Chapter 18 – The First Step Back
Some returns are quiet.
They don't come with fireworks or grand declarations.
Sometimes, they begin with a single look across a crowded room—or one word said softer than before.
For Mehar and Aarav, it began with a shared silence that no longer felt heavy.
—
They weren't together again.
Not yet.
But the distance between them had started to shrink in small, almost invisible ways.
A message about the upcoming assignment.
A question about class schedules.
A nod in the hallway.
No smiles.
No comfort.
But no hostility either.
It was progress.
And sometimes, the smallest step forward is louder than running back.
—
Aarav was changing.
Not for show. Not for her.
But because losing her had shown him how reckless comfort can be.
He paid more attention to his words now—how he spoke about emotions, especially his own.
He stopped brushing off things as "not a big deal" just because they didn't hurt him.
He began journaling again, something he had dropped months ago. It helped him understand himself better.
But most of all, he learned the value of presence—not just being around, but being aware.
—
Mehar noticed.
Not right away.
But in the way he apologized to others without defensiveness.
In how he didn't interrupt anymore when someone was venting.
In how he stood a little further back—not out of distance, but out of respect.
She saw it in the way he stopped trying to win her back… and started trying to understand why he lost her.
—
One afternoon, after class, she found him sitting by himself under the old banyan tree near the back of the campus.
He wasn't waiting for her.
He didn't even know she was there.
But something about his solitude looked familiar—soft, thoughtful, quiet.
So she walked up and sat down beside him.
He looked up, startled.
"I liked your essay in literature class," she said, eyes on the fallen leaves in front of them. "It felt real."
He swallowed. "Thanks. It was real."
They didn't speak for a while.
Birds chirped above. The sun filtered through the branches.
"I miss us," she admitted, her voice almost a whisper.
He turned to her, cautious. "I miss us too. But I don't want to rush you. Or this."
She nodded. "I'm not promising anything yet. I just… I want to try talking again. Without pretending everything's fine."
"That's more than enough," he said gently.
And it was.
Because the hardest part wasn't falling in love.
It was rebuilding something fragile—with honesty this time.
—
That evening, Mehar sent him a message.
Just one line:
"Let's meet tomorrow. No past talk. Just coffee."
He smiled when he saw it.
Not because it meant everything was fixed.
But because it meant something wasn't broken anymore.
They were learning to walk again.
Side by side.
Slower this time.
But with their eyes wide open.
—