Rishi had never felt the weight of silence so heavily before. It wasn't the kind that came after an argument, where anger and ego kept words locked away. This was different-it was the silence of regret, of knowing that no matter what he said. it would not be enough.
He had wronged her.
Maybe not in one big act, but in the many small ways that built a wall between them misunderstandings, accusations, sharp words spoken without thought. And now that he knew the truth... now that the storm inside him had calmed enough for him to see clearly, all he felt was quilt.
He found her standing by the college courtyard one afternoon, arms folded. eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon. He took a hesitant step toward her.
"Niharika..." his voice was low, almost a whisper.
She turned, and the look in her eyes told him this would not be easy. There was no anger there now just a cold distance. like she had already decided he was not worth listening to.
"I wanted to say..." he began, fumbling for the right words. "... I'm sorry."
She said nothing. The faint breeze lifted a strand of her hair, and she tucked it back without breaking her gaze.
"I misunderstood you. 1-"
"Rishi," she interrupted, her tone sharp but steady, "stop. I don't want your apology."
The words hit him harder than he expected.
"I just want to explain," he tried again, but she shook her head.
"You've explained enough already-through your actions. I don't need anything else from you." And with that, she turned and walked away.
Rishi stood frozen, watching her retreat into the distance. It was as if every step she took pulled something out of him-a piece of pride, a piece of hope.
That night, he couldn't sleep. Her voice kept replaying in his mind, along with every moment he'd dismissed her, doubted her, or judged her without reason. He needed to understand her-not just the girl she was in college, but the life she lived beyond it.
The next day, he found himself trailing behind her after classes. He kept his distance, careful not to be noticed. She walked briskly through the busy lanes, past rows of small shops and vegetable stalls, before turning into a quieter residential street.
It wasn't the kind of neighborhood he expected. Modest two-story houses lined the lane, each with freshly painted gates and neatly swept porches. There were potted plants by the windows, bicycles leaning against walls, and an unspoken sense of dignity in the air.
She stopped in front of a cream-colored house with dark wooden doors. The nameplate read: "Tiwari Residence" in elegant lettering.
A man stepped out a tall figure in his late fifties, dressed in simple cotton kurta-pajama. His hair was graying, but his posture carried quiet authority. He greeted the neighbors with a warm smile, and even the children playing on the street called him "Tiwari Sir" with respect.
Rishi realized this was Niharika's father. Not a businessman, not someone with wealth to throw around yet his presence commanded admiration. The kind of man who carned respect, not demanded it.
Niharika handed him a bag-probably groceries-and they exchanged a brief conversation before stepping inside together. The door closed, leaving Rishi standing on the corner of the street, hidden behind the shade of a tree.
It hit him then: she wasn't from some privileged. untouchable background as he had assumed. She belonged to a middle-class family that carried itself with grace and honor, the kind that didn't need money to hold their heads high.
And here he was, a man who had judged her without ever knowing her truth.
The walk back to his own home felt longer than usual. His mind kept circling the same thought-how could he fix this? Could he fix this?
That night, he sat alone in his room, staring at the city lights outside his window. He remembered the way her eyes had looked at him earlier-firm, unyielding, as if a door had been closed for good.
For the first time, Rishi felt truly hopeless.