Silence has a strange way of revealing things words try to hide.
It lingers just long enough to make you uncomfortable, and just short enough to make you ignore it.
Avni didn't like silence.
She filled it quickly, like someone afraid of what might surface if she didn't.
"Don't start again, Harry," she said, rolling her eyes as if emotions were inconveniences she didn't have time for. "You always overreact."
Overreact.
Funny word.
People use it when they don't want to admit they're the reason you reacted in the first place.
"I'm not overreacting," I said quietly. "You were rude. For no reason."
"There's always a reason," she replied instantly. "You just don't see it."
Of course.
Because in her world, she was always right.
And everyone else was just slow.
We started walking.
Or rather, I followed.
Because relationships like ours don't really move forward. They just continue.
The sky above was clear, almost painfully so. No clouds, no shadows—just an empty blue stretched across nothingness.
I've always found clear skies unsettling.
They don't hide anything.
And sometimes, you want things hidden.
"Let's go to the mall," she said suddenly. "I need to buy a few things."
A few things usually meant many things. Unnecessary things. Things I would end up carrying.
"Of course," I replied.
Because saying no wasn't an option anymore.
Not in this arrangement.
We walked through the streets, surrounded by people who looked like they belonged somewhere.
I've always envied that.
Belonging.
Not to a person.
But to a moment.
She kept talking.
About dresses. About trends. About people I didn't care about.
I nodded when required.
Responded when expected.
Listened selectively.
Because my mind was somewhere else.
Still stuck in that moment.
That collision.
That book.
That girl.
Anna.
It's strange how some people don't even try and yet leave an impact, while others try too hard and still feel distant.
"Are you even listening?" Avni snapped.
"Yes," I lied.
She stopped walking and turned toward me.
Her eyes weren't soft.
They never were.
"I told you about my stalker," she said, lowering her voice slightly. "Do you even remember that?"
And just like that, the air changed.
Stalker.
The word didn't belong in her world.
Not in the version she showed everyone.
Confident. Desired. Untouchable.
But I had seen her that day.
The first time she mentioned it.
There was fear.
Real fear.
Not the dramatic kind she usually performed.
Something quieter.
Something believable.
"Yeah," I said. "I remember."
She looked around instinctively, as if the word itself could summon him.
"I've seen him again," she whispered. "Near my house… near the college… everywhere."
Everywhere.
That's how fear works.
It doesn't stay in one place.
It spreads.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" I asked.
"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it," she said. "But it's getting worse."
I studied her face.
Looking for cracks.
Looking for signs.
Looking for the difference between truth and performance.
But fear, when done right, looks exactly like truth.
"Next time you feel like someone's following you, call me," I said, holding her shoulders gently. "I'll be there."
She looked at me.
And for a moment, those eyes weren't manipulative.
They weren't sharp.
They were human.
"Do you think it'll work?" she asked softly.
"It will," I said. "People like that disappear when they know someone's watching back."
A lie.
But a necessary one.
"I can stay outside your house tonight," I added. "Just in case."
Her eyes widened slightly.
Not in fear.
In relief.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yeah. I'll make sure you're safe."
Safe.
People often confuse that word with control.
She nodded slowly.
"Thank you."
And then she leaned into me.
I held her.
Because that's what you do.
Even when you're not sure what you're holding onto anymore.
Her head rested against my chest, and for a moment everything felt quiet.
But not peaceful.
Because somewhere in the back of my mind, a thought refused to die.
What if this is all an illusion?
What if the fear is real, but the story isn't?
I pulled back slightly.
"Did you see his face?" I asked.
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
"No," she said. "He always stays far."
Of course he does.
Fear prefers distance.
It grows better there.
We continued walking, but something had shifted.
The conversation was over.
But the doubt wasn't.
That night, I would wait outside her house.
Watch the shadows.
Study the silence.
And if someone was really out there, I would find them.
Because some stories don't reveal themselves.
They need
to be followed.
"I'll be there tonight," I said.
She nodded.
And smiled.
But something about that smile…
felt rehearsed.