Chapter 13 – A Tangled Path
934 Words
The rain had stopped, but the city still carried the scent of it—fresh, uncertain, like a promise yet to be fulfilled.
Kavya walked briskly along the narrow lane leading to the café, her mind still replaying the strange moment from yesterday. Aryan had been distant, his tone cooler than usual, his eyes unreadable. She had said something—something that must have landed wrong—and now there was this quiet tension between them.
She tried to brush it off. Maybe he was simply tired. Maybe it was all in her head.
But when she reached the café and saw him there—seated in his usual spot, back straight, coffee untouched—her heart told her otherwise.
“Aryan,” she greeted softly.
He looked up, his expression polite but careful. “Kavya.”
There it was—the wall. Subtle, invisible, but unmistakable.
She took the seat across from him anyway, forcing a small smile. “You’re early today.”
“I needed some quiet,” he said simply, eyes fixed on the window.
Something in his voice made her chest tighten. Quiet used to mean her—their quiet mornings, the unspoken comfort of being near. But today, his quiet felt like distance.
Kavya stirred her drink just to keep her hands busy. “Did I… say something yesterday? You seem different.”
He paused, then exhaled. “It’s nothing.”
She frowned. “Aryan, that’s not an answer.”
He hesitated. “I just don’t want to be misunderstood, Kavya.”
Her heart skipped. “Misunderstood? About what?”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “About us.”
For a moment, the world seemed to still. The hum of the café faded into nothing.
“Us?” she echoed softly.
Aryan’s jaw tightened. “People have started talking.”
“People?” she repeated, a hint of disbelief in her tone. “About what?”
He looked away, frustration flickering beneath the calm. “That we’re… close.”
The words stung more than she expected.
“And we’re not?” she asked quietly.
He finally looked at her then, his gaze sharp with emotion he didn’t know how to name. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” she pressed, her voice trembling.
Aryan’s silence was heavy, filled with the things he wanted to say but couldn’t. He wanted to tell her that she had become a part of his every thought, that he caught himself looking for her in every crowd, that her absence felt louder than noise.
But years of restraint held him back. He wasn’t ready to admit it—not even to himself.
“I just don’t want to complicate things,” he said at last.
Kavya smiled, but it was the kind that hurt. “Too late for that, isn’t it?”
He blinked, startled.
“I mean,” she continued softly, “we keep running into each other. We talk, we share moments, we… understand each other without words. Tell me, Aryan, does that feel uncomplicated to you?”
Aryan’s throat felt tight. “You’re overthinking.”
“Am I?” she whispered.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Kavya picked up her bag, her eyes glistening though she refused to let the tears fall.
“I should go,” she said, rising from her seat. “I wouldn’t want people to misunderstand.”
He stood too quickly. “Kavya—wait—”
But she was already walking away, her steps quick, her heart heavier than she could bear.
Outside, the street shimmered under the weak afternoon sun. She walked aimlessly, unaware of the people around her, her mind tangled in a storm of emotions—hurt, confusion, longing.
Why did it matter what others thought? Why did he have to care so much about appearances when something real was right there between them?
Back in the café, Aryan sat down slowly, guilt settling in like a weight on his chest. He hadn’t meant to push her away. He just didn’t know how to hold her close without losing control of everything he’d built around himself.
He glanced at the empty seat across from him and sighed.
Maybe fate was playing games. Maybe they were walking the same path, only from opposite directions.
Later that evening, as the sky turned indigo, Kavya stood at the edge of the bridge near her apartment. The city lights shimmered on the water below. Her phone buzzed once—Aryan’s name flashing across the screen.
She hesitated before answering. “Hello?”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” his voice came, low and strained. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
“I just…” he paused, struggling. “I’m not used to this. To feeling like someone sees me.”
Her eyes softened, the anger dissolving. “You don’t have to push me away because of it, Aryan.”
There was silence. Then he said quietly, “I know.”
Neither of them spoke after that. They just listened—to the soft hum of traffic, to the quiet between their breaths, to everything that lingered unspoken.
Sometimes, connections aren’t broken by arguments—but by the fear of what they might become.
That night, they both lay awake, staring at their ceilings miles apart, wondering if fate was cruel or kind to keep tangling their paths this way.
Because no matter how much they tried to stay away, something—or someone—always pulled them back together.
- Writer
