The Night He Almost Told Her
524 Words
The drive was quiet.
Maximilian kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the edge of the gearshift. Outside, the Tuscan countryside blurred into dark blue and silver. The moon was high, casting long shadows over the vineyard hills. Crickets sang softly in the distance. The air smelled of grapes, wind, and something else between them—something unspoken.
Anindya sat beside him, her white dress replaced with a light shawl. Her hair was loose again, curling slightly from the humidity. She hadn’t said much since the celebration. But her silence was not cold.
It was heavy. Like the silence before a storm.
⸻
They reached the curve where the vineyard met the long road to the villa.
He slowed the car. Then stopped.
She looked at him.
He didn’t speak. Not right away.
His knuckles tightened around the wheel, then released.
“I should have danced with you longer,” he said quietly.
She blinked. “You think that’s why I haven’t spoken?”
He gave a faint, humorless smile. “No. But I wish I had.”
She turned her body slightly toward him, the shawl slipping from one shoulder.
“Why did you say that to me?”
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
Don’t ever wear white again unless it’s for me.
He ran a hand through his hair.
“Because I meant it.”
She inhaled slowly.
“Don’t say things you don’t understand,” she whispered.
“I do understand.”
“No, Maximilian.” Her voice shook. “You say things like you’ve never had to bleed for them. But people like me… we can’t afford to believe too easily.”
He looked at her then—truly looked.
And for the first time, she saw it.
Fear.
Not of her. Not of the future.
But of himself.
He leaned back against the headrest, eyes closing.
“I’ve never said this to anyone,” he said, voice low. “Not a woman. Not my mother. Not even myself.”
Anindya waited.
But he didn’t continue.
Instead, he opened his eyes, turned to her, and said something else.
Softer. Simpler.
“When I’m near you… I remember who I was before the world taught me to forget.”
⸻
The car filled with silence again.
Her hands folded in her lap, fingers fidgeting.
She didn’t know what to say to that.
So she reached for the car door handle.
“I should go.”
He nodded once, but didn’t move to stop her.
She stepped out into the night. The gravel crunched beneath her feet. The moonlight kissed her shoulders.
She didn’t look back.
But just as she reached the steps of the villa, his voice called out to her.
“Anindya.”
She turned.
He stepped out of the car, headlights casting his silhouette in gold.
“I’m not ready to say it yet,” he said. “But I want you to know… you’re the only person I’ve ever almost said it to.”
And that—more than any confession—was what made her heart race.
Because sometimes, almost means everything.
- Writer
