The soft ripple of water and the distant hum of the last lingering voices surrounded them. Arin sat still, watching Astha as she absentmindedly ran her fingers over the edge of the stone bench. The flickering lanterns from the lakeside restaurant cast long shadows, painting the moment in quiet intimacy.
Astha exhaled, leaning back against the bench. “You keep saying that, Verma.”
“Saying what?”
“That I should let people see this side of me.” She tilted her head, looking at him. “Why does it matter to you?”
Arin didn’t answer immediately. His fingers curled around the edge of the bench, his gaze fixed on the water.
“Because,” he finally said, “I think you don’t let people in, not because you don’t want to, but because you’re afraid that if you do, they’ll expect too much. That they’ll want parts of you that you’re not willing to give anymore.”
Astha froze slightly, the ease in her expression faltering.
Arin turned to her, his voice softer. “Am I wrong?”
She inhaled sharply and let out a humorless chuckle. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
He smiled. “Nope.”
She shook her head, staring at the lake. “You’re not wrong,” she admitted after a pause. “I’ve spent years making sure I keep my world in balance. My daughter, my parents, my work… There’s no space for anything else. And even if there was…” She trailed off.
Arin waited. “Even if there was?”
Astha let out a slow breath. “I don’t think I know how to let someone in anymore.”
Silence stretched between them. Not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind that carried weight. Understanding.
Arin exhaled, leaning back. “It’s not something you have to know how to do. It just happens.”
Astha scoffed. “Oh, so wise now?”
He grinned. “Always.”
She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Annoying, more like.”
Arin chuckled, shaking his head.
A Late-Night Walk and a Moment of Clarity
They started walking back toward the guesthouse. The streets were quieter now, the city slipping into sleep. Astha wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the cool night air against her skin.
Arin noticed and instinctively shrugged off his light jacket. Without a word, he draped it over her shoulders.
Astha blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Arin smiled. “I know. But you’re shivering, and I don’t feel like listening to you complain about how cold it was tomorrow.”
She rolled her eyes but pulled the jacket tighter around herself. “Efficient as always, Mr. Editor.”
“Someone has to be,” he teased.
They continued walking, their steps in sync.
Then, out of nowhere, Astha spoke. “You know, this was never supposed to happen.”
Arin raised an eyebrow. “What wasn’t?”
“This. Us. Whatever this is.”
He stopped walking. “And what is this?”
Astha hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Arin studied her for a long moment. “Do you want to know?”
She let out a nervous laugh. “No. That’s the problem.”
Arin exhaled. He understood what she was saying—what she wasn’t saying. Astha had spent years building walls, keeping herself safe in the predictability of her life. And here he was, shaking those foundations without even trying.
“I won’t push you,” he said finally. “But I’m not going to pretend that something’s not happening between us.”
Astha looked at him then, her guarded expression softening just slightly. “I know.”
And that was enough. For now.
The Unwelcome Surprise
They reached the guesthouse, and just as Astha was about to push open the door, her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out, frowning at the name on the screen. “It’s my dad.”
Arin watched as her expression changed from mild curiosity to concern as she answered.
“Hello? Papa?”
A pause. Then, “What? What happened?”
Arin immediately straightened.
Astha pressed a hand to her forehead. “I—okay, I’ll be there. I’ll take the next bus back.”
Arin didn’t wait for her to explain. “What’s wrong?”
She pocketed her phone, her face unreadable. “My mom fainted at home. She’s conscious now, but they’re taking her to the hospital for tests. I need to go back.”
Arin nodded. “I’m coming with you.”
Astha opened her mouth, ready to protest, but the look in his eyes told her there was no point.
She exhaled. “Fine. But if you start acting all protective and hovering, I will throw you off the bus.”
Arin smiled. “Noted.”
The Journey Home
They boarded a late-night bus back to their city, the urgency of the situation keeping both of them alert despite the exhaustion settling in. Astha sat by the window, staring out into the darkness, her fingers tapping restlessly against her knee.
Arin reached out, covering her hand with his.
Astha turned to look at him.
“She’ll be okay,” he said quietly.
Astha didn’t speak for a moment. Then, her fingers curled slightly beneath his.
It wasn’t much.
But it was enough.
The Arrival and the Hospital Visit
When they reached the hospital, Astha saw her father standing by the waiting area. The exhaustion in his eyes was clear, but he managed a small, reassuring smile.
Shanaya ran up to Astha and hugged her tightly. Astha could feel her daughter trembling slightly and, when she pulled back, saw the redness in her eyes.
Astha gently wiped Shanaya’s tears away. “She’s going to be fine, sweetheart. But right now, I need you to be strong. For Grandma. For Grandpa.”
Shanaya sniffled but nodded, determination settling into her features. “I will, Mom.”
Astha turned to her father. “You and Shanaya should go home. Get some rest. I’ll stay here and bring Mom home when she’s ready.”
Her father hesitated but finally nodded. Shanaya hugged her once more before leaving with him.
“I’ll stay too,” Arin said simply.
Astha turned to him, frowning. “No, you don’t have to. It’s late, and you’ve already done enough.”
Arin crossed his arms. “You’re right. I don’t have to. But I want to.”
She sighed but didn’t argue further. As she sat in the chair, Arin could see the way she was trying to mask her worries.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” he said, before walking off.
When he returned, he found Astha sitting with her hands covering her face, silent tears slipping through her fingers.
Without a word, he sat beside her. “I’m here,” he said softly.
She kept crying, leaning slightly toward him, until she realized—too late—that her tears had soaked his shirt. She pulled away, embarrassed. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
Arin smiled. “I’m honored to be your personal tissue, Mehra.”
Despite herself, Astha let out a watery chuckle. “You’re impossible.”
Arin took a napkin and gently wiped the stray tears off her cheek. As he did, something shifted inside him. He knew, in that moment, that he couldn’t just leave her. Not now. Not ever.
“Drink your coffee,” he said gently, placing the cup in her hands. “You need it.”
Astha took a sip, then exhaled. “You should go home, Arin. You have work tomorrow.”
“I’ll manage,” he said firmly. “Now, relax.”
She stared at him for a moment before finally giving up. Curling up on the seat, she rested her head against the armrest, exhaustion finally taking over. Within minutes, she had fallen asleep.
Arin watched her, his expression unreadable. Something about seeing her like this—so unguarded, so vulnerable—made something shift inside him. He had never cared about staying in one place before, but now, looking at Astha, he realized something undeniable.
He wanted to stay.
And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
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