His hand was still around hers.
Not too tight.
Not hurting.
But not loose enough for her to forget it either.
It wasn't just a touch anymore.
It was a hold.
Arohi's breath felt uneven.
Her thoughts, scattered.
She could feel her heartbeat in places she didn't know existed—her chest, her throat, even in her fingertips where his hand rested.
And then—
he spoke.
"I like you," he said quietly.
"I really like you… a lot."
The words didn't hit her immediately.
They didn't feel real at first.
For a second, she almost smiled—
not because she was happy,
but because she thought—
he's joking.
"What have you even seen in me?" she asked, her voice soft, almost uncertain, a nervous disbelief hidden beneath it.
There was no hesitation in him.
"Everything about you is exquisite."
The way he said it—
calm, certain, without exaggeration—
made it harder to brush off.
Arohi slowly looked up.
Into his eyes.
And for a moment—
she didn't speak.
Because it didn't feel like she needed to.
There was something in the way he looked at her—
as if he already knew her.
As if he had seen the parts of her she never showed anyone.
As if all the things she hid—
weren't hidden from him at all.
It made her feel… exposed.
But not in a way that scared her.
In a way that made her feel—
seen.
Her lips parted slightly.
But no words came out.
Instead, something else did.
Something safer.
Something easier.
"I should go," she said softly.
"I'm sorry."
It wasn't really an apology.
Not for anything specific.
Just… an escape.
She gently tried to pull her hand back.
Tried to step away from the moment before it became something she couldn't control.
But then—
his grip changed.
Not harsh.
Not forceful.
But firmer.
For a second, it felt like he was about to pull her closer—
like he wanted to bring her into something more than just a moment.
More than just words.
Arohi froze.
Not because she was afraid.
But because she didn't know what she would do if he actually did.
He didn't pull her completely.
He just held her there.
Right at the edge of something unspoken.
And then he asked—
softly, almost like it mattered more than anything else—
"आप वापस कब आएंगे?"
(When will you come back?)
The question lingered.
Simple.
But heavy.
Arohi blinked, trying to gather herself.
"I don't know…" she said, her voice quieter now.
"Maybe next Monday."
He nodded.
Just once.
And somehow—
it felt like he understood more than what she had said.
As if he wasn't just listening to her words—
but to everything she wasn't saying.
Slowly—
he let go of her hand.
The warmth faded.
But the feeling didn't.
Arohi stepped back.
And for the first time since she had entered—
she smiled.
Not out of politeness.
Not out of habit.
But because something inside her had shifted.
She turned.
Walked out.
The air outside felt different now.
Heavier.
Quieter.
More real.
Her steps were slower this time.
Not rushed.
Not confused.
Just… thoughtful.
When she reached home, she didn't go inside immediately.
Instead—
she climbed up to the terrace.
It was her favorite place.
Always had been.
A space where the world felt distant enough to think.
To breathe.
To feel without being watched.
The evening sky stretched above her—
soft hues blending into each other, just like the colors that had once covered her skin earlier that day.
But those colors had faded.
His words hadn't.
"I like you."
"Everything about you is exquisite."
She repeated them in her mind.
Again.
And again.
Her heart responded each time.
Not calmly.
Not logically.
But deeply.
She sat down slowly, pulling her knees closer, resting her chin against them.
For the first time—
she didn't question herself.
She didn't ask—
why me?
She didn't think—
I'm not enough.
Because for a moment—
someone had looked at her
and chosen her
without hesitation.
And that feeling—
it stayed.
Arohi didn't say the words out loud.
She didn't even fully understand them.
But somewhere deep inside—
she knew.
She was in love.
Not loudly.
Not clearly.
But deeply.
And what made it even more dangerous—
was this:
she felt it wasn't one-sided.
He felt it too.
And that—
that made everything feel right.
Even later—
much later—
after everything that would happen…
after the cracks, the truth, the pain—
she wouldn't hate this moment.
She wouldn't hate him.
Not completely.
Because once—
for a brief, fragile period of time—
it had been real.
What he felt.
What she felt.
What existed between them.
And sometimes—
that was enough to stay with a person
long after everything else had fallen apart.