🍒Distance Between Hearts🍒
Chapter 5 — Distance Between Hearts
हवा में अब भी उसकी खुशबू ठहरी,
पर बातों की राहें कहीं खो गईं,
नज़रों ने जो कहा, लब कह न पाए,
और खामोशी फिर से जीत गई।
His scent still lingers in the air,
But the paths of words are lost somewhere,
What eyes confessed, lips couldn't say,
And once again, silence won the day.
---
The bus ride back from Mount Abu wound through mist and mountain, carrying laughter, songs, and whispers of tired students. But for two people seated far apart, silence was the loudest sound of all.
Avni sat by the window, cheek resting against the cold glass. The morning sun cast a faint glow on her face, turning her skin to gold and her eyes to shadow. Her sketchbook lay closed on her lap. For once, she didn't feel like drawing.
Krivan sat four rows behind her, earphones dangling but no music playing. His gaze shifted between the rolling hills and the back of her head. Every time she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his chest ached with something unspoken — regret, maybe. Or realization.
They had barely spoken since the temple incident. One misunderstanding had become a wall neither knew how to climb.
---
When the bus stopped midway for breakfast, the class spilled out in chatter and selfies. Aafreen tugged Avni's hand. "Come on, let's get chai. It's freezing."
Avni nodded absently, following her friend toward a roadside stall. The air smelled of masala chai and wet soil. Vendors sold corn on cob and keychains made of seashells. Everything was alive — except the part of her that wasn't.
She caught a glimpse of Krivan across the crowd. He was standing with Piyush, laughing at something, but there was no light in his eyes. Just the effort of pretending.
He saw her too. And for a moment, the noise around them faded. Their gazes met — brief, brittle, and full of everything they couldn't say.
Then she looked away.
---
By the time they reached Udaipur, evening had dipped the sky in saffron. The school buses stopped in front of the gates of St. Hilda's and St. Xavier's — the girls' and boys' campuses that faced each other across the same dusty road.
Students waved goodbye, promising to text, to share pictures, to meet after exams. Avni stood by the gate, waiting for her parents' car, the cold wind tugging at her dupatta.
Krivan lingered near the school bus, pretending to help with luggage. His mother's car was parked just behind hers. He could've walked over. He wanted to.
But then she turned — and smiled faintly at Aafreen instead.
That smile wasn't cruel. It was soft, polite... and distant.
The kind of smile that said I remember everything, but I won't talk about it.
He took a step forward — then stopped.
Sometimes, timing wasn't on your side. Sometimes, you just had to let the distance breathe before it suffocated you.
---
That night, the city was quiet under a drizzle. Avni sat by her window, sketchbook open once again. The graphite lines blurred slightly where raindrops fell through the half-open pane. She drew the view outside — not the lake or the streetlights, but a pair of silhouettes facing opposite directions.
Aafreen's message blinked on her phone.
Aafreen: He asked Piyush if you're okay.
Avni: I am.
Aafreen: Are you sure?
Avni: I have to be.
She closed the chat and returned to the page. Her pencil hovered mid-air, trembling slightly before she wrote a single word beneath the sketch:
Almost.
---
Across the city, in his room, Krivan was doing the same — only instead of sketching, he was scribbling half-angry notes in the back of his physics notebook.
"Why does she never wait for me to explain?" "I wasn't wrong. Not completely." "Or maybe... I was. Maybe I should've held her hand and said something right then."
He threw the pen aside, frustrated. Ruhi, his younger sister, peeked in through the door.
"Bhai, Mom's calling you for dinner. Also... why are you scowling like you failed your math test?"
He looked up. "Nothing. Just... something stupid."
She smirked. "It's about someone, isn't it?"
He glared lightly. "Go eat, Ruhi."
She laughed and left, humming some love song under her breath. He leaned back, running his hands through his hair, and whispered into the empty room:
"She'll never know how much I care... because I never say it right."
---
Days turned into weeks.
They went back to routine — classes, exams, project work, and quiet avoidance. Avni focused on art competitions; Krivan threw himself into sports. They still shared glances across corridors, both pretending those glances didn't mean everything.
The distance didn't shout anymore. It whispered.
And sometimes, whispers hurt more.
---
During the annual function, both their schools collaborated for a cultural performance — dance, music, debate. Fate, apparently, wasn't done playing its games.
Avni's group was backstage rehearsing when she heard a familiar voice outside the curtain.
"We'll need the right lighting on cue — when she turns around after the second verse."
Krivan.
He was volunteering with the tech crew. Of course. She froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat. The memories of that trip flooded back — the rain, the firelight, the unspoken words.She turned, slowly. And for the first time since Mount Abu, they stood facing each other.Neither spoke. The noise of the stage faded.
For a second, it felt like the world had gone still — just her heartbeat and his uneven breath between them.
Then someone called his name, and the moment broke.
---
When the performance ended, the crowd applauded wildly. Avni bowed with her group, but her eyes searched the back of the hall.
He was gone.
Outside, she found him standing under the peepal tree, earphones in, staring at the school building like it held answers he couldn't reach.
"Krivan," she said softly.
He turned — surprise flickering into hesitation. "Avni."
They stood like that for a moment, awkward and unsure. The sound of fireworks from the closing ceremony echoed above.
"I didn't know you'd be here," she said finally.
"I didn't plan to be," he admitted. "Piyush dragged me."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "He's good at that."
"Yeah." He looked away. "You danced well."
She nodded, her heart oddly calm. "Thanks. You managed the lights perfectly."
He chuckled — a short, hollow sound. "We both seem good at pretending things are perfect, huh?"
That one line hit her harder than she expected.
Before she could reply, the school bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of the event. They both turned toward the sound — their familiar rhythm of retreating just when things began to feel real.
---
Later that night, Avni opened her sketchbook again.
This time, she didn't draw him. She drew a bridge — half-built, stretching across two cliffs.
Beneath it, she wrote:
"Some distances don't ask to be erased.
They just wait for the courage to cross."
---
कभी-कभी खामोशी भी शोर करती है,
जब दिल कुछ कहना चाहे और जुबां साथ न दे।
वो लम्हा छोटा था, पर असर गहरा,
जैसे बारिश के बाद की मिट्टी — अधूरी, मगर सच्ची।
Sometimes even silence makes noise,
When the heart wants to speak but the tongue won't move.
That moment was small, but its echo lingered,
Like the earth after rain — incomplete, yet real.
---
End of Chapter 5
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