Chapter 9 – An Unexpected Gesture
557 Words
The morning was quiet, the kind of stillness that followed a night of restless thoughts. Kavya sat by the café window, tracing circles on her cup as her mind replayed every glance, every word exchanged with Aryan over the past few weeks.
She had never expected their connection to linger this long—or to grow deeper without either of them trying. It wasn’t love, not yet. But it was something that tugged at her heart when she wasn’t looking.
The door opened with a soft chime. Aryan walked in, as composed as ever—black shirt, steady gaze, a faint weariness under his eyes.
“Morning,” she greeted softly.
He nodded, sliding into the seat opposite hers. “Morning.”
They talked a little—small things about the weather, the endless rush of the city—but Aryan seemed distracted. His hand brushed his jacket pocket now and then, as if debating something.
Finally, as she reached for her notebook, he spoke. “You forgot this yesterday.”
She looked up to find him holding out a pen—a sleek silver one, hers, the one she used every morning for her journal.
“Oh,” she blinked, surprised. “I didn’t even realize—”
“You left it on the counter,” he said, his tone simple, almost casual. But his fingers hesitated before letting it go. “I thought you might need it.”
Kavya took it carefully, her fingertips brushing his. The touch lasted only a second, but it was enough to send warmth through her chest.
“Thank you,” she said softly, smiling.
He nodded once, looking away as though the sunlight outside had suddenly become fascinating. “You should keep your things closer next time.”
“Maybe,” she teased, “I just needed an excuse to see you again.”
His eyes flicked back to hers, startled, but the corner of his lips curved—not quite a smile, but close.
For a few moments, neither spoke. The hum of the café wrapped around them, the air heavy with things unsaid.
Then, as she opened her notebook, she noticed something new—tucked neatly under the pen clip was a small folded napkin.
Her heart skipped.
She glanced at Aryan, but he was staring into his coffee, pretending not to notice. Slowly, she unfolded the napkin.
Inside, written in neat handwriting, were just four words:
“Some gestures speak louder.”
Kavya felt her breath hitch. It wasn’t much—a note, a pen—but somehow it said everything he couldn’t bring himself to voice.
Her chest tightened, a smile tugging at her lips despite the lump in her throat. She looked up, catching his eyes, and whispered, “You’re right.”
He said nothing, only raised his cup slightly in quiet acknowledgment before taking a sip.
For the rest of the morning, they sat in comfortable silence. No grand confessions, no promises—just two souls speaking in gestures and glances, letting the quiet do the talking.
And as Kavya left the café that day, the pen felt heavier in her hand—not because of its weight, but because of what it carried.
A small act of kindness.
A quiet confession.
An unexpected gesture that lingered far longer than words ever could.
- Writer
