Her answer slipped out before her heart could stop it.
Aakrati:
It can't happen.
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Arsh:
Why not?
She sat up on her bed, phone clutched tightly in her hand. The room was quiet, too quiet for the chaos inside her head. She had rehearsed this moment in fear, not in confidence.
Aakrati:
Because I don't want a relationship.
There it was. Clean. Simple. Safe.
The bubble disappeared.
Seconds passed. Then—
Arsh:
Okay.
No arguments.
No emotional pressure.
No "convince me."
Just acceptance.
And somehow, that hurt more than resistance would have.
The next day at the office felt unfamiliar.
She noticed him the moment she entered—standing near the glass partition, speaking to someone from another department. He looked the same: composed, confident, effortlessly professional.
She waited for a glance.
None came.
No good morning.
No quiet smile.
No gentle concern asking how she felt.
Nothing.
He walked past her desk as if she were just another intern. Polite when work demanded it. Distant otherwise. His voice remained steady, his expressions unreadable.
Everything was normal.
And that was the strangest part.
Because what had felt so real the night before now felt like a dream she wasn't allowed to remember.
By lunch, she caught herself checking her phone again and again. No message. No "Did you reach office?" No "How are you feeling today?"
The care he had wrapped her in so effortlessly was gone.
One day passed.
Then another.
She told herself it was good.
This was what she wanted.
Distance. Control. Safety.
But her heart didn't listen.
Days turned into weeks.
Three of them.
No shared words. No accidental conversations near the pantry. No passing comments about work. Even when they stood in the same space, it felt like an invisible wall separated them.
At night, she replayed everything.
The way he had noticed her habits.
The way he had stayed present—even while eating, even while driving.
The way his first good morning had arrived at 4 a.m., as if sleep hadn't mattered because she did.
Her chest ached—not loudly, not dramatically.
Quietly.
Like something important had slipped away without making a sound.
One evening, unable to carry the weight anymore, she typed.
Aakrati:
Hey. What's up?
She hesitated before sending it, then pressed send anyway.
The reply came after a few minutes.
Arsh:
Hey. I'm good. How are you?
Normal. Polite. Warm—but careful.
They talked.
About work. About random things. About nothing and everything. The conversation flowed easily, just like before. She laughed. She relaxed. For a moment, it felt like the silence had never existed.
But she could tell.
He wasn't crossing lines anymore.
Wasn't pushing.
Wasn't assuming.
He stayed exactly where she had asked him to stay.
And that night, as she put her phone down, one realization settled deep inside her—
He wasn't careless like people said.
He wasn't disrespectful.
He wasn't the man rumours had painted him to be.
Maybe… he was simply someone who knew when to step back.
And maybe that was what made her heart ache the most.