The Words That Almost Escaped
Rain has a way of making truths impatient.
That evening, the city smelled of wet earth and fading sunlight. The sky still carried leftover clouds from the afternoon storm, hanging low like secrets waiting to fall.
Aarushi reached the bus stop later than usual.
Her day had been chaotic—files piling up, phone calls she barely remembered answering, colleagues asking questions she hadn’t heard properly. But none of that was the reason her chest felt tight.
She had been replaying Mira’s promise all day.
“I choose you.”
The words had stayed with her like a quiet echo she couldn’t silence.
Mira was already there, standing near the tea stall this time, fingers wrapped around a paper cup. Aarushi noticed the moment Mira spotted her—the way her posture straightened slightly, the small relief that softened her expression.
“You’re late,” Mira said gently.
“Work,” Aarushi replied, stepping closer.
Mira held out the extra tea cup she had been carrying.
“I guessed,” she said.
Aarushi took it, warmth spreading through her fingers instantly. The simple gesture made something inside her ache in a way she couldn’t explain.
They stood near the stall, steam rising between them, mixing with evening air.
“Rough day?” Mira asked.
“Loud day,” Aarushi corrected. “My head feels crowded.”
Mira nodded like she understood without needing details.
“Want to walk?” she asked.
Aarushi nodded.
They walked along a quieter road than usual, puddles reflecting orange streetlights, passing vehicles sending ripples through standing water. The city sounded distant here—like someone had turned down the volume on everything except their footsteps.
For a while, they spoke about ordinary things—office frustrations, a book Mira had started reading, the tea stall owner’s new playlist that somehow played the same song every evening.
But beneath the normal conversation, tension built quietly.
Aarushi felt it in the way Mira kept glancing at her, like she wanted to say something but didn’t trust the timing.
“Mira?” Aarushi said finally.
“Yes?”
“Are you thinking something you’re not saying?”
Mira laughed softly. “You’re getting very good at noticing that.”
“Answer the question.”
Mira stopped walking.
Aarushi turned toward her, heartbeat instantly louder.
“I am,” Mira admitted.
The streetlight above them flickered slightly, casting shadows that shifted across Mira’s face. For a moment, she looked younger. More unsure.
“I don’t know how to say this without ruining what we have,” Mira said.
Aarushi’s chest tightened. “Then don’t ruin it. Just say it.”
Mira studied her carefully, as if searching for permission she still wasn’t sure she had.
“I think…” Mira began, then stopped.
A passing car splashed through a puddle nearby, water scattering across the pavement like a distraction the universe had offered them.
Mira took a slow breath.
“I think I’m starting to feel something that scares me,” she said quietly.
Aarushi didn’t speak.
She couldn’t.
“Not because it’s wrong,” Mira continued. “Because it feels… important. And important things have broken me before.”
The honesty pressed into Aarushi’s heart like weight she welcomed and feared at the same time.
“I don’t want to rush into calling it anything,” Mira added. “But I don’t want to pretend it’s just friendship either.”
The world seemed to pause around them.
Rainwater dripped from tree leaves. Distant horns echoed faintly. Someone laughed from a nearby building balcony.
Life continued.
But Aarushi felt like everything inside her had stopped moving.
“Mira…” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“I’ve been scared too.”
Mira’s eyes softened.
“I’ve been scared that I’m feeling more than I’m allowed to,” Aarushi continued. “That one day I’ll say something and it will push you away.”
Mira stepped closer, slowly, giving Aarushi time to step back if she wanted.
She didn’t.
“You won’t push me away by telling the truth,” Mira said.
Aarushi swallowed hard. Words gathered inside her chest, heavy and desperate to escape.
“I think I’m falling—”
She stopped herself.
Fear rose instantly, sharp and familiar.
Mira didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. She simply waited.
The silence stretched, trembling but unbroken.
“I don’t know how to finish that sentence,” Aarushi admitted finally.
Mira smiled—soft, understanding, heartbreakingly gentle.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “Not yet.”
The relief that flooded Aarushi’s chest surprised her. Tears blurred her vision before she could stop them.
“I hate crying,” she muttered, turning slightly away.
Mira reached out instinctively—then paused mid-air, giving Aarushi the choice.
Aarushi noticed.
She turned back.
And stepped forward.
The hug happened quietly.
No sudden movement.
No dramatic pull.
Just two people leaning into each other carefully, as if both were afraid the other might disappear if they held too tightly.
Aarushi felt Mira’s hand rest against her back—steady, grounding, warm. Mira felt Aarushi’s fingers grip her jacket slightly, like she was anchoring herself against something real.
The world blurred around them.
Traffic sounds faded. Rainwater dripped from rooftops. Someone’s music played faintly from a distant shop.
Neither of them spoke.
They simply stayed.
After a long moment, Aarushi whispered against Mira’s shoulder,
“Thank you for not rushing me.”
Mira closed her eyes briefly.
“Thank you for staying,” she replied.
They slowly pulled apart, though their hands remained lightly connected, fingers brushing like neither wanted to fully break the moment.
“Are we okay?” Aarushi asked softly.
Mira smiled.
“We’re honest,” she said. “That’s better than okay.”
They resumed walking, closer than before, hands occasionally touching, neither pretending it was accidental anymore.
And Aarushi realized something as they reached the bus stop again—
Sometimes love doesn’t arrive through confessions.
Sometimes it grows through the courage to almost say them.
