A few days had passed since Arin had spent time in Astha’s apartment waiting for the locksmith. Their interactions remained brief—polite nods in the hallway, an occasional good morning exchanged as they left for work. Yet, something about their dynamic had shifted.
One evening, Arin stood at his balcony, leaning against the railing. His gaze drifted to the adjoining space, where Astha sat curled up on a swing, a cup of tea resting in her hands, the soft hum of an old radio playing in the background. The gentle strains of a familiar melody carried through the air, blending with the evening breeze.
She seemed at ease, lost in thought, her fingers curled around the ceramic of her mug. Arin watched as she closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the music, before taking another sip of tea.
Sensing his gaze, she turned her head slightly and caught him watching. “Are you always this quiet, Mr. Verma? Or is that your way of observing the world?”
Arin didn’t flinch at being caught. Instead, he offered a small, knowing smile. “Perhaps a bit of both.”
Astha set her tea down, crossing her arms. “How was your day?”
The question surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to initiate conversation, yet here she was, casually asking as though they had been doing this for years.
“Uneventful,” he admitted. “And yours?”
“Busy, as usual.” She shrugged. “But this moment—tea, music, the evening breeze—makes up for it.”
Arin nodded, observing the way she seemed to melt into the moment. There was something peaceful about her, something that made him question the efficiency-driven world he had left behind.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking about time.
He was simply existing in it.
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