Chapter Seventeen: A Message Seen, A Silence Loud
405 Words
Rehaan’s POV
Seen.
Two ticks.
One grey.
Then one blue.
And no reply.
That single word — “Seen” — had echoed in Rehaan’s mind all day.
It was like holding your breath underwater, thinking you’ll emerge into air, and instead realizing — she’s already gone to shore.
Pakhi had read his message.
And chosen not to answer.
He stared at the screen for far too long, as if willing the “typing…” bubble to magically appear.
It didn’t.
Not in the morning.
Not after lunch.
Not even when he rechecked at midnight.
But something inside Rehaan had shifted.
Something he had been burying beneath responsibility, logic, religion, and fear.
He didn’t want to let go.
Not yet.
Not like this.
Not when every part of his day felt hollow without her words filling the empty spaces.
He opened his i********:. Searched her name.
She hadn’t posted anything new. Not even a story.
Then he opened LinkedIn — the only place she still pretended to be just “professional.”
Still nothing.
She wasn’t hiding.
She was simply… closing the door.
And now, Rehaan realized it wasn’t enough to wait.
He had to knock — again and again, if that’s what it took.
Because he had lost people before.
He had let go of love once, for the sake of duty.
But this time?
He wasn’t ready to let silence write the ending.
He took a deep breath and typed another message — this time, lighter, smaller. Not a plea. Just presence.
Rehaan:
“You know, I miss our weird debates about fonts. The client decks have been looking seriously sad without your disapproval.”
He smiled faintly at his screen.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
A breadcrumb.
A reminder.
A truth wrapped in humor.
But even after sending it, he couldn’t sit still.
He stood up, walked across the room, then paced back.
He wasn’t even sure what he was chasing.
Closure? Forgiveness? Or just her voice, back in his life?
No.
He knew what it was now.
He was chasing the version of her that felt like home —
and the version of him that only existed around her.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow, he’d try again — maybe a coffee invite. Maybe a casual call.
He didn’t care if she declined.
He just wanted her to know:
He hadn’t given up.
Even if she had every right to.
- Writer
