It was holidays. Three days without seeing each other for the first time. Three days of silence stretching like a knife between their ribs.
At noon, right before he was heading to a party, she called. Their voices met like parched lips finding water, but it wasn't enough. That night, when his name flashed across her screen, his tone was raw, scraped bare by yet another fight with his girlfriend.
"She doesn't understand…" he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. "She says I don't love her like before. She doesn't give me space. She's controlling every part of my life. I'm frustrated, dear. Why can't she understand me? She says I don't give her time."
Her heart clenched at his pain. She wanted to scream the truth at him that his girlfriend's love was a net of manipulation, a storm of moods designed to keep him bound yet he was unaware that she was playing with his mind. She wanted to say, I see you. I know you. She doesn't.
But she didn't.
If she said it aloud, he'd call it jealousy. He'd think she was sowing discord. So instead, she hid her ache and let wisdom slip like honey.
"She's young, dear. Too young. Her world is small, just studies and you. You chose her, so you must accommodate. Of course she clings, of course she aches. Speak to her heart, not her mind."
The words scalded her as they left her lips. She was defending her rival while her own love bled silently inside her chest.
When his girlfriend's call came again, hers was discarded, left ringing into the void. She stared at her reflection in the darkened screen, whispering, I'll let you deal with your storm tonight, Neer.
His reply was instant. "Thank you, dear"
She whispered, "Good night. I miss you too, dear."
But the silence that followed was heavy and unbroken.
Sleep eluded her that night. By morning, the ache had sharpened into something cutting. She remembered his whispered I love you from days before, and the way he had tried to take it back, calling it a slip, just in the flow. But she knew the truth in his eyes. He had meant it. Even if not with her depth, even if not with her surrender.
So she wrote again, letting her heart spill out:
"Dear… you left me aching again. I know you love me too, even if not as deep as I love you. I was hurting too. My heart aches, but still it doesn't stop wanting you. You definitely owe me now. So tell me… how are you going to make it up to me, my Dear?"
Instead of tenderness, instead of balm, his answer came sharp. A single screenshot of his girlfriend's message.
Her chest hollowed. Still, she wrote softly:
"Dear… I saw. I can feel how heavy it must be on you. I won't add to your tension. I'll just wait for you. Find me when you find calm."
No reply. Only silence.
She let it hang there, refusing to chase, refusing to beg.
But hours later, his name lit up her phone again. Just one word, urgent and raw:
"Dear… Where are you? Talk to me now, please… even for five minutes."
She answered. His voice poured out, restless and aching. "Even five minutes… I wanted to hear you. I missed you like crazy."
She didn't melt. Her voice was low, clipped, each word hiding her wound.
"Why are you downcast? Is it because I didn't call you?" he pressed.
"Maybe because you didn't. Maybe not. Does it matter?"
His silence betrayed him. Guilt thickened the air. He begged, "Don't be moody today, Dear. It's festive. Don't spoil your heart."
Her reply was ice and fire both. "It may be festive for you… but not for me."
He stumbled for comfort. "We can meet the day after tomorrow."
But she cut the thread with calm detachment. "I'm starting my classes."
He faltered. "Then… when can we meet?"
"I don't know."
It wasn't rejection. It was worse. A wall of uncertainty, impenetrable.
"Can't you go out tomorrow? So we can meet?"
Her last words struck him like velvet-wrapped blades.
"No. There's no reason for me to go out."
The silence that followed burned.
Another call pulled him away, and before he could reach back, she ended it with a flat goodbye. His plea rang in her ears -"I'll come back, let's video call, I want to see you."
Her answer cut deep, cool and distant. "We'll talk about it if you really manage to return. Bye."
And just like that, the night swallowed their ache. An ache for ache, silence for silence.
Sometimes love doesn't break with shouts or storms, it withers in silences, in unanswered calls, in the weight of other promises. She gave him space; he gave her distance. And between the two, their hearts ached louder than words ever could.