Chapter Twenty-Four: Names I Call Her When I'm In Love
1051 Words
Rehaan’s POV
There was something different about this Monday.
He wasn’t dragging his feet to meetings. He wasn’t groaning at the endless pile of unread emails. Instead, he woke up smiling — the dream still warm in his mind, her laughter echoing faintly in his memory like music that refuses to fade.
Pakhi.
Not just a name now. Not just a person. She was becoming a feeling. A mood. A memory. A future.
Her absence was a silence he had grown terrified of. And now her presence — even in the form of a text, or the sound of her voice — was comfort. Home.
Rehaan stared at her reply from the night before, the one where she'd dropped her professional armor and let him in — just a little. It had lit him up from the inside.
And this morning, when she joined the team call, her voice had that slight lilt — cautious but soft, not cold like before. He knew she was trying to keep it neutral. But he also knew her now. Her pauses. Her sighs. Her hesitations.
And he could hear her smiling.
He played it cool through the entire call, his tone corporate, composed, but his mind — god, his mind — was tangled up in thoughts of her.
He had messaged her the moment the call ended.
“Stay. I need to ‘discuss’ something.”
And to his delight, she stayed.
That call… it had made his entire day.
The way she teased him. The way her voice dropped when she called him ridiculous. The way she stayed silent when he called her jaan, but didn’t stop him.
She was letting him in again.
Every time he called her something sweet — bacha, shona, meri jaan — he felt her walls lower, brick by brick.
She was melting. And so was he.
The day passed in a blur of work. His team, meetings, reports — all background noise to the running loop in his head of her voice, her laugh.
By evening, he was already thinking about their plan — the one they hadn’t even said out loud yet, but both knew was coming.
A late-night video call. Just them. No Teams. No office. No boundaries.
At 10:55 PM, his phone buzzed.
Pakhi:
"Done with your last call, Mr. Client?"
He smiled, lying back on his bed, phone in hand.
Rehaan:
"Only one call matters tonight. Yours, meri jaan. Ready?"
Seconds later, her face appeared on screen.
And suddenly, the room brightened.
She was wearing a loose cotton tee, hair tied in a messy bun, kajal slightly smudged, face bare and beautiful.
“Hi,” she said, shy smile tucked in the corner of her lips.
“Hi,” he whispered, as if louder words would break the spell.
“Been waiting?” she teased.
He leaned back on the pillows. “Like a boy waiting for the rain after a drought.”
She rolled her eyes, laughing. “You and your drama.”
“You and your smile,” he countered. “Unfair advantage.”
There was a pause. The good kind. The kind that feels like the silence between two heartbeats.
“Shona,” he said softly. “You’re glowing.”
She blinked. “Shona?”
“I’m trying out all your nicknames tonight. Let me have my moment.”
“Oh god,” she groaned playfully.
“Bacha, don’t roll your eyes at me.”
She hid her face for a second, laughing into her hands. “You’re insane.”
“No,” he said seriously, eyes softening. “I’m just in trouble, because I’ve realized something.”
She looked up, cautious.
“I’m in love with you, Pakhi.”
Silence. Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes widened — not in fear, but in disbelief.
“I don’t know when it started,” he continued. “Maybe that day you first said my name in that tiny ‘hello’ voice. Or maybe the first time you called just to clarify a silly task. Or the first time I made you laugh when you were trying so hard not to smile.”
She said nothing. Just stared.
“I love that you're a little awkward when you care. That your voice softens at night. That you pretend to be professional, but your eyes — they give you away every time.”
Still no words from her.
“Pakhi, jaan… say something?”
“I’m…” she began, then paused. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you felt it too. At least a little.”
She exhaled. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel, Rehaan.”
His face fell a little, but he nodded. “Then don’t feel anything right now. Just stay on this call. Just be with me tonight. Like this.”
“I can do that,” she whispered.
They spoke for another hour — everything and nothing.
He told her about his favorite food (dal gosht, the way his mother made it), and she told him about her obsession with street chaat. They fought over Bollywood movies. He swore by Rockstar. She claimed Tamasha was superior.
He called her meri jaan, pagli, dil ki musibat, and once even meri future stress — to which she had burst out laughing.
And somewhere between the jokes and the comfort, the hours passed.
By 2:30 AM, her voice was softer, slower.
“Rehaan?” she murmured.
“Hmm?”
“I liked today,” she whispered. “I liked you.”
“I like you every day,” he replied. “Even when you ignore me.”
“You deserved it.”
“Fair.”
A pause.
“I don’t know how this ends,” she said quietly.
“Neither do I,” he replied, honest. “But I’m not ready to stop. Not yet.”
And with that, they drifted into silence — screens still on, hearts full, two cities apart, but closer than ever before.
Rehaan watched her slowly fall asleep on the video call, her breathing even, her lips parted slightly. He smiled, whispering just one last thing before closing his eyes:
“Good night, meri jaan. You’re my favorite what if.”
- Writer
