Chapter 3 – Silent Heartbeats
The days that followed were a blur of preparations. From Kabir’s small window, the world across the lane looked brighter than usual—strings of lights draped across Meera’s house, neighbors coming and going with congratulatory smiles, and the constant hum of voices filling the air.
For Kabir, however, every sound was a reminder of what he was losing. The crackle of laughter felt like thunder in his chest, the jingling of bangles like shackles around his heart. He spent hours at his desk, staring at the blank page, the pen hovering, his words trapped between fear and longing.
One evening, Meera slipped away again. She knocked lightly before letting herself in, carrying a small plate of sweets in her hand.
“Here,” she said cheerfully, setting it on his desk. “They made laddoos for the guests, but I know you won’t come out and take any yourself.”
Kabir looked at the plate, then at her. The warmth in her smile nearly undid him. He forced his voice to steady. “You know me too well.”
“Of course I do,” she replied, seating herself comfortably on the edge of his bed. “I’ve known you since I was six. You think you can hide from me?”
Kabir’s heart thudded painfully. Yes, he thought. I’ve hidden the most important part of myself from you for years.
She glanced at the stack of papers on his desk, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Are these your stories?”
Kabir quickly placed a hand over them. “Drafts,” he said hastily. “Nothing worth reading yet.”
Meera pouted playfully. “One day, you’ll have to let me read your work. You can’t hide it forever.”
Kabir managed a weak smile. One day, you’ll read every word. But not because I give them to you—because fate decides it.
There was a moment of silence between them. Meera toyed with the edge of the dupatta in her hands, her eyes soft. “You know,” she said suddenly, “everyone keeps talking about my marriage as if it’s the only thing that defines me. Sometimes I feel… small. Like I don’t belong to myself anymore.”
Kabir’s throat ached. He wanted to tell her she was not small, that to him she was the world itself. That he had built every dream around her without ever daring to say it aloud. But instead, he asked quietly, “And what do you want, Meera?”
She looked up, her expression thoughtful. “I want someone who understands me. Someone who won’t treat me like I’m just… an ornament. Someone who will sit with me when I’m tired and not ask for anything more than silence.”
Kabir’s chest burned. He was all of those things. He had always been that person. But she didn’t see it—perhaps because he had never allowed her to.
Before he could gather his courage, Meera laughed lightly, breaking the heaviness. “Maybe you should marry soon, Kabir. Imagine, both of us getting married around the same time! Our families would be thrilled.”
Her words struck him like a blow. He forced a laugh, masking the storm in his chest. “Maybe,” he said softly.
But that night, long after she left, Kabir’s mask crumbled.
He sat at his desk, the lamp casting a dim glow over the room, and wrote furiously:
“You say I should marry, as if my heart has room for anyone but you. How could I belong to another when every corner of me belongs to you already? Meera, you are in my laughter, in my silences, in the spaces between my breaths. And yet, I remain the friend you joke with, never the man you see. Perhaps that is my fate—to love you so deeply, so silently, that even God must wonder why I never speak.”
His hand trembled as he folded the letter, sliding it into the wooden box that had become heavier than his own heart. The lid creaked as it shut, echoing in the stillness of the night.
Kabir leaned back, his head against the wall, tears slipping silently down his face. He had always believed silence was safer. But now, as Meera’s laughter and her careless words replayed in his mind, silence felt like the cruelest prison.
And yet, even in his despair, he clung to one truth: he would rather suffer quietly than risk losing her completely.
For Kabir, love was not about possession—it was about sacrifice.
And so, the letters remained unsent.
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End of Chapter 3
