Morning in Ladakh arrived quietly.
Soft sunlight reflected off the endless white snow, filling the room with a pale golden glow that felt calm… almost unreal.
Meher stirred slowly, her eyes opening as she adjusted to the light.
For a moment—
everything felt normal.
Then reality returned.
The mountains.
The cold.
The marriage.
Him.
Her gaze shifted.
And there he was.
Aarav stood near the window, his back facing her, hands in his pockets, staring outside like he had been there for hours.
Still.
Silent.
Unmoving.
"Do you ever sleep?" she asked, her voice soft but clear.
A small pause.
"Sometimes," he replied.
"That's not an answer."
Now he turned slightly, just enough for her to see his face.
"Depends."
"On what?"
His eyes met hers.
Deep.
Focused.
"On you."
Her breath caught.
"Me?" she frowned, confused.
"If you're calm," he said, "I sleep."
Silence filled the room.
"That's… weird," she muttered.
"Everything about me is."
She didn't argue.
Because that much was true.
But something about his answer stayed with her.
Later that day—
the sky was clear, the mountains glowing under sunlight.
Meher stepped outside, wrapping a shawl around herself.
The cold brushed against her skin, but she didn't mind it as much anymore.
"Akele?" a familiar voice called.
She turned.
"Rohan…"
He walked toward her with an easy smile.
"Good to see you again," he said warmly.
"Same here," she smiled back.
A real one.
Effortless.
From a distance—
Aarav watched.
His eyes darkened slightly.
Again.
"Tum theek ho na?" Rohan asked softly.
(Are you okay?)
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then nodded.
"Yes."
"Sach?" he studied her carefully.
"Sach," she repeated, smiling.
But Rohan didn't look convinced.
"You've changed," he said quietly.
Her smile faded a little.
"Everyone does."
"Not like this."
Before she could respond—
"Meher."
That voice.
Her heartbeat skipped.
She turned.
Aarav stood there.
Still.
Calm.
But his presence changed everything.
"Chalo," he said simply.
(Come.)
She frowned slightly.
"I'm talking."
"I know."
Silence.
Rohan stepped back slightly.
"I'll leave—"
"No," Meher said quickly.
Aarav's gaze snapped to her.
And just like that—
the air changed.
"Tumein problem hai?" she asked him directly.
(Do you have a problem?)
Aarav stepped closer.
"Yes."
Her breath caught.
"Phir?" she challenged.
"Phir bhi yahan khadi ho?"
(And still you're standing here?)
Rohan tried to ease the tension.
"Hey, relax—"
Aarav's eyes shifted sharply to him.
"Stay out of this."
The tone was cold.
Dangerous.
Meher stepped forward immediately.
"Don't talk to him like that."
Silence.
That line—
hit harder than anything else.
Aarav looked at her.
Really looked at her.
"Tum uski taraf ho?" he asked quietly.
(Are you on his side?)
"This isn't about sides," she replied.
"Everything is."
The tension was unbearable now.
"Tum samajh kyun nahi rahi?" Aarav's voice dropped.
(Why don't you understand?)
"Samajhun kya?" she shot back.
(Understand what?)
"That I don't like him around you."
Her eyes widened.
"And why should that matter?" she asked.
A pause.
"Because it matters to me."
Her heart skipped.
"But why?" she whispered.
Silence.
A long silence.
For a moment—
it felt like he would finally say it.
Something real.
Something honest.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes softened slightly.
But then—
"I don't share."
The moment broke.
Her expression fell.
"That's not an answer," she said quietly.
"It is for me."
She shook her head.
"No… it's not."
For the first time—
she stepped closer to him.
"Say it properly," she whispered.
His breath hitched.
"Say why it matters."
Their eyes locked.
Time slowed.
But instead of answering—
He stepped back.
"Inside."
Her heart dropped slightly.
That wasn't what she wanted.
Not this time.
Later that evening—
the silence between them grew heavier.
Meher stood near the fireplace, her arms crossed, lost in thought.
"You wanted an answer," Aarav's voice came from behind.
She turned instantly.
He stood closer now.
More present.
"Now I'll give you one."
Her heartbeat picked up.
"Why does it matter?" she asked again.
He stepped closer.
"Because when I see you with him…"
A pause.
"…I don't like it."
"That's not enough."
His jaw tightened.
"You smiling at him…"
Her breath hitched.
"…I don't like that either."
She swallowed.
"And when he stands close to you…"
He moved even closer.
"…I feel like pulling you away."
Her heart pounded loudly.
"And why?" she whispered again.
This time—
he didn't look away.
"Because…"
A long pause.
The air felt heavy.
Still.
"…because I can't stand the idea of someone else having your attention."
Her breath caught.
"That's still not—"
He cut her off.
"Because I want it."
Silence.
"You want what?" she asked softly.
"Your attention."
A pause.
"Only mine."
Her chest tightened.
"And if I don't give it?" she challenged.
His gaze darkened.
"You will."
Her breath hitched.
"Why are you so sure?"
He stepped closer.
"Because you already are."
Her eyes widened.
"I'm not—"
"Tum ho," he said quietly.
(You are.)
Silence.
Her heartbeat was loud.
Too loud.
Because deep down—
she wasn't sure anymore.
"Yeh jo tum feel kar rahi ho…" he murmured.
(What you're feeling…)
"…yeh sirf darr nahi hai."
(It's not just fear.)
Her breath stopped.
"Then what is it?" she whispered.
He looked at her deeply.
"Tum khud samajh jaogi."
(You'll understand it yourself.)
Silence.
For a moment—
they stood too close.
Too aware.
And then—
Meher stepped back.
Breaking everything.
"I need air," she said quickly.
And walked out.
Outside—
the cold hit her again.
But this time—
it didn't matter.
Her heart was racing too fast.
"What is this…" she whispered.
Footsteps approached behind her.
"Running away again?" Aarav's voice came.
"I'm not running," she replied.
"Then face me."
She turned slowly.
This time—
he didn't come too close.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
A pause.
"Sach?" he said.
(Truth?)
She nodded.
"Main chahta hoon ki tum mujhe ignore karna band karo."
(I want you to stop ignoring me.)
Her heart skipped.
"That's it?" she asked.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Filhaal ke liye."
(For now.)
Silence.
The distance between them still existed.
But something else existed too.
Something new.
Something neither of them could name yet.
And maybe—
That was the most dangerous part of all.