🍒New Bridges, Old Fears🍒
Chapter 7 — New Bridges, Old Fears
कभी जो टूटा था, अब धीरे-धीरे जुड़ने लगा,
बेआवाज़ धड़कनों में नाम फिर से गूँजने लगा,
नज़रों ने कहा, लब खामोश रहे,
जो दूर गया था, वो दिल में वापस उतरने लगा।
What was once broken is now slowly beginning to mend,
The name began to echo again in the silent heartbeats,
The eyes spoke, the lips remained silent,
What had gone away began to return to the heart.
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The winter sun made everything at St. Hilda's softer—tree shadows like ink strokes across the courtyard, students drifting between buildings, carrying laughter along. Yet for Avni, the day felt strangely suspended since the evening in the auditorium. Something was shifting between them. Not loudly, not dramatically—just enough for her to notice the air wasn't as cold anymore.
She headed toward the library during break, sketchbook tucked under her arm. It was her refuge—quiet but never lonely. She slipped into her usual corner, third table from the back. Outside, the basketball court was alive with energy. She flipped open her sketchbook, intending to draw the mountain ranges from Mount Abu. But as her pencil moved, the peaks curved into a familiar jawline. A face she knew too well.
Her fingers paused just as a shadow fell across the page.
She didn't need to look up. Her pulse reacted first.
"Is this seat taken?"
His voice was low—steady, gentle.
"No," she said, though her throat tightened.
Instead of sitting across, he sat beside her. Close enough that she could hear his breathing. She pretended to focus on her sketch, but her hand hovered uselessly.
"Mountains again?" he asked.
She nodded.
"You draw them… softer than they actually are," he said.
She looked up. "What does that even mean?"
He shrugged. "Maybe the world feels kinder through your eyes."
The librarian glanced at them sharply, reminding them to keep quiet. They exchanged small smiles—awkward, surprised, but real.
He took out a book and read silently beside her. He didn't comment. He didn't make it uncomfortable. He just sat close enough that their silence had warmth. Eventually, he stood.
"I'll see you in P.E."
She nodded without looking up, pretending to shade. But her heart didn't steady until minutes after he left.
P.E. felt louder than usual. Groups clustered on the field—half enthusiastic, half half-asleep. The sports captain paired everyone up for dribble-and-pass drills. When his eyes met hers, she instantly sensed trouble.
"Avni… with me."
Whispers burst around them. Someone laughed. Someone muttered, "Finally."
She glared at him. He pretended innocence.
They began stiffly—she dribbled, he guided lightly. Each time his fingers brushed hers, something traveled up her spine. Their rhythm slowly aligned without effort.
Halfway across the court, her foot slipped on uneven ground. Before she could fall, his hand caught her wrist—firm, steady.
"You okay?"
His voice was breathless, concerned.
She nodded, though her pulse was loud in her ears.
A memory rushed in—Mount Abu, her slipping near a rocky step, and him catching her the exact same way. Only then, she'd laughed. Now, it lodged somewhere deeper.
He let go slowly, like touching her too long would say too much.
They continued quietly. When the drill ended, she sat on the bench tying her shoelace. He approached.
"You should drink water."
"You're bossy," she muttered.
"You're welcome."
Their fingers brushed when she took the bottle. She should've pulled away instantly—but didn't.
"So," he said, eyes forward, "friends again?"
The question felt too simple for what they were.
"Trying," she whispered.
He nodded. "Trying is enough."
Nothing grand. Nothing dramatic. Just honesty.
Later, school ended early. A chill bit the fading afternoon light. Aafreen and Piyush convinced them to go to the terrace—"Last year of school—we deserve one sunset together!" After much pleading, they convinced the guard to let them go upstairs.
The rooftop was quiet—cold wind, a sky smudged in orange and purple, trees swaying below. For a long while, no one spoke. Piyush and Aafreen wandered away to take pictures, leaving Avni and Krivan standing by the railing.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, watching clouds burn gold.
"You always liked sunsets?" she asked.
"Only when I'm not watching alone."
The words—simple but unguarded—caught her off-balance.
He rested his arms on the edge, gazing at the sky with that thoughtful frown he always wore when he was trying to say something difficult.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.
Her breath hitched.
"I wasn't careful… back then. With you."
His voice lowered.
"And you mattered. More than I ever showed."
Her fingers tightened on the railing.
"I wasn't careful either," she said softly.
It was the closest she'd come to saying that he had hurt her—because he mattered.
The sky faded slowly into blue, leaving only traces of warmth behind. They didn't speak again, but something between them loosened—like a knot finally unraveling.
After a while, they climbed back down.
Outside the school gate, the road split—one lane toward her house, the other toward his. Their homes were only a few streets apart—close enough to walk, far enough to feel the distance.
"Can I walk you home?" he asked.
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
They walked side by side, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence cutting through the cold. The road was familiar—shops shutting down, vendors calling out, trees rustling overhead.
Her house came first—a two-storey building with pale yellow walls and bougainvillea spilling across the main gate.
She stopped outside.
"Thank you… for today."
He smiled—small, honest.
"And thank you… for trying."
Their fingers brushed—just once—before she slipped inside.
He stood there a moment, watching the gate close, before turning and walking toward his own home—the faint porch light visible down the street.
Later that night, back in her room, she traced the evening in pieces. His hand on her wrist, the apology on the rooftop, the quiet walk home. Her window overlooked the same lane where he'd walked away. She wondered if he was thinking about all of it too.
He sat in his room, the lights dim. His mother called him for dinner, but he lingered near the window, staring at the faint glow of her home through the trees. Something within him eased… and something tightened.
Neither knew where this was going.
Neither was brave enough to name it.
But they both felt it—
That maybe, just maybe…
Not everything broken stays broken.
Sometimes, pieces learn to find their way back.
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धीरे-धीरे भरने लगे थे, बीते ज़ख़्मों के निशान,
फिर मिलने लगे थे कदम, पुराने अरमानों के साथ,
नज़रें झुक कर भी कह गईं, दिल के रूठे फ़साने,
कि तूफ़ान के बाद भी, लौट आते हैं ठहराव के ठिकाने।
The scars of past wounds were slowly healing,
Steps were beginning to meet again, with old desires,
Even with downcast eyes, the heart's angry tales spoke,
That even after storms, places of peace return.
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End of Chapter 7
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