chapter 10

Part 10: The distance between two heartbeatsThe next few days passed like a breeze. There were no long conversations, no constant messages—but something deep had grown between Riya and Dhirav. A silence that didn’t feel empty. A bond that didn’t need proof.One afternoon, the teacher made a surprising announcement in the class.“Students, there is an inter-school debate competition next week. We need two participants. Those interested can submit their names by tomorrow.”Riya looked away without any interest. Debating was not her thing. She preferred to hear voices rather than raise her voice in front of an audience. She believed in expression, not arguments.But she was surprised that when the list came to her desk, Dhirav’s name was already at the top.He had never mentioned it before.Riya looked at him.He raised his eyebrows with a slight smile as if to say, “Surprised?”She smiled, but couldn’t stop the strange feeling growing inside her.Later that day, he messaged her:Riya (6:14 p.m.):“You never told me you were involved in arguments.”Dhirav:“There are parts of me you still don’t know.”Riya:“Should I start making a list?”Dhirav:“Only if it includes the first quality of ‘listening to the unspoken’.”She smiled at that message for longer than she expected.That night, as she stared at the ceiling in the dark, something kept bothering her — an unfamiliar feeling.The next morning, she saw Dhirav talking to a girl near the school notice board.They were laughing.There was nothing wrong with it. It was normal.  But the way Riya’s chest tightened, it didn’t seem normal to her.She turned around.She didn’t realize she had left her classroom until Sneha yelled at her.“Riya! Where are you going?”She laughed, startled. “I was lost in thought.”During the break, she avoided looking at Dhirav, though she knew he had seen her.She said nothing.He said nothing either.In the evening, Riya opened her notebook again. This time she didn’t write a poem. Just a question.“What do you call the fear that has no name? The one that doesn’t want to lose what it didn’t ask for?”Later that night, a message arrived.Dhirav (9:03 p.m.):“You were a little different today.”Riya stared at the message. She didn’t want to lie.Riya:“I was… trying to be okay with something I didn’t know I would feel.”Dhirav:“Riya… is it because of the argument?”Riya:“No. It’s because you’re important, and I didn’t know how important you are until today.”There was no response for a few minutes.Then:Dhirav:“Come to the library tomorrow after school. I want to show you something.”Riya felt her heart skip a beat. She typed and deleted three replies before sending a simple message:Riya:“Okay.”The next day, she walked into the library, heart pounding. Dhirav was already there, a book in his hand.It was no ordinary book – it was Riya’s handmade storybook, which she had written during lockdown and gifted to the school library a few months ago as part of a creative writing project. Dhirav handed it to her.“Page 17,” he whispered.She opened it.There, at the bottom of her old story, was a small note written in his handwriting:“Sometimes what we read in others becomes our own language. And I have been reading you for a while, Riya.”Her hands were shaking a little. She looked up.Dhirav wasn’t smiling as usual. He looked serious, yet soft.“I didn’t know how to say it. I still don’t. But I felt it when I saw you get stage fright. And I felt it again yesterday when you looked away from me.”Riya felt something change inside her – the name of that unknown fear was clear now.It wasn’t fear.It was caring.And sometimes, caring is more powerful than a confession.He (Dhirav) slowly closed the book and whispered:“I am reading you too.”They didn’t hold hands.They didn’t say “I like you.”But between the pages of an old story, a new story had just begun.And this story didn’t need a title – it just needed heartbeats to turn its pages.