The next morning felt different. Not louder. Not brighter. Just… different.
Maybe it was because I kept replaying last night—the fog, the running, the fear, the way Ruhan's fingers trembled when I cleaned his wounds. The way he looked at me like he was scared, not of the men… but of losing me.
I don't know what that meant. I only know my heart didn't stop beating properly even after hours.
When I stepped out of my lane, pulling my shawl tight, I saw him.
Ruhan. Sitting on his bicycle. Waiting.
Like he had been there for a while.
He didn't look at me at first. Just tapped the handle lightly, like he was pretending he wasn't nervous. His hair was messy again, lips slightly bruised, and eyes softer than yesterday.
"Good morning," he murmured.
It wasn't just a greeting. It carried something unspoken—care, trust, and a quiet promise that he would be there, no matter what.
I sat behind him, careful and slow.
I pressed my hands against his back, feeling the warmth of him beneath my fingers.
"Hold on," he said softly, just enough for me to hear.
His body tensed for just a heartbeat, then relaxed as if he didn't want me to notice.
We rode in silence. Wind cold. Road empty. His shoulders warm against my hands.
Halfway to school, he slowed, easing the cycle to a gentle stop under a half-dry tree. He leaned forward slightly, just enough to catch the warmth of my hands resting on his back. The world felt like it was holding its breath.
"Why… why did you stop?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He just looked at me, really looked—like he was memorizing something.
"You didn't sleep, right?" he asked softly.
"No," I whispered. "You?"
He shook his head.
For a moment, the world felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath for us.
Then he said, voice low, almost breaking:
"I kept thinking… what if something happened to you yesterday? What if I arrived a second late?"
My fingers tightened on his shirt.
"Don't say that," I murmured.
He exhaled, long and shaky. His eyes dropped to my hands still gripping him.
"You trust me too much," he said, voice barely there.
"You protect me too much," I whispered back.
He laughed softly—that half-broken, half-sweet sound that made my chest warm.
Then he turned slightly, his face closer than I expected. So close I could see the tiny cut near his lip.
He swallowed. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Pragati… There's something I wanted to tell you."
My heartbeat stuttered. I knew that tone. Everyone knows that tone.
I looked up at him, breath caught.
"Ruhan…?"
He opened his mouth. Stopped. Looked away. Exhaled sharply. Almost like saying it would break something inside him.
"I…" he began.
My stomach flipped.
He shook his head suddenly and looked away, gripping the cycle handle like it was the only thing keeping him steady.
"Forget it," he said too quickly. "You'll be late for school."
For a second, something in my chest sank… but I didn't push him.
When he started riding again, I leaned in—just a little—letting my forehead rest against his back. My voice barely made it past my lips.
"Someday… when your voice stops shaking, when your heart isn't scared anymore, when the words won't get stuck in your throat… just say what you've been holding inside.
Someday… tell me you love me—because I'll be here, waiting, feeling every heartbeat of yours as if it were my own."
And the way his shoulders relaxed, the quiet smile tugging at his lips—
it felt like he wanted to say it. Someday. But not just yet.
🖤 by Pragati Priya (pen name: Zoey)
Please don't copy or repost—this story lives here, with its heart, its beats, and its whispers.