Chapter Fifteen: Her Silence, His Storm
562 Words
Rehaan’s POV
It had been a quiet morning.
But not the peaceful kind.
The kind where you feel something missing — not in the air, not in the room, but within yourself.
And Rehaan had been feeling it since last night.
He couldn’t focus on work. His inbox overflowed with unread mails, but his eyes kept drifting to his phone.
He scrolled.
Paused.
Scrolled again.
Nothing.
No message. No green online dot beside Pakhi’s name.
No casual “Hey, client partner” or “Ready for that deck review?”
She was gone.
Not physically, not completely — just enough for him to feel it.
And it hit him harder than he expected.
He hadn’t even realized how much space she took up in his daily routine. How her words, even in work calls, had become something he looked forward to. How her laugh had begun echoing in his mind even after the calls ended.
He didn’t know when it started.
Maybe it was the first time she apologized for replying late — as if her time was meant for him.
Or the time she had texted, “Don’t stress. I’ve got this” — and he believed her more than he’d believed himself.
But whatever it was, it had grown.
And now… her silence had grown too.
He had distanced himself first.
He knew that.
Ever since Zara’s marriage talk had re-entered his life, he had withdrawn, become quiet, careful, even cold.
Not because he wanted to — but because he was afraid of what his desire for Pakhi meant in a world that wouldn’t allow it.
And now she was mirroring the same silence he once inflicted.
Karma didn’t always arrive loudly.
Sometimes, it showed up in muted texts and delayed replies.
Rehaan scrolled through their old chats.
The memes. The feedback loops. The occasional late-night pings.
And then the last message she’d sent:
“Thanks for the update. Let me know if anything else is required. Regards, Pakhi Sharma.”
It stung more than he cared to admit. Not the message. But the tone.
It was formal. Final.
The kind of tone that people use when they’re teaching themselves to forget.
He tapped his fingers on the desk.
Stared at the cursor blinking in his w******p chat with her.
He started typing.
Then stopped.
Then again.
"Hey."
Too plain.
"Hope you're doing well."
Too distant.
"Can we talk?"
Too much, too soon.
He sighed.
Why was this so hard? Why did reaching out to someone you missed suddenly feel like a confession?
But maybe that’s what it was.
After nearly twenty minutes of typing and erasing, he finally sent:
Rehaan:
"I don’t know if I’ve earned the right to ask this, but… can we go back to how things were? Or at least talk, like we used to? I miss the real you — the one who wasn’t just ‘Regards, Pakhi Sharma.’"
He read it twice.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t clever.
But it was honest.
He didn’t expect a reply. Not immediately.
He just stared at the screen.
Waiting.
Regretting.
Hoping.
And somewhere in the middle of the long silence, he realized something terrifying —
He had fallen for her.
Not in a way that made him smile.
But in a way that hurt — because he had no idea if he’d already lost her.
- Writer
