His stomach twisted at the thought of seeing her, of facing the anger in her eyes, but worse than that—the thought of her walking away forever. That was what truly terrified him.

He tilted his head up into the water, letting it sting his face, hoping it would drown out the thoughts, but it didn't. Nothing had, not for the past few days. She was everywhere—in his head, in his heart, in every breath.

He stepped out of the shower and wiped the fogged mirror with his hand. His reflection stared back at him, dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight with stress, hair damp and messy. He looked exhausted. Because he was. But this wasn't the time to collapse. This was the time to fight.

After pulling on a black t-shirt and dark jeans, he slipped on his denim jacket, the same one she once used to tug at whenever she was cold. He froze briefly at the thought. Those memories—they were so sharp now. Every touch, every smile, every late-night chai run—they had been buried under time and distance, but now, they had clawed their way back up. And they weren't letting him breathe.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself, but his eyes landed on his desk, and his heart stuttered.

A photo.

It was half-hidden under papers—creased at the edges, but still perfect to him. A candid shot from their first year. Tara was laughing, head tilted back, eyes bright with happiness. She wasn't even looking at the camera, but he was—at her. His gaze in that photo was so painfully obvious.

He picked it up, his thumb brushing over her face, his chest tightening.

He whispered, almost like a promise, "I won't lose you."

Folding the picture gently, he slipped it into his wallet—close to his heart—where it had always been.

Grabbing his keys and bag, he stepped out of his flat. Every step down the corridor felt heavier than the last. His hands were clammy. His mouth was dry. But he kept moving—because this time, he wasn't going to run.

He stopped in front of her studio door. For a second, he just stood there, staring at it like it was some unbreakable barrier. Then he knocked—firm, but not desperate.

Nothing.

He waited a beat, then knocked again, louder. His heart was thumping now.

Still nothing.

He leaned his forehead against the door, his breath shaky. He had built himself up so much for this moment, and now—silence. He felt the disappointment sink in, but beneath it, there was something worse. Fear.

What if this was it? What if she was done—really done?

He closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. He had come all this way. He couldn't let this be the end.

She had class today. He remembered their timetable like it was his own.

Pushing back the sinking feeling in his chest, he turned and made his way toward campus. His steps were faster, more urgent. For the first time in days, he was moving with purpose. The cold air bit at his face, but he barely noticed.

All he knew was that he had to see her.

He had to tell her.

Even if it broke him.

He was finally showing up.

Aryan stepped into the classroom, his gaze immediately locking on Tara. She was sitting at her usual desk, focused intently on something—her laptop screen, probably. Aisha and Aria were next to her, but Tara's attention was entirely consumed by whatever code she was working on. His heart clenched in his chest as he watched her, but for the moment, she didn't notice him. He took a deep breath and moved to the row behind her, taking a seat. His palms were damp with nerves, and he tried to calm himself, but it was hard. It had been a week. A whole week of silence, and now... now he had to break it. He had to break the wall she'd put up between them.

The class began, but it felt like the seconds were dragging on. Aryan could feel the weight of every minute, the pressure building as time passed, and his chance to speak to her seemed to slip further away. His eyes kept flicking over to her. He couldn't help it. She was so close, and yet, so far. The emptiness between them felt more suffocating than ever. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words were stuck in his throat.

Finally, when the class ended, everyone had already left while Tara stayed glued to her work. She had seen him leave the room, assuming he won't come back. And when he did, she was too lost to notice—buried behind her laptop and headphones.

After a while, Tara gathered her things in silence, making no indication that she was aware of his presence. Aryan's heart sank, and as she stood to leave, he thought he saw her glance toward him for just a second—only to quickly look away, as if she was trying to ignore the fact that he was there. It felt like a sharp jab to his chest, but he held his ground. She wasn't ready to face him, but he couldn't just give up.

He watched, helpless, as she slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to walk out.

Then, without thinking, he stood up, his voice cracking as he called out her name, "Tara."

She froze mid-step, and for a brief moment, he thought she might turn around. But she didn't. Her shoulders stiffened, and she continued walking, quicker this time, trying to leave.

Aryan's pulse quickened. She was running away from him again.

"Please," he whispered to himself, barely audible. But it didn't matter. He wasn't going to let her leave.

He hurried after her, his feet moving faster than his thoughts. He caught up with her just as she reached the door, and before she could grab the handle, he was right behind her. His hand shot out to stop the door from opening, and he quickly stepped inside, closing it behind him.

"Let me talk to you," he said, his voice low but firm, catching her attention.

Tara froze, her back still turned to him. She didn't speak, didn't move. Aryan took a cautious step forward, but her silence was deafening.

He tried again, his voice a little more desperate, "Tara, please. Just hear me out."

She was still ignoring him, her body tense, her face turned away, and Aryan felt a stab of pain. She was shutting him out—completely. The frustration, the guilt, it all bubbled up, and for a moment, he thought he might break.

But he wouldn't. Not this time. Not when it mattered most.

"Tara, we're not going anywhere until you hear me."

Her eyes flicked to the door, as if she was looking for an escape route. But there was none. He had closed it. There was nowhere for her to run anymore.

He stepped closer, his heart racing as he reached out and gently grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him.

"I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But please, just give me a chance to explain," he pleaded. His voice trembled now, raw with emotion. He had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. But he couldn't hold back anymore.

Tara's eyes were cold, her lips set in a tight line. She didn't speak, just stared at him. And in that silence, Aryan felt everything he had been avoiding—the guilt, the regret, the fear of losing her. It all rushed in at once, crashing over him like a wave.

He wanted to say more, but the words wouldn't come. They were stuck, just like the rest of him. All he could do was stand there, waiting for her to say something, anything.

But all he heard was the deafening silence between them.

💜