The Green-Eyed Silence
716 Words
College festivals have a unique atmosphere—a chaotic blend of bright lights, booming music, and laughter that feels just a little too loud.
Arindam was never one for crowds. However, this year, his department had drafted him into the organizing committee. That was how he met Maya.
Maya was confident, smart, and had an effortless way of connecting with people. She spoke with a constant smile, cracked jokes, and frequently pulled Arindam into conversations.
One day, while they were busy with the decorations, Maya chuckled and asked, "Why are you always so serious?"
Arindam replied calmly, "I'm not."
"Really? Because you look exactly like the type of guy who writes poetry in the middle of the night."
Arindam let out a small laugh. "Maybe I do."
"Interesting," Maya whispered.
That evening, the team took a group photo. Maya stood right next to Arindam—perhaps a little too close. At the time, Arindam didn't think much of it.
But late that night, the photo was uploaded to social media.
And Barsha saw it.
The Message That Never Came Barsha stared at the photo for a long time.
Maya's hand was resting lightly on Arindam's arm. They were both smiling. Barsha tried to convince herself that it meant nothing—just a casual photo. Yet, she felt a sharp, unfamiliar tug in her chest.
She didn't message him immediately. For the first time, she decided to wait and see if Arindam would reach out first.
Hours passed.
Silence.
On the other side of the city, Arindam was buried in rehearsals. He was completely oblivious to Barsha quiet storm. It wasn't until midnight that he finally checked his phone and realized there were no messages from her.
It felt strange.
Arindam: "Today was such a hectic day. Missed you."
A few minutes later, the reply came.
Barsha: "I saw. You looked quite busy."
The tone was different. Sharp.
Arindam: "What's wrong?"
Barsha: "Nothing."
Sometimes, 'nothing' is the heaviest word in the human language.
Silence Like Rain The next day, it rained.
Barsha stood by her window again, but today, she didn't send a picture. She didn't write a "miss you." She just remained silent. Arindam knew then—this wasn't a normal mood.
He called her. She picked up on the third try.
"Are you okay?" Arindam asked.
"I saw the picture," she said simply.
Arindam went quiet.
"Who is she?"
"Maya. She's on the team."
"She was standing very close to you."
Arindam spoke softly, "She's just a teammate, Barsha."
"Then why didn't you mention her before?"
The question hurt more than an accusation. "I didn't think it was important."
"It was important to me."
Silence stretched between them again.
Is Fear Just Another Name for Jealousy?After a while, Barsha spoke in a trembling voice.
"I know... I know I shouldn't feel this way. I trust you. But sometimes... I just get scared."
"Scared of what?"
"That distance changes people."
Arindam closed his eyes. "I sit by the window in my new classes. I talk to new people. But what we have between us... that hasn't changed."
Barsha remained silent.
"Does someone standing next to me in a photo change everything?" Arindam continued. "You aren't standing next to me in the photo because you are already inside my life."
Barsha voice cracked slightly. "Then don't make me feel like I'm on the outside."
Arindam smiled gently. "Then come to the festival."
"What?"
"Come and see for yourself."
The Night of the Festival Two days later, Barsha stood amidst the lights and music of Arindam's college festival.
Arindam was scanning the crowd, searching for a familiar face. The moment their eyes met, the rest of the world blurred into the background. He walked straight toward her.
Maya, standing nearby, teased him. "So, is she the reason behind the poetry?"
Arindam looked at Barsha and said with a faint smile, "She isn't the reason... she's the whole story."
Barsha heard him. Her smile this time was real.
The jealousy hadn't vanished completely—it rarely does. But when trust finds its footing, fear begins to shrink.
That night, under a sky glowing with festival lights instead of rain, Barsha realized something. Many people might stand beside him, but the seat by the window would always belong to her.
- Writer
