PART 5: The Comfort of Unspoken Words
The next morning arrived quietly, as if it didn’t want to disturb the thoughts Aarushi had carried into sleep.
She woke before her alarm.
For a few seconds, she lay still, staring at the pale light creeping through the curtains. Her mind felt unusually awake—alert, restless, full. She reached for her phone instinctively, then stopped.
Why am I checking already? she asked herself.
She didn’t have Mira’s number.
No messages were waiting.
No plans were made beyond a simple “tomorrow.”
And yet, tomorrow felt close.
Aarushi got out of bed and stood near the window. The city looked ordinary—vendors setting up stalls, a dog chasing a bicycle, distant horns blending into familiar noise. Everything was the same.
Except her.
She touched the sketch lying on her desk—the one Mira had drawn at the bus stop, the one from the café, the one that captured space instead of touch. She didn’t know why these drawings mattered so much, only that they did.
They felt like proof.
Proof that what she was feeling wasn’t imagined.
At the office, Aarushi tried to focus.
She really did.
But her attention drifted, again and again, to the clock on her screen. Time moved slowly, stubbornly. Every task felt heavier than usual, like she was carrying something invisible alongside her work.
Riya noticed.
“You’re distracted,” she said, lowering her voice. “Want to talk?”
Aarushi shook her head gently. “Not yet.”
Riya studied her face, then nodded. “Okay. When you’re ready.”
That small kindness stayed with Aarushi all day.
The evening air was cooler when Aarushi reached the bus stop.
She stood there, hands loosely clasped, not checking her phone this time. She didn’t want to miss anything by looking away.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Mira arrived quietly, like she belonged there.
She wore a light sweater today, her sketchbook tucked under her arm, hair falling freely around her face. When she saw Aarushi, her expression softened instantly—relief, warmth, recognition.
“You’re already here,” Mira said.
“So are you,” Aarushi replied.
They smiled at each other, the kind of smile that didn’t need effort.
“How was your day?” Mira asked.
“Long,” Aarushi said. Then added, honestly, “But this helps.”
Mira’s eyes lingered on her.
“I’m glad.”
They stood side by side, watching the road. A bus passed, then another. Neither of them moved.
“Do you ever feel like,” Mira began slowly, “some days are louder inside than outside?”
Aarushi turned to her.
“Yes,” she said immediately. “All the time.”
Mira nodded, as if that answer confirmed something.
“I draw on those days,” she said. “Not because I want to create something perfect… but because it keeps me grounded.”
Aarushi hesitated, then asked, “What do you do on days when drawing isn’t enough?”
Mira was quiet for a moment.
“Then I walk,” she said. “Or sit somewhere unfamiliar. Or… I talk to someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.”
Aarushi felt something soften in her chest.
“Like now?” she asked.
Mira smiled.
“Like now.”
They decided not to wait for the bus.
Instead, they walked.
No destination. No hurry. Just the sound of their footsteps, the city lights flickering on one by one.
Aarushi realized she wasn’t anxious. Not calculating time. Not planning what to say next.
She was simply present.
“That’s new for me,” she admitted suddenly.
Mira glanced at her. “What is?”
“This,” Aarushi said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Not overthinking.”
Mira laughed softly.
“Then we should protect it.”
They walked a little longer, then stopped near a small park. The benches were empty, the air calm.
They sat.
Not too close. Not too far.
Comfortable.
“Mira,” Aarushi said quietly, “can I ask you something personal?”
Mira turned toward her fully. “You can ask me anything.”
“What scares you?”
The question hung between them.
Mira didn’t answer immediately.
She looked ahead, at the dark trees, the faint glow of streetlights.
“Being misunderstood,” she said finally. “Being seen only for what I give… not for who I am.”
Aarushi listened carefully.
“And you?” Mira asked. “What scares you?”
Aarushi’s fingers curled slightly in her lap.
“Getting attached,” she said. “And realizing too late that I expected more than the other person ever meant to give.”
Mira didn’t interrupt. She didn’t dismiss it.
She just nodded.
“That makes sense,” she said softly.
The validation felt like warmth spreading through Aarushi’s chest.
A silence followed.
Not awkward.
Not heavy.
Just… shared.
Mira reached into her bag and took out her sketchbook. She didn’t open it immediately.
“Sometimes,” she said, “the most important moments aren’t the ones you draw… but the ones you remember how they felt.”
Aarushi looked at her.
“Like this?”
“Yes,” Mira said. “Exactly like this.”
Their eyes met.
There was no rush. No urgency. Just a quiet understanding that something real was unfolding at its own pace.
When the time came to part, neither of them said it first.
The night had deepened, the street quieter now.
“I should go,” Aarushi said eventually, though she didn’t stand right away.
Mira nodded. “Me too.”
They stood together, facing each other.
For a moment, Aarushi thought Mira might reach out.
She didn’t.
And somehow, that restraint meant more.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Aarushi asked.
Mira smiled, steady and sure.
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
They walked in opposite directions, then both turned back at the same time.
They laughed.
The sound stayed with Aarushi long after she reached home.
That night, Aarushi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling again—but this time, her thoughts were calm.
She realized something important.
She wasn’t falling.
She was opening.
And that felt safer than she had ever expected.
