Sometimes the smallest moments leave the deepest marks. I didn't know that day would begin like any other—but end with a ripple that would quietly create distance where there wasn't any before.
Sometimes, you really, really like someone, but when you pause and imagine a life with them, doesn't it scare you?
It scared me.
Meeting Shresth physically was different. Before, he was just texts and calls—a distant voice behind a glowing screen. But after seeing him, after hearing the way his tone softened when I stood close, after watching him casually run a hand through his hair, I realized he wasn't just some passing phase.
He wasn't flashy or pretentious. No designer jackets, no loud confidence. He was simple, but there was a quiet kind of charm in him. The way he carried himself was enough to leave an impression that lingered long after.
After that day in the rain, we began talking more frequently. It was the end of August. My days blurred into a routine of school, endless traveling, coaching, and exhaustion. I would text him in the mornings before leaving, tiny messages like "Reached school" or "Don't skip breakfast" And he'd reply late—sometimes an hour later, sometimes by noon.
But by 3 p.m., almost like clockwork, there'd be another message:
"Aren't you home till now?"
Double texting. Something small, yet it left my heart fluttering.
Priyanka had all those early screenshots saved. Even she noticed how the tone was changing—from polite to slightly personal, from formal to a little more comfortable.
But every time I shared my excitement, Anuska, my benchmate in school, would give me that same look. The one that silently screamed "Stop before it's too late."
Even my brother-like Prem would firmly say, "Charu, be careful. Sometimes, the lines blur before you realize it. Don't lose yourself."
But I? I chose to ignore them. Maybe because somewhere, I already knew I couldn't let go. Not yet.
It was a Saturday—a weekend that would quietly shift something inside me.
I had come to his town for my maths coaching. Before the class, on a whim, I texted:
"Hey, where are you?"
His reply came almost instantly:
At the shop. Why?"
No reason, I just came for classes.
Oh. You can come to the shop. Dad went home for some work.
I stared at the screen for a moment longer than I should have. My fingers hesitated over the keyboard. Then I typed back, "Okay"
And just like that, I was walking into his shop for the first time.
He was sitting behind the counter, focused on his laptop. His brows slightly furrowed, his fingers moving with calm precision. When he looked up and saw me, his lips curled into the faintest smile.
"Please, sit, madam," he said, in that typical teasing yet respectful tone of his.
I perched on the edge of the seat. "I won't stay long," I murmured.
Without a word, he told his staff to bring two cokes.
"Not needed," I protested.
"Charu, just let it be," he said, not even looking up.
I offered to pay at least. He shook his head. "You're a guest here. Stop arguing."
And that was that.
We sat there, talking casually. He asked about my classes, exams, syllabus. When his gaze fell on the maths book in my hand, his brow quirked.
"Show me your book," he said casually.
Panic bloomed in my chest. The front page. I had forgotten.
On the first page, I had pasted two little stickers—C and S, with tiny hearts drawn around them. A silly thing Priyanka and I had laughed about earlier.
"No," I said, clutching the book closer.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?"
"Nothing. It's just… nothing important."
And then his tone changed—firm, leaving me no escape.
"Charu. Show the book."
My fingers trembled as I handed it over. He flipped it open, his eyes landing straight on the page. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Didn't anyone notice this?" he asked, voice soft but teasing.
I felt my face burn. "No… only Priyanka and—"
I hesitated. "…and Tammarah. But they already know."
He chuckled quietly, closing the book, but he didn't push the topic further.
"Your syllabus is tougher than ours," he said, smoothly changing the subject.
But that small smile lingered.
Later, I left for coaching. Priyanka arrived straight from school, still in her uniform. I told her about the incident—how he saw the stickers, how awkward it felt. She found it hilarious, of course.
What I didn't notice was that Tammarah had heard everything.
And that would quietly turn into a problem I couldn't even imagine yet.
When classes ended that day, Priyanka and I walked out together. I texted Shresth:"Class done"
Moments later, I saw him driving out of the shop. He slowed his scooty just enough to match our walking pace. Priyanka teased him, "Catch Charu's book, don't forget to see the first page again!"
And he did. He flipped it open, smiled quietly, then tucked it back.
I slipped a chocolate bar—roasted almonds, his favorite—into his scooty case. He resisted, of course. "Don't. I don't need it."
But Priyanka laughed. "If she's giving it with love, take it."
So he finally did.
It became a pattern after that. He'd come sometimes after classes, slow his scooty just to walk with us for a bit. No real reason, no urgency. Just… because.
One day, Tammarah and her so-called friend were behind us while Priyanka and I talked to Shresth. It was the fourth or fifth time we'd met. August 28th, maybe.
He slid his scooty into our slow pace, struggling but staying. Talking. Laughing lightly. Walking with us to the bus stop when he didn't really have to.
Tammarah suddenly shouted from behind in her playful but sharp tone, "Men in love!"
Shresth didn't react. He just ignored her words.
The next day, he parked his scooty a little farther from his shop, then walked with us till the stop. He asked, "How's the studying going?" in that calm voice.
But then he casually mentioned giving Priyanka a party if someone important came back.
The mention stung faintly—it reminded me of his past. Someone he once cared for deeply. But I let it slide. Because maybe… you just don't know what the future holds.
When he left, Priyanka whispered, "He had no reason to come this far. Why do you think he did?"
I didn't answer. But inside, my heart felt… lighter. Like he was slowly, very slowly, letting me in.
But happiness never comes without a crack.
Because Tammarah couldn't digest what she saw and heard.
And when she spilled the beans, it quietly built a wall neither of us saw coming.
Teaser for next chapter:
Sometimes the loudest damage is done by the softest whispers. What she said changed more than I was ready for.