The car ride felt almost too quiet.
The engine hummed, the road stretched out before them, and the air inside the vehicle was thick with unspoken words. The radio played softly in the background—something slow, something nostalgic—but it barely touched the silence between them.
Ansh drove, keeping his focus on the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. He could feel her presence beside him, could feel the way she sat just a little too still, a little too close. Her perfume—jasmine and something soft, something earthy—drifted into his senses, clouding his thoughts.
Riya sat next to him, eyes looking out the window, her posture perfect as always. But Ansh saw the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her hands rested loosely on her lap, as if she were trying not to fidget.
The drive was short, but in that small space, everything felt magnified.
"Do you miss it?" Riya asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a soft blade.
Ansh's heart skipped a beat. He glanced over at her, but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the passing scenery, her fingers brushing against the edge of her seat as if for comfort.
"Miss what?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
"Your life before all of this." She gestured vaguely to the car, to their surroundings, to the strange dynamic that had unfolded between them. "Before all this... complication."
Ansh exhaled slowly, unsure of how to answer. "I don't know. I didn't have a lot of plans before."
Her lips pressed together, as if weighing something. She didn't say anything for a few moments, just watched the trees blur past.
He had to say something.
"Do you miss it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her gaze flickered briefly toward him, but then she quickly looked away again. She laughed softly, but it was tinged with something brittle.
"Sometimes," she admitted. "But then again... sometimes the things that make you feel alive also bring you the most pain."
The words hung in the air, thick with meaning. Ansh swallowed hard, his mind racing with all the things she could be implying.
The silence stretched again, and it felt like something was building between them. The car ride, the closeness, the shared words—it was all leading to something he wasn't sure he was ready for.
He risked another glance at her, catching a glimpse of her soft profile in the dim light. Her skin glowed faintly, the sharpness of her jawline a reminder of her maturity, her elegance. And yet there was a softness in her—something hidden beneath the carefully crafted layers of grace.
Ansh's fingers brushed against the gearshift, and for a second, he thought about reaching out. Just a touch. A small gesture to let her know he understood.
But then, as if reading his mind, Riya shifted in her seat, turning slightly away from him. A subtle movement, but one that didn't escape his notice.
She was pulling away again.
It was like she couldn't help herself. She couldn't let him in. Not fully.
He wanted to ask her—wanted to ask her—what she was really thinking. What she was really feeling.
But instead, he kept his eyes on the road.
The silence in the car was almost unbearable now. It wasn't the comfortable kind of quiet they'd shared before, not the kind that made the space between them feel safe. No, this silence felt heavy—filled with the things they couldn't say, the feelings they couldn't acknowledge.
And then, as they approached the small town they'd come to visit, Riya spoke again, her voice soft and low.
"I didn't mean to... confuse you."
Ansh's heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"
Her gaze flickered to him once more, and this time it lingered. For the briefest moment, her eyes met his—searching, hesitant, and something else too... almost like a plea.
"I... I'm not sure what I want anymore," she confessed, her voice almost a whisper.
Ansh's breath caught in his chest. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into the moment, to say the things that were dancing on the tip of his tongue.
But instead, he stayed still, waiting.
And just as quickly, she turned away again, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"I'm sorry," she added quickly, almost too quickly. "Let's just get the supplies."
The finality in her tone was clear. She was closing the door, and she was doing it before he could step through.
Ansh wanted to say something—to ask her to stop, to look at him again, to talk—but he kept his mouth shut.
Instead, he focused on the road. Focused on the distance between them that was stretching again, growing wider, harder to cross.