The Moment Between Breaths
Some moments arrive quietly—
so quietly that you almost miss them while they are happening.
And then later, they become the memory your heart returns to the most.
The days after the riverfront evening felt softer.
Not lighter.
Not simpler.
Just… gentler.
Aarushi noticed how easily Mira’s presence had started blending into her routine. Morning tea tasted different because she knew evening conversations waited for her. Work stress felt smaller because somewhere in the city, someone listened without trying to fix her.
That evening, winter had started touching the air. The wind carried a faint chill, making people walk faster, wrap scarves tighter, hurry toward warm homes.
Aarushi reached the bus stop, rubbing her palms together for warmth.
“You should really start carrying gloves.”
She turned.
Mira stood behind her, holding two paper cups again, her breath slightly visible in the cooling air.
“You sound like my mother,” Aarushi teased.
“I sound like someone who notices you’re always cold,” Mira replied casually.
The small sentence made Aarushi’s chest warm more than the tea cup did.
They walked toward their usual quieter road, the sky already deep indigo, streetlights glowing softly through thin mist. Their shoulders brushed occasionally, neither moving away anymore.
“Can I ask you something?” Mira said.
“You always can.”
“Do you ever feel like time moves differently when we’re together?”
Aarushi smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
Mira looked at her, curious.
“Slower,” Aarushi continued. “But not heavy. Just… fuller.”
Mira nodded like she understood exactly what she meant.
They reached a small park they rarely entered before. The gate stood half open, lights dim but warm inside. A few people sat on distant benches, couples talking softly, leaves rustling under gentle wind.
“Let’s sit here today,” Mira said.
They chose a bench beneath an old tree, branches stretching above them like quiet shelter. The night air smelled faintly of damp soil and fallen leaves.
For a while, they spoke about ordinary things again—Mira’s unfinished painting, Aarushi’s office gossip, the tea stall owner who had started recognizing them.
But underneath the normalcy, something deeper waited.
A silence arrived—not empty, not awkward. Just aware.
“Mira?” Aarushi said softly.
“Yes?”
“What are you thinking right now?”
Mira smiled slightly.
“That I’m scared of this moment ending.”
Aarushi’s breath slowed.
“It hasn’t ended,” she said gently.
“I know,” Mira replied. “That’s why it scares me.”
She turned slightly toward Aarushi, her expression unusually open, unguarded.
“I used to think love was loud,” Mira continued. “Big gestures. Clear declarations. Certainty.”
“And now?” Aarushi asked.
“Now I think love is this,” Mira said quietly.
“Sitting beside someone and realizing silence doesn’t feel empty anymore.”
Aarushi felt emotion rise unexpectedly inside her chest.
“You make me feel… seen,” Mira added. “In ways I didn’t know I needed.”
A cool breeze moved across the park, lifting strands of Aarushi’s hair again. Mira watched them fall across her face, hesitating for a moment before reaching out slowly.
This time, she didn’t rush.
Her fingers gently brushed Aarushi’s hair aside, tucking it behind her ear. Her hand lingered there—hovering near Aarushi’s cheek.
Both of them stopped breathing normally.
Aarushi’s heartbeat echoed loudly inside her ears. She could feel the warmth of Mira’s hand, the quiet hesitation trembling through it.
“You can step back,” Mira whispered, her voice barely audible. “If this feels too fast.”
Aarushi shook her head slowly.
“I don’t want to step back,” she said.
The words came out softer than she expected—but steadier.
Mira’s eyes searched her face carefully, making sure she wasn’t agreeing out of fear or comfort or habit.
Aarushi leaned slightly closer.
Not enough to close distance.
Just enough to answer.
Mira’s hand slid gently from Aarushi’s cheek to her jawline, her touch careful, almost reverent, as if she was afraid the moment might break if she moved too quickly.
“Aarushi…” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“I think I’m in love with you,” Mira said.
The confession didn’t sound dramatic.
It sounded like truth that had finally stopped hiding.
Aarushi’s eyes filled instantly, her breath catching as emotion rushed through her chest like rising tide.
“You don’t have to say it back,” Mira added quickly. “I just needed you to know.”
Aarushi shook her head again, tears slipping quietly down her cheek.
“I’ve been trying not to admit it,” she whispered.
“But I think… I am too.”
The world around them blurred—voices fading, wind softening, leaves rustling like distant applause.
Mira leaned forward slowly, giving Aarushi time to move away.
She didn’t.
Their foreheads touched first—light, trembling contact. Both of them closed their eyes instinctively, breathing the same air, feeling the moment settle naturally between them.
Then, carefully—
gently—
Mira pressed her lips against Aarushi’s.
It wasn’t urgent.
It wasn’t intense.
It was soft.
Warm.
Uncertain in the most beautiful way.
A kiss that asked permission even while happening.
Aarushi’s fingers curled into Mira’s jacket slightly, grounding herself in the reality of the moment. Mira’s hand rested against Aarushi’s shoulder, steady but gentle, holding without trapping.
The kiss lasted only seconds.
But it changed something permanent between them.
When they pulled apart, neither spoke immediately. They simply looked at each other, eyes reflecting the same quiet disbelief.
“That felt…” Aarushi started.
“Important?” Mira suggested.
Aarushi nodded, smiling through tears.
“Yes.”
They stayed close, foreheads touching again, laughter escaping softly between them—nervous, relieved, real.
And as they sat there beneath the old tree, hands still intertwined, Aarushi realized something she had spent months avoiding—
Some love stories don’t begin with fireworks.
They begin with patience strong enough to survive silence.
And when they finally bloom…
they feel like coming home.
End of Part 14
