Chapter-3
1049 Words
The next morning, Meera didn’t get on the bus.
Aarav waited. And waited.
Finally, he decided to stay on the bus anyway.
He needed to see her.
At her stop, he got off and called her.
“Come outside,” he said.
“Why? What happened?”
“I missed the bus,” he lied.
“You missed it? How?”
“I was thinking of something,” he said.
She sighed. “You’re unbelievable. Wait there.”
When she walked out, she wore an oversized t-shirt, hair messy, no makeup. But she looked real—comfortably herself.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Let’s spend the day together,” he said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “A whole day?”
“Yes. To make up for yesterday.”
She hesitated… then nodded slowly.
They strolled through the city—visiting a bookstore, feeding stray dogs, laughing over terrible samosas, sharing stories they’d never told anyone else.
At a park bench, Meera leaned back and closed her eyes.
“I needed this,” she whispered.
Aarav looked at her carefully. “I know.”
She opened her eyes and smiled softly.
And for the first time in days, she looked peaceful.
In the evening, Meera suddenly said, “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
Aarav blinked. “Meera… your mother—”
“She wants to meet you,” she said casually. Too casually.
He froze.
When they entered her house, her mother was in the kitchen, making tea. She looked at Aarav, smiled knowingly, and said:
“So this is the boy.”
Aarav almost choked. “B–Boy?”
Meera glared at her mother. “Maa!”
But her mother just laughed and handed them tea.
As they sat together, her mother asked gentle questions—Where he lived, what he did, what he liked.
But what surprised Aarav most was how closely she watched Meera while he answered. There was a softness in her eyes, a kind of approval.
After tea, Meera walked him out.
“Sorry if she embarrassed you,” she murmured.
“She didn’t.”
Meera’s voice lowered. “She… likes you.”
“And you?”
Meera flushed. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
He smiled.
But his heart didn’t.
His heart soared.
For days after meeting her mother, Aarav felt something new—
fear.
Not fear of losing Meera…
but fear of not deserving her.
One evening, he confessed it.
“What if I’m not enough for you?” he asked quietly.
They were sitting at their usual tea stall, legs swinging from the pavement.
Meera turned to him, confused. “Enough? Aarav, you’re—”
“Meera…” he interrupted, looking down. “You’re gentle. Thoughtful. Soft. And I’m… messy. Confused. Scared.”
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then she took his face in her hands.
“Aarav,” she whispered, “the only thing I need is someone who doesn’t run.”
Her voice trembled.
“And you’ve only walked closer.”
He swallowed hard, eyes stinging.
She rested her forehead against his.
“I don’t need perfect,” she murmured. “I need present.”
At that moment, something shattered and rebuilt inside him.
Something like confidence.
Something like home.
Something like love.
Aarav had seen Meera worried before, but never like this.
They were sitting on the rooftop of his house, legs dangling over the edge, sipping the cutting chai his mother made for them. The sun was melting behind the buildings when Meera sighed—deep, tired, and heavy.
“Aarav… what if one day you realize I’m not enough?”
Aarav’s cup froze halfway to his lips.
“Where is this coming from?”
“I don’t know,” she lied.
He could always tell when she was hiding something.
He moved closer, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Meera. You’re not ‘enough’…”
He waited until she looked at him.
“You’re everything.”
Her eyes filled instantly. She leaned into him, letting silence do the healing.
And in that quiet moment, Aarav made himself a promise.
No matter what came—fear, doubt, storms, distance—he would stay.
Always.
That night the rain came hard, drenching the city in sheets of silver.
Aarav and Meera were walking home, sharing one umbrella that was too small for both of them. Their shoulders pressed together; their hands brushed; electricity hummed between them like the storm itself.
Suddenly, Meera stopped.
“Aarav, stay still.”
He blinked. “What happened?”
She reached up and gently wiped raindrops from his eyelashes.
“You look…”
She hesitated.
“…like you walked out of a dream I wasn’t ready to have.”
Aarav’s breath caught.
“Meera,” he whispered, “I’m right here. Fully awake.”
The umbrella tilted, rain soaking both of them as they stood there—eyes locked, breaths warm, hearts racing.
“I’m scared of how much I feel,” she admitted.
“Then feel it,” he said softly.
“With me.”
And under the rain, they made a silent promise—one that felt more sacred than any vow spoken in a temple.
Love wasn’t perfect, and they learned that one evening.
Aarav had been busy with an internship assignment. Meera waited for him at their usual bus stop.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Her messages were delivered, but he didn’t see them.
By the time he arrived, she was already walking away.
“Meera! Wait!”
But she didn’t stop.
He finally caught up, breathless.
“I’m sorry—I got stuck in—”
“I waited for 40 minutes, Aarav.”
Her voice trembled.
“Just tell me next time. Don’t make me feel like I’m waiting for someone who won’t come.”
Aarav’s guilt hit him hard.
He gently held her hand.
“I didn’t ignore you. I messed up. But never, never think I wouldn’t come.”
Her shoulders softened, and she whispered, “I know. I was just scared.”
He pulled her into his chest.
“You’ll never wait alone. Not for me.”
Their first fight ended in tears—but also in understanding.
- Writer
