Chapter 8 – The Smile He Hides
Meera sees his vulnerable side.
The night after coffee felt different.
Not louder.
Not more dramatic.
Just… closer.
Meera lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every pause, every glance from that café. It hadn't been a confession. It hadn't been a promise.
But it had been real.
And real things scared her.
Her phone buzzed at 11:37 PM.
Her heart jumped.
Unknown number.
She stared at it for three seconds before answering.
"Hello?"
A brief silence.
Then—
"You sleep early."
Aarav.
Her lips curved without permission.
"How did you get my number?"
"Project group list."
"Oh."
Another small silence.
But this one wasn't awkward.
"Did I wake you?" he asked.
"No."
"You were thinking."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Are you spying on my thoughts now?"
A faint, soft exhale.
That almost-laugh again.
"I don't need to," he said. "You go quiet when you're thinking too much."
She shifted onto her side, hugging her pillow.
"And you call people at midnight when you're thinking too much."
He didn't deny it.
A pause lingered.
"Why did you call?" she asked softly.
He took a second to answer.
"Just wanted to hear your voice."
Her heart stopped.
Restarted.
"You saw me five hours ago."
"I know."
"That's not a reason."
"I didn't say it was logical."
Silence wrapped around them again.
But now it felt… intimate.
Not romantic in a dramatic way.
Just two people sitting inside each other's presence through a phone line.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently.
A longer pause this time.
"Yeah."
She didn't believe it.
"You don't sound okay."
He let out a slow breath.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Listening too carefully."
She smiled softly.
"You called."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he asked quietly, "Do you ever feel like you're the strong one for everyone else… but no one notices when you're tired?"
The question hit her unexpectedly.
"Yes," she admitted.
"That's how it feels at home," he continued, voice lower now. "After my parents separated, I became the calm one. The reasonable one. The one who doesn't break."
Her chest tightened.
"And that's heavy," she whispered.
"Yeah."
A beat of silence.
"I don't want to be strong all the time."
The vulnerability in that sentence made her sit up.
It was the first crack she had heard in his composure.
"You don't have to be," she said gently.
"I do."
"No," she insisted softly. "You just think you do."
He didn't respond immediately.
Thunder rumbled faintly outside her window.
"Are you afraid of being weak?" she asked carefully.
"I'm afraid of losing control."
"Control over what?"
"Over how much I feel."
Her breath caught.
"That's not weakness."
"It is if it makes you reckless."
She understood.
"You're not reckless," she said. "You're cautious."
"Cautious doesn't call someone at midnight."
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"Maybe cautious needed a break."
He didn't laugh.
But she heard it.
A softer version.
Less guarded.
"You make it hard to stay detached," he admitted.
Her heart pounded.
"I'm not trying to."
"I know."
Another quiet pause.
Then—
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Yes."
"When you look at me like that… what are you thinking?"
She froze.
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to read me."
She swallowed.
"I'm trying to understand you."
"And?"
"And sometimes," she whispered, "I see you smiling… but it doesn't reach your eyes."
Silence.
Longer than before.
He didn't deflect this time.
He didn't joke.
"That's because it's easier to smile than to explain," he said quietly.
Her chest ached.
"Explain what?"
"That some days are heavier than others."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"I don't want the easy smile," she said softly.
"What do you want?"
"The real one."
A pause.
Then—
"That one's rare."
"I'll wait."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
The air between them shifted.
He inhaled slowly.
"You don't scare easily anymore," he observed.
"I do," she admitted. "Just not of you."
The honesty landed heavily.
Outside, rain began falling gently.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
"You know what's strange?" he said finally.
"What?"
"I don't feel like I have to pretend with you."
Her heart fluttered painfully.
"Then don't."
"I'm not used to that."
"Get used to it."
Another soft exhale.
"Meera?"
"Yes?"
"If I ever pull away… it won't be because I don't care."
The words made her chest tighten.
"Then why?"
"Because caring feels dangerous."
She understood more than she wanted to.
"I won't run," she said quietly.
He didn't respond right away.
Then—
"That's what scares me."
A faint laugh escaped her.
"You're impossible."
"And you're patient."
She lay back down slowly.
The rain outside grew steadier.
"Tell me something real," she said.
He thought for a moment.
"I used to sit in my room after my parents fought and pretend I couldn't hear them."
Her breath caught.
"I'd turn on music loud enough to drown it out. But you still feel it in your chest."
The image broke something inside her.
"That's not weakness," she whispered again.
"It felt like it."
"No," she said gently. "It felt like a kid who didn't know how to fix adults."
He went quiet.
Completely quiet.
She wondered if she had said too much.
Then—
"You're good at this."
"At what?"
"Seeing what people hide."
Her voice softened.
"You don't hide it very well."
A faint, real laugh this time.
It was quieter than the earlier ones.
Less practiced.
More honest.
And for the first time—
She heard it.
The smile reaching his eyes.
"I don't smile much at home," he admitted.
"Why?"
"No reason to."
The simplicity of it hurt.
"I hope one day there is," she said softly.
Another pause.
"Maybe there already is."
Her heart skipped.
"Don't say things like that and then go silent," she murmured.
"I'm not good at saying them."
"Then practice."
He hesitated.
"Okay."
Silence again.
But this time—
It felt warmer.
Lighter.
Like something heavy had shifted slightly.
"You should sleep," he said eventually.
"You called me."
"I know."
"Are you okay now?"
He thought for a second.
"Better."
"Good."
Another pause.
"Goodnight, Meera."
"Goodnight, Aarav."
He didn't hang up immediately.
Neither did she.
They both waited.
As if neither wanted to be the first to let go.
Finally, the line clicked off.
Meera stared at her dark screen for a long moment.
Her heart wasn't racing.
It was steady.
Calm.
Outside, thunder rolled softly.
She didn't flinch.
She smiled.
Because tonight—
She hadn't seen the quiet boy in the rain.
She hadn't seen the careful observer in the classroom.
She had seen something else.
A boy who was tired of being strong.
A boy who didn't want to carry silence alone.
A boy whose rare smile wasn't hidden—
Just waiting.
And maybe—
Just maybe—
She was the reason it appeared.