Chapter 31: chapter 31

Chapter 31 The sky outside was a soft shade of grey, neither mourning nor celebrating the day. It was the kind of morning that lingered in indecision, like someone caught between staying and leaving. Sourabh stood by the window of his rented apartment, a half-empty mug of coffee cradled in his hands, his gaze locked on the drizzle painting faint trails across the glass.The world moved on around him—horns blaring in the distance, street vendors calling out, life unfolding. But inside, he felt still. Not empty, but paused. As if some part of him was waiting for a moment that hadn't arrived.His phone vibrated on the desk. Not her.A classmate asking for notes. A group message from his college fest committee. An unread newsletter he never subscribed to.He picked up the phone anyway, scrolling past all of it, until he reached the familiar contact saved under just her name. No emoji. No nickname. Just Nitya. He hadn’t opened their chat in days, but he didn’t delete it either. He never could.He tapped the thread open.The last message was his.“Hope you reached safely. Let me know when you’re free to talk.”It had been seen. No reply.Sourabh leaned his head against the cool windowpane and sighed. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even surprised. Just tired of pretending it didn’t hurt.He had told himself again and again that she must be busy, that her silence wasn’t avoidance but necessity. Still, every unread reply, every quiet day, gnawed at the edge of his resolve.The drizzle turned to rain, and he watched the city blur. His thoughts wandered, as they often did, to the moments that didn’t make noise—how she used to tilt her head slightly when listening, how her fingers curled around a teacup, how her silence once felt comforting rather than distant.His phone buzzed again.This time, it was her.Just one line.“Can we talk tonight?”He read it twice. Once for disbelief. Once for confirmation. A small breath escaped him, sharp and involuntary.He typed back quickly.“Yes. Anytime.”The rest of the day stretched before him like a runway. He went through the motions—attended lectures, scribbled notes, laughed at jokes that didn’t land, but his mind was already elsewhere. Tonight. She wanted to talk.What would she say?What did he want her to say?He didn’t know.Evening came quietly. The rain had stopped. The city glistened, damp but alive, as lights flickered on one by one. Sourabh sat by his desk, phone in hand, earbuds in place. Every second crawled.At 8:07 PM, the call came.Her voice was soft, almost cautious. “Hi.”His heart did that familiar twist, like it remembered something his mind had been trying to forget. “Hi,” he replied, his voice lower than he intended.There was a pause.“I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk,” she said.“I wasn’t sure if you ever would,” he answered truthfully.She let out a breath. Not a sigh. Just breath. Like she had been holding it for too long.“I’ve been… not okay,” she admitted.Sourabh didn’t speak. He let her say it.“I thought if I stayed away, if I let you move on, maybe it would hurt less. For both of us.”“It didn’t,” he said.Another pause.“I keep thinking about everything,” she continued, her voice faltering. “The choices I made. The silence I left you in. I thought I was doing the right thing.”“Were you?” he asked gently.“I don’t know,” she whispered.There was a vulnerability in her tone that he hadn’t heard in a long time. No pretenses. No defense. Just her.“I tried,” she went on, “to throw myself into work, into family, into being someone useful. But even on my best days, it felt like something important was… missing.”Sourabh swallowed hard. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.”“No,” she said quickly. “I want to. Because I haven’t been fair to you.”He didn’t interrupt.“I kept thinking I needed to be strong. That distance would bring clarity. But it only brought silence. And I hate how much I let that silence grow.”Sourabh closed his eyes. The ache in his chest loosened, just a little.“I missed you,” he said. “Not just the calls or the messages. I missed you. The way your voice made the day feel bearable. The way you just… understood.”Her voice cracked. “I missed you too.”The words hung between them like fragile glass. Precious and vulnerable.“I don’t know what this is anymore,” she confessed. “Are we still… us? Or are we just two people who shared something beautiful and couldn’t hold onto it?”“I don’t know either,” he said honestly. “But I know that I still care. That I still want to know how your day went. That I still imagine you walking into the room and everything else fading away.”She was quiet for a long time.“Can we try again?” she finally asked, her voice trembling.Sourabh’s heart beat loud in his ears.“Not like before,” she added quickly. “Not bound by what we were or weren’t. Just… honestly. Openly. As two people who still mean something to each other.”He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “We can try.”There was the faintest sound of her exhale, as if a weight she’d carried for months had finally been set down.“I don’t expect it to be easy,” she said.“Me neither.”“But I want to stop running.”He smiled faintly, eyes misty. “Then let’s walk. Together. Even if slowly.”They didn’t say much after that. Just stayed on the line, listening to each other breathe, feeling the silence shift from a wound to a space for healing.Outside, the rain had returned, soft and forgiving. The world hadn't changed, but maybe something inside both of them had.And sometimes, that was enough.