The day felt heavier than usual. Clouds hovered in the sky like unfinished thoughts, and the breeze carried a strange tension with it—almost like it knew something was about to change.
Isha stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the soft peach kurta she had picked for the day. Her hands hesitated around her earrings. She didn't know why, but she wanted to look good today. Not overdone. Just… effortlessly nice.
And somewhere in her heart, she knew who she wanted to look nice for.
Harsh.
---
When she walked into the living room, she didn't expect to see him there, casually sitting on the couch with a book in hand.
"You're up early," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
He looked up. His gaze lingered.
"You look... different."
Her stomach fluttered. "Different how?"
"Just... different," he said, a slight curve on his lips. "In a good way."
She sat down on the other couch, keeping her distance, but her eyes kept drifting to him every few seconds. Harsh wasn't looking at her, but he wasn't reading either. His fingers rested on the page, unmoving.
She tried to focus on the TV, but the remote slipped from her hand and landed on the floor, rolling toward him. He picked it up and walked over, stopping right in front of her.
Their fingers brushed as he handed it over.
Her breath caught.
He noticed. And for a moment, neither of them looked away.
It was like time paused.
There were no words.
Just the silence filled with unsaid questions.
Then he spoke, his voice low.
"You really don't know what you do to people, do you?"
Her brows furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
"You walk into a room and change the whole energy... like it belongs to you."
She blinked. Was he flirting? Harsh never flirted. Not like this.
She looked away, her cheeks warming.
"Don't say things like that," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because I might believe them."
His eyes softened. "Maybe I want you to."
Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the hallway—Rhea, Harsh's close childhood friend, entered with a wide grin and shopping bags in hand.
"There you are, Harsh!" she said cheerfully. "You won't believe the deals I got today! Oh—hi, you must be Isha."
Isha stood up, offering a polite smile. "Hi. Yes."
Rhea walked up and gave her a once-over. Not rude—just curious.
Harsh interrupted, "Rhea, Isha's staying with us for a while. Long story."
Rhea raised her brows, then smirked. "Ohhh. Interesting." She turned to Isha. "Don't mind me, I'm Harsh's oldest friend. Basically family. I live two streets down."
Isha smiled again, but something inside her felt... uneasy.
Rhea was beautiful—confident, charming, and very familiar with Harsh. She sat beside him on the couch without hesitation, leaned into his space, touched his arm while laughing. It wasn't romantic. But it was... something.
Isha watched silently.
She told herself it didn't matter.
But deep down, it did.
More than she wanted to admit.
---
Later that evening, Isha sat in the garden alone. The air was cooler now, but her thoughts felt hot and restless.
Why did it bother her so much?
Rhea was just a friend.
Harsh had introduced her kindly, respectfully.
Then why did her stomach twist at the memory of them laughing together?
She sighed, hugging her knees to her chest.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you," came a deep voice from behind.
Her head snapped around. Harsh stood at the garden gate, arms folded.
"What?" she asked, flustered.
He walked in slowly. "You've been quiet since Rhea left."
She turned her face away. "Why would I care?"
He smiled faintly. "You're not good at hiding emotions, you know."
She stood up. "And you're too confident about your effect on people."
He took a step closer. "Only when I know it's mutual."
Her heart skipped again.
"You think too much," she whispered.
He closed the distance, now standing only inches away.
"And you feel too much."
She looked up at him.
He was so close.
Too close.
Her breath came faster. Her body stilled.
"If you keep looking at me like that," he said in a low tone, "I might forget that we're pretending nothing's happening."
She swallowed hard. "There's nothing happening."
"Then why can't you look away?"
She didn't have an answer.
His hand rose slightly, hesitating mid-air. Then, with gentle fingers, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her skin burned where he touched. Her heart raced.
But just then—
Isha stepped back.
Harsh paused, hand still in the air, now holding nothing but distance.
"I can't do this," she said, voice trembling. "This... whatever this is... it's too confusing."
Harsh didn't stop her. He just let his hand fall to his side.
"You're scared."
She shook her head. "No. I'm protecting myself."
He nodded. "Fair."
And then he turned and walked away.
---
That night, Isha couldn't sleep again. She paced her room, emotions twisting inside her like a storm. Her heart felt betrayed by her own mind.
Why did he affect her so much?
Why couldn't she stop thinking about him?
She wasn't even sure who he was to her. A friend? A stranger? A temporary chapter?
But… he was becoming her favorite page.
---
Next Morning
They barely spoke. At breakfast, Harsh simply nodded at her and walked out with his car keys. No teasing. No glances.
And that hurt more than she expected.
Meera walked into the room with a basket of laundry and gave Isha a knowing look.
"You two fought?"
Isha blinked. "No... I mean... not really."
Meera smiled. "Fighting isn't always loud. Sometimes it's the silence that screams."
Isha sighed. "It's complicated."
"It always is, beti," Meera said kindly. "But sometimes, what's complicated is worth it. You just have to ask yourself—what are you really afraid of?"
---
Later That Evening
Harsh returned late. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his sleeves rolled, and he looked tired. But when he saw Isha sitting on the stairs waiting, his steps slowed.
She stood up.
"I made something for you," she said.
He raised a brow. "Why?"
"I wanted to."
He followed her into the kitchen. A bowl of kheer sat on the counter.
"I remembered you said it was your comfort food."
He looked at the bowl, then at her.
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. "For stepping away. I got scared."
He didn't say anything, just picked up the spoon and took a bite.
"It's perfect," he murmured.
Then, putting the spoon down, he turned to her.
"I won't force anything on you, Isha. Ever. But don't push me away just because it's easier than feeling something real."
She stared at him.
His voice was calm. His eyes sincere.
"Whatever this is between us," he added, "it's real for me."
Isha took a shaky breath.
"Real for me too."
His eyes softened. "Then don't run next time."
She smiled, just a little. "Then don't look at me like that."
He chuckled, voice low. "No promises."
---
As they stood there, the kitchen lights casting golden shadows over them, something shifted again. But this time, neither of them stepped away.
They just stood still.
Breathing the same air.
Feeling the same emotions.
And slowly… the walls between them started to fade.