Chapter 6: The Shape of Protection
1493 Words
Some people mistake protection for strength.
They imagine raised voices, clenched fists, heroic gestures, dramatic moments that change everything in an instant.
Aarav knew better.
Protection often arrived quietly.
In the decision to stay.
In the refusal to look away.
In choosing someone's side before they even realized they needed one.
The days after their conversation in the studio passed strangely.
Not awkward.
Not comfortable.
Something in between.
Neither Aarav nor Reyansh mentioned what had happened that night.
The confession.
The crack.
The brief glimpse beneath the silence.
But they both carried it.
Aarav noticed small things now.
Things he might have ignored before.
The way Reyansh sometimes stopped speaking halfway through a sentence.
The way his smile occasionally looked practiced rather than genuine.
The way his eyes seemed older than the rest of him.
And most importantly—
The way he immediately changed the subject whenever conversations wandered too close to family.
People only avoided certain topics for one reason.
Because those topics hurt.
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Aarav understood that better than most.
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The afternoon sun painted the city in shades of gold when Aarav arrived at the recording studio.
The streets outside buzzed with ordinary life.
College students crowding tea stalls.
Shopkeepers arguing over deliveries.
Children chasing one another through narrow lanes.
Normal.
Predictable.
Until he reached the studio.
The moment he stepped inside—
He heard it.
Not from Reyansh.
From everyone else.
Frustration.
Irritation.
Mockery.
Sharp and unpleasant.
Like broken glass dragged across concrete.
Aarav frowned.
The recording room door was open.
Voices drifted into the hallway.
"...thinks he's some superstar."
Laughter followed.
Aarav recognized the voice.
Rohan.
One of the assistant producers.
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"He doesn't even cooperate properly."
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Another laugh.
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"Always acting mysterious."
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"Brooding hero syndrome."
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More laughter.
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Aarav's expression darkened slightly.
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Inside the room, three people sat around a table.
Coffee cups.
Phones.
Casual conversation.
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The kind that became cruel because everyone treated it as entertainment.
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"And don't get me started on his attitude."
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"Seriously."
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"He acts like the world owes him something."
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Aarav stepped into the room.
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The laughter immediately died.
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Everyone looked up.
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"Morning," Rohan said awkwardly.
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Aarav didn't return the greeting.
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His gaze remained calm.
Cold.
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"Is there a problem?" he asked.
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The room shifted.
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People exchanged glances.
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Because everyone understood exactly what he meant.
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"No problem."
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"Just talking."
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Aarav nodded once.
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Then—
Quietly.
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"If you're discussing someone's work, do it professionally."
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Silence.
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"If you're discussing someone's personal life, do it when they're present."
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Nobody laughed this time.
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The words weren't loud.
They didn't need to be.
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The discomfort flooding the room was deafening.
Rohan cleared his throat.
"We didn't mean anything."
Aarav looked at him.
"No?"
The simple question hit harder than anger would have.
Nobody answered.
Because there was nothing to say.
Aarav turned and walked away.
The conversation ended immediately.
But his chest remained tight.
Not because of them.
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Because of himself.
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This wasn't like him.
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Normally he avoided conflict.
Avoided involvement.
Avoided choosing sides.
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So why—
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Why had hearing Reyansh's name felt different?
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The answer arrived before he could stop it.
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Because Reyansh wasn't there to defend himself.
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And for some reason—
That bothered him.
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Far more than it should.
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The recording session started an hour later.
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Reyansh arrived carrying his usual careless confidence.
Dark shirt.
Messy hair.
A coffee in one hand.
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"You look annoyed."
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The observation came immediately.
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Aarav glanced up.
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"You look late."
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A faint smirk appeared.
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"There he is."
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For a moment something lighter settled between them.
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Then it disappeared.
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Because Rohan entered the room.
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And Aarav heard it instantly.
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The guilt.
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The discomfort.
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The embarrassment.
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Reyansh noticed the tension too.
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His gaze moved between them.
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Slowly.
Carefully.
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"What happened?"
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Nobody answered immediately.
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Which was answer enough.
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Reyansh's expression changed slightly.
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Not visibly enough for most people to notice.
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But Aarav did.
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A tiny withdrawal.
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Like someone preparing for impact.
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Like someone who expected disappointment before it arrived.
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And suddenly—
Aarav hated it.
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He hated how familiar that reaction looked.
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Because it wasn't new.
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It was practiced.
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Learned.
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The reaction of someone who had spent years being judged.
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Someone accustomed to criticism.
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Someone who expected people to turn against him eventually.
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The realization settled heavily inside Aarav.
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Too heavily.
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"Nothing happened," Rohan said.
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A lie.
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An obvious one.
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Reyansh laughed lightly.
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"Right."
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The laugh sounded effortless.
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But Aarav saw it.
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The slight tension in his jaw.
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The careful distance returning to his eyes.
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The wall.
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The silence.
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Rebuilding itself.
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And before he could think—
Before caution could stop him—
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Aarav spoke.
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"They were talking about you."
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The room froze.
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Rohan looked horrified.
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Another producer nearly dropped his coffee.
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Reyansh stared.
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"What?"
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Aarav didn't look away.
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"They were making assumptions."
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Silence.
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The dangerous kind.
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Nobody moved.
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Nobody breathed.
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Then—
Slowly—
Reyansh smiled.
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Not because he found it funny.
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Because that was what people did when they were hurt unexpectedly.
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They smiled.
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"Oh."
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Just one word.
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Soft.
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Aarav felt something sharp twist inside his chest.
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Because that single syllable carried more exhaustion than anger.
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More disappointment than surprise.
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As if Reyansh had expected it all along.
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"Forget it," Reyansh said.
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And there it was again.
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That practiced indifference.
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That mask.
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That silence.
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"No."
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The word left Aarav before he could stop it.
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Everyone turned toward him.
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Including Reyansh.
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Aarav rarely interrupted anyone.
Rarely insisted on anything.
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Yet here he was.
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Standing his ground.
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"They were wrong."
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The room became utterly still.
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Aarav met Reyansh's gaze.
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"They don't know you."
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Silence.
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The statement was simple.
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But something happened.
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Something subtle.
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Something important.
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For the first time—
Aarav watched genuine surprise appear in Reyansh's eyes.
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Not sarcasm.
Not amusement.
Not guarded curiosity.
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Surprise.
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As if nobody had ever said those words before.
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As if nobody had ever bothered.
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The moment lasted only seconds.
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Then Reyansh looked away.
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But not before Aarav saw it.
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A crack.
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Not pain.
Not trauma.
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Something warmer.
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Something far more dangerous.
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Relief.
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The session ended late.
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Long after everyone else had gone home.
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The city outside glittered beneath scattered streetlights.
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Inside the studio, only two people remained.
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Aarav sat at the console.
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Reyansh leaned against the doorway.
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Quiet.
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Neither spoke for several minutes.
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Then—
Unexpectedly—
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"Why?"
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Aarav looked up.
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Reyansh's expression was unreadable.
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"Why what?"
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"Why did you do that?"
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Aarav knew what he meant.
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He considered the question carefully.
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Because the truth felt strange.
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Unfamiliar.
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"I don't know."
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Reyansh snorted.
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"That's becoming your favorite answer."
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Aarav almost smiled.
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Maybe it was.
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But after a moment—
He added softly—
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"I just didn't like it."
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Silence.
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Then—
Even quieter—
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"People usually don't care."
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The words slipped out before Reyansh could stop them.
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The moment he realized it—
His expression hardened.
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The wall returning instantly.
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But it was too late.
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Aarav had heard it.
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Not as sound.
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As truth.
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And truth was often louder than emotion.
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For a long moment neither of them spoke.
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Then Aarav said the simplest thing imaginable.
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"Well."
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Reyansh looked at him.
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"I do."
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The words landed between them.
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Small.
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Gentle.
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Uncomplicated.
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Yet somehow—
More powerful than anything dramatic could have been.
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Because protection isn't always loud.
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Sometimes it is simply being seen.
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Sometimes it is someone choosing your side.
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And for a person who had spent years expecting abandonment—
That could feel terrifying.
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Outside, the city continued its endless song.
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Inside—
For the first time in a very long time—
Reyansh didn't feel entirely alone.
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And somewhere deep beneath the silence he had spent years building—
Something fragile began to bloom.
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Not love.
Not yet.
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But the possibility of trust.
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And that possibility was enough to change everything.
- Writer
