Chapter 5: Just Talking
639 Words
The café was alive with soft noise—cups clinking, muted conversations, the low hum of rain brushing against the windows.
Yet around their table, there was an unnatural calm, as if the world had slowed down on purpose.
Aarav stood there for a moment, unsure.
“Would it be okay,” he asked gently, “if I sit?”
Meera looked up and nodded.
“Yes.”
He pulled the chair back and sat down, keeping his hands on his knees, as though grounding himself. The space between them felt heavier than the small table separating them.
“You come here often?” Aarav asked.
“Only when my mind gets too loud,” Meera replied.
“This place knows how to quiet it.”
Aarav smiled faintly.
“Then maybe that’s why I like it too.”
Meera studied him for a second.
“You seem calm.”
He shook his head.
“No. I just don’t know how to talk.”
Something in her expression softened.
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I’m a photographer,” Aarav said. After a pause, he added,
“I take pictures of things people don’t want to remember.”
Meera didn’t push for more.
“And you?” he asked.
“I listen,” she said simply.
“When people don’t know how to say what hurts.”
“That must be heavy,” Aarav said.
“It is,” Meera replied.
“But sometimes necessary.”
Rain pressed harder against the glass.
Aarav noticed her coffee had gone untouched for a while. Without thinking, he gently slid the cup closer to her.
Meera froze for a second.
She looked at the cup.
Then at him.
“You pay attention to habits,” she said quietly.
Aarav shifted in his seat.
“Maybe.”
She turned her gaze toward the window.
“Do you think people can forget things on purpose?”
Aarav didn’t answer right away.
Then softly,
“Sometimes forgetting is the only way to survive.”
“And if forgetting becomes everything?” she asked.
His voice dropped.
“Then you feel lighter…
but empty.”
Meera looked at him—really looked.
There was something familiar in his eyes. A pain without language.
“Talking to you,” Aarav said, almost to himself,
“the noise in my head feels… quieter.”
Meera inhaled slowly.
“Strangers can feel safer sometimes.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Because they don’t expect anything from you.”
She glanced at her watch.
“I should go.”
Aarav nodded quickly.
“Of course.”
Then, before he could stop himself—
“Can we… talk again?”
Meera hesitated.
“Maybe,” she said.
She walked out.
Aarav stayed where he was.
He didn’t know her name.
He didn’t know her story.
But he knew one thing—
this hadn’t been just a conversation.
Something had shifted.
Quietly. Permanently.
some time ago
Outside, the rain wrapped itself around Meera as she took a few steps forward.
She stopped.
In the reflection of the café window, she saw him.
Aarav—running toward the café, breathless, desperate, as if afraid something precious might slip away if he didn’t reach it in time.
Her heart stumbled.
For a brief moment, she thought about hiding.
Turning away.
Escaping—again.
But then her heart whispered—
How long will you keep running?
How long will you stay away from what you feel?
Meera stayed.
She walked back inside and sat down at the same window table, folding her hands together as if holding herself still.
She didn’t try to explain anything to herself anymore.
She no longer knew how to convince her heart
why she should keep her distance.
And maybe—
she didn’t want to anymore.
- Writer
