some moments announced themselves.
this one didn't.
it arrived quietly, disguised as routine.
anvika noticed it first in the smallest wayhow the library felt different when aadvaith wasn't there yet. not empty. just… misaligned. as if the room had been set up correctly, but one object was missing, leaving the symmetry off by a fraction no one else would notice.
she told herself it meant nothing.
people got used to patterns. that was all.
still, when he arrived five minutes later than usual, she looked up immediately.
"you're late," she said.
"five minutes."
"you're never five minutes late."
he paused, considering the truth of that. "i was stopped."
"by?"
"something that needed finishing."
she watched him closely. his voice was steady. his movements precise. but there was a tension beneath the calmsubtle, coiled, like a held breath.
"you could have messaged," she said.
"i know."
"but you didn't."
"no."
the silence stretched.
"you don't like explaining yourself," she said.
"i don't like offering half-answers."
"that implies there's a full one."
"yes."
"and you're not ready to give it."
he met her gaze. "not yet."
she accepted that.
not because she was passivebut because she recognized boundaries when they were honestly drawn.
they settled into work, but the rhythm was different today. still efficient. still aligned. but threaded with awareness, like something approaching the surface but not quite breaking through.
anvika found herself rereading the same paragraph twice.
aadvaith noticed.
"you're distracted," he said.
"so are you."
"yes."
she closed her notebook slowly. "do you want to talk?"
"no."
the honesty didn't sting.
"do you want silence?" she asked instead.
"yes."
she nodded once. "then we'll work quietly."
and they did.
the silence wasn't empty. it was shared. a choice, not a gap.
outside, the sky darkened earlier than expected. clouds pressed low, heavy with the promise of rain. the library lights flickered on one by one, casting a warm glow over the tables.
time slipped.
at some point, anvika stood to stretch, rolling her shoulders back. aadvaith remained seated, eyes following her movement briefly before returning to his notes.
"walk later?" she asked, not looking at him.
"yes."
the answer came without hesitation.
they packed up as the first drops of rain tapped against the windows. by the time they stepped outside, the drizzle had thickened into something steadier, the kind that soaked without drama.
they walked side by side, neither rushing, neither lagging.
"you're carrying something heavy," anvika said softly.
"yes."
"you don't have to tell me."
"i know."
"but you could."
he glanced at her, something unreadable passing through his eyes. "i might. just not yet."
she accepted that, too.
they reached the path by the lake, rain rippling across the water's surface, breaking reflections into fragments. the lampposts flickered on, their light bending through the rain.
"this feels like the moment before," anvika said quietly.
"before what?"
"before something changes."
he didn't deny it. "change isn't always loss."
"no," she agreed. "sometimes it's clarification."
they stopped under a tree, leaves trembling overhead as rain slid down in thin streams. the world narrowed againwater, breath, the quiet tension between them.
aadvaith spoke first. "i don't let people close easily."
"i know."
"not because i'm incapable," he continued. "but because once they're close, they matter."
her chest tightenednot painfully. meaningfully.
"and when they matter," she said, "you take responsibility."
"yes."
she met his gaze. "that can be heavy."
"it can," he agreed. "but it's honest."
the rain softened slightly, the sound gentler now.
"you don't chase," anvika said.
"no."
"but you stay," she added.
"yes."
she smiled faintly. "that's rarer."
they stood there, the space between them deliberate, unclaimedbut thinner now. not because either stepped forward.
because neither stepped back.
"people think intimacy is touch," anvika said.
"it's not," aadvaith replied.
"it's attention," she said.
"presence," he added.
"choice," she finished.
their eyes held.
something passed between themnot desire, not fear.
readiness.
a voice echoed faintly from the distancestudents laughing, running through the rain. life moving on, unaware of the quiet moment unfolding under the tree.
"i won't ask you to open up," anvika said.
"i wouldn't," he replied.
"but i will ask you one thing."
"yes."
"don't disappear when it gets real."
he didn't answer immediately.
then, simply: "i won't."
the words weren't dramatic. they didn't need to be.
she believed him.
the rain began to taper off, leaving the air clean and cool. they stepped out from under the tree and continued walking, the path glistening beneath their feet.
at the place where they would part, they slowed.
"you don't need me," aadvaith said quietly.
she looked at him. "no."
"but," he added, "you allow me."
"yes."
the distinction mattered.
he nodded once. "good."
they stood there a moment longer, neither rushing to leave.
"this," anvika said, "isn't fragile."
"no," he agreed. "it's deliberate."
she turned to go, then paused. "aadvaith."
he looked at her.
"you don't have to be calm with me all the time."
his gaze softenednot dramatically, but unmistakably. "and you don't have to be strong."
they shared a look thenquiet, steady, unguarded.
not a confession.
not a promise.
just the truth, hovering between them.
anvika walked away, rain-soaked path stretching ahead of her, heart steady, mind clear.
behind her, aadvaith remained still for a moment, the world quieting around him.
the moment before had passed.
and whatever came nexthe knew this much
he wouldn't step away from it.