The world outside was hushed.
Puddles shimmered on the cracked stone path. Rain-soaked leaves clung to trees, their colors deeper now—green and gold, slick with dew. The air smelled of damp earth and something ancient, like time itself had paused.
Ansh stepped outside, drawn by something he didn't fully understand. She hadn't asked him to follow. But she also hadn't told him to stay.
He spotted her a little further down the path behind the house—barefoot, sweater still draping over her body like a soft secret. Her steps were slow, careful, as if she didn't want to disturb the earth beneath her.
He followed, matching her pace.
Neither of them spoke.
Birdsong echoed in the distance. The occasional drip of water from branches. And between all that—silence that wasn't awkward, but fragile. Sacred.
Riya stopped near a lone tree, its branches heavy with water, casting shadows that danced in the light breeze.
She turned.
Her hair was damp at the tips now. A small leaf clung to the back of her sweater. She looked at him, her eyes softer than he'd ever seen them.
"I used to come here as a girl," she said, voice light, lost in memory. "To this exact spot. Sit under this tree and dream about things I didn't understand."
"What kind of things?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"Love. Escape. Touch."
He froze.
She didn't.
Her fingers reached up, pulled the wet strand of hair behind her ear. She looked at her feet, then slowly stepped back under the tree's arching shade.
"Sometimes," she added, "I still come here when I feel too much."
"Too much?"
She nodded. "And you…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Didn't have to.
He walked toward her, slow and unsure, until only a foot of space stood between them. The tree's dripping leaves formed a curtain around them, sheltering them from the rest of the world.
"You confuse me," she whispered.
"I confuse myself."
Riya's lips curved slightly—a sad, almost fond smile.
Her hand lifted again. She reached out, paused—fingers trembling—and brushed his collarbone with the backs of her knuckles. A feather-light touch. Barely there. Yet it made his entire body react.
She looked at him with something between longing and guilt.
"Every time I look at you, I forget who I'm supposed to be."
He stepped closer.
"You don't have to be anyone with me."
That cracked her composure. Just for a second.
She closed her eyes. Sucked in a shaky breath. Then opened them again—and let her hand fall to his chest. Flat. Warm. Real.
"You make me feel young again," she said, almost brokenly. "And it scares me."
"You make me feel everything," he replied, voice husky. "And I don't want it to stop."
The tension peaked—ripe, heavy, undeniable.
Their faces were so close now he could feel her breath. Soft. Sweet. Unsteady.
She leaned forward, forehead brushing his.
Another almost.
Another pause.
And then—
The sound of laughter.
Innocent. Distant.
Children running on the nearby road.
It snapped Riya back.
She pulled away, too fast, her hand dropping from his chest like it had burned her.
"We can't," she said, barely audible. "Not here. Not like this."
Ansh didn't stop her.
Didn't reach out.
But his heart screamed.
And hers?
Hers was already halfway back down the path.