The morning after everything between Aarav and Ananya had shifted—subtly, dangerously, beautifully—did not arrive gently. It came crashing through the half-opened curtains of her room, pouring sunlight across her bed as if reminding her that the world outside had no idea how her inside had changed.
Ananya lay awake long before the sun climbed high enough to find her. Sleep had been a stranger all night, slipping in and out of her reach. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same thing: Aarav's eyes when he looked at her yesterday… that quiet, burning softness she had pretended not to understand.
But she understood.
Maybe too well.
A sigh escaped her lips as she ran her fingers through her hair. Her phone buzzed once, sharp and sudden. For a moment, she froze.
She knew who it might be.
Or rather—who she wanted it to be.
She grabbed the phone.
Aarav: Reached home. Don't think too much. Goodnight, Anu.
The message was from last night, sent after she had already gone to bed pretending to be unaffected.
She hadn't replied.
Not because she didn't know what to say… but because replying meant acknowledging something she wasn't ready to face.
And yet, her heart fluttered reading his words.
God, why did his smallest messages feel like waves crashing into her carefully built wall?
She typed slowly:
Good morning.
Then stared at it for a full minute.
Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again.
Why was something so simple suddenly so complicated?
Before she could decide, her mother's voice echoed from outside her room.
"Ananya! Breakfast! And don't make me call you twice."
She placed her phone face down and exhaled.
Life. Responsibilities. The normal world waiting outside her door.
She pushed herself up, washed her face, braided her hair loosely, and made her way to the kitchen.
Her mother was slicing fruits, humming an old song, completely unaware that Ananya's heart was fighting a war with itself.
"Sit. Eat properly. You look tired," her mother said without glancing up.
"Tired? Maybe," Ananya muttered.
"Phone chala rahi thi raat bhar?" her mother teased.
"No," Ananya replied quickly, a little too defensive.
Her mother raised an eyebrow.
"Hmm."
That one hmm carried the weight of a thousand suspicions, and Ananya quickly decided to focus on her paratha instead of continuing a conversation that might drag her into dangerous territory.
Her father was reading the newspaper, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
"Ananya?" he said calmly.
"Yes?"
"You'll drop by the market today? Kuch saman lana hai."
"Okay," she said, grateful for a distraction.
Normal tasks. Normal day. Normal everything.
Except none of it felt normal anymore.
Not when her heart kept replaying the moment when Aarav had stood too close yesterday.
Not when she kept remembering how his voice softened when he said her name.
Not when she felt him slipping past the walls she'd spent years building.
She left home earlier than she needed to, telling her parents she had extra work at the library.
The truth?
She needed space.
Air.
Silence.
But fate never cared what she needed.
Because the moment she stepped outside and turned the corner—
A bike slowed to a stop beside her.
A familiar voice said, "Good morning, Anu."
Her heart stuttered.
She didn't want to turn around and didn't need to.
She already knew.
Aarav.
And he was smiling in that infuriating, gentle way that always melted her just a little more each time.
"You're up early," she said, adjusting the strap of her bag.
"Could say the same about you."
His tone was soft, teasing, but careful.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Market," she replied.
"I'll drop you."
"No," she said instantly, too fast.
Too obviously flustered.
"Anu…" His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Don't avoid me."
She froze.
"I'm not avoiding you."
"You didn't reply last night."
"I was sleepy."
"Hmm," he echoed her mother's tone exactly, making her glare.
"Aarav," she warned.
He got off the bike, stood in front of her, hands in pockets, expression unreadable.
"Look at me once," he said quietly.
And she did.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like touching fire.
His eyes held something she wasn't prepared to face—something warm, intense, patient, and yet silently pleading.
Yesterday kept replaying in her mind with brutal clarity.
She looked away.
"I really need to go."
"Then let me come with you."
"Aarav—"
"It's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal," she snapped before she could stop herself.
Silence fell between them.
Aarav's expression shifted—not hurt, not angry, just… thoughtful, as if he was piecing together the confusion inside her head.
"Okay," he said finally, softly. "I won't force you."
Her lips parted in surprise.
Aarav never pushed.
Never demanded.
He respected every line she drew, even when he clearly wanted to step over them.
That was what scared her the most.
Because most boys chase until they get bored.
Aarav wasn't getting bored.
He was getting closer.
Too close.
She took a breath. "I'll go alone today."
He nodded once.
"Alright."
But as she walked past him, she felt his gaze linger on her like the softest touch, warm enough to haunt her steps.
The market was crowded and loud, the kind of place where no one's emotions mattered because everything was too chaotic to notice. Vendors shouted prices, children ran around laughing, autos honked constantly.
And yet, her mind was silent.
Too silent.
Aarav's expression kept flashing in her thoughts—steady, patient, quietly intense.
Why was he like this?
Why couldn't he be someone she could easily shrug off?
Why did he see her in a way she didn't want to be seen?
She bought the grocery items her father asked for and headed to the bus stop.
Five minutes later, she realized she wasn't alone.
Aarav stood leaning against a tree nearby, arms folded, watching her quietly.
She nearly dropped her bag.
"What—what are you doing here?"
"Making sure you reach home safe," he said simply.
"Aarav! I told you—"
"You said you didn't want a ride," he cut in. "You didn't say I couldn't walk behind you."
Her jaw fell open.
He gave a small shrug. "I'm not talking to you, I'm not disturbing you. I'm just… making sure you're okay. Bas."
She stared at him.
He stared right back, steady, unashamed, unwavering.
"Aarav… you're impossible."
"And you're stubborn," he replied. "So we're equal."
She didn't know whether to scream or smile.
The bus arrived, and she climbed in quickly.
But before she could find a seat—
Aarav gently took the heavy bag from her hand.
"I'll hold it till you reach," he said.
"Aarav—"
"No arguments today," he said softly, stepping onto the bus.
She swallowed her retort.
Because the truth was—she was tired of arguing with him.
Tired of pretending she didn't care.
Tired of pretending she didn't want to feel something.
The ride home was quiet.
He stood beside her seat, one hand holding the grocery bag, the other gripping the rail for balance.
Every bump in the road brought him closer to her, and every time she could feel his presence brushing against her shoulder, she forced herself to look out the window instead of up at him.
Why did his closeness feel so dangerous?
Why did it feel like something inside her was waking up?
When the bus finally stopped near her lane, she got down quickly.
He handed her the bag carefully.
"Thanks," she muttered.
"Hmm," he said.
Now he was the one giving suspicious hmms.
"Aarav—don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like… like you know something I don't."
He stepped closer.
Not too close.
Just close enough for her heart to remember its pulse.
"Ananya," he said softly. "You're scared."
Her eyes widened.
He didn't say it like an accusation.
He said it like a fact he understood deeply.
"You're scared," he repeated. "Not of me. Of what you're feeling."
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"And that's okay," he continued, voice calm, steady, heartbreakingly gentle. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
Her breath caught.
Why did he always say things that made her walls feel useless?
She took a step back, needing space, needing air.
He didn't move forward.
"Goodbye, Aarav," she whispered.
"Goodbye, Anu."
The moment she turned away, her heartbeat began racing again.
She hated how much power he had over her without even trying.
But she also hated the truth she couldn't escape—
Aarav wasn't the danger.
Her own heart was.
The day passed in a blur.
She tried studying; her mind wandered.
Tried helping her mother; her hands fumbled.
Tried sleeping early; her thoughts refused.
By evening, she ended up on the terrace, sitting alone under the slowly darkening sky.
The wind was cool, brushing her hair across her face.
Why was she like this?
Why couldn't she just be normal around him?
Why did she stop breathing every time he got too close?
Her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
Buzzed again.
She ignored it.
Buzzed a third time.
She sighed and picked it up.
Aarav: Reached home?
She didn't reply.
After a minute—
Aarav: Anu?
Her heartbeat quickened.
She typed: Yes.
He instantly replied.
Aarav: Good. Rest now.
Why do you care so much? she typed without thinking.
Then froze.
She hovered over the delete button.
But her thumb didn't move.
A few seconds later, the typing dots appeared.
Aarav: Because I do.
She stared at the message.
Simple.
Steady.
True.
And terrifying.
Her fingers trembled as she typed again.
You shouldn't.
He replied immediately.
Aarav: Too late.
Something inside her cracked—softly, silently.
She didn't reply after that.
She didn't know what to say.
Did she want him to stop?
Did she want him to continue?
Or was she simply afraid of how deeply this was beginning to matter?
As the stars shimmered overhead and the night wrapped around her, Ananya finally whispered to herself—
"I'm falling… and I don't know how to stop."
And somewhere in the quiet distance, she knew—
Aarav was ready to catch her,
even if she wasn't ready to reach out yet.