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A Week Later

It had been a week since that day—since Abeer had stayed by her side, consoled her, done her homework, and let her sleep in his arms. Every time Samiksha thought about it, her heart did an involuntary somersault.

Cute.

She giggled, shaking her head at herself. And how gently he had dropped her home, making sure she was safe even when she was barely awake.

But after that night, she hadn't seen him. His family had gone to Banaras for a function, and though they had returned two days ago, it had been a holiday. She could have texted him, but no—she wanted to thank him in person.

And tonight was her chance.

Abeer’s family was coming over for dinner.

She was excited, but her mind briefly shifted to Aarohi, who wouldn’t be coming because she had a date. Samiksha had pestered her endlessly, trying to find out who it was, but Aarohi had only laughed and said, "Sabr karo beti, main bata dungi."

Hmph. Fine.

Vidyut wouldn’t be there either—it was one of his friends’ birthdays. But wait—was it just a coincidence? Or was something cooking?

Before she could think too much, her phone lit up with a notification. A new comment on her Wattpad story.

She absentmindedly clicked on it, reading it out loud to herself.

"If you love him, why don’t you tell him? I mean, you can try. You know, author, I know a girl—she’s just like you. The way she hides her feelings, the way she overthinks every little thing, the way she finds happiness in the smallest moments, but never dares to claim it for herself. And she deserves the world."

A warmth spread through her chest. That was so sweet. She smiled, ready to repost it—until her eyes landed on the username.

Abeer.

Her heart stopped.

What?

Which girl was he talking about? Which girl?!

Just as she was about to spiral into endless overthinking, her mother called her downstairs to help. She groaned, leaving her phone on the table and rushing out of her room.

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Aarohi was in distress. A real, soul-consuming dilemma. She had no idea what to wear.

So, naturally, she video-called Samiksha, who was chilling in her balcony.

"Why are you bothering yourself, baby?" Samiksha teased. "I never imagined you'd be this stressed over getting ready for a guy. Since when did my IDGAF girl become an I-want-to-look-perfect-for-him girl, haan? Bhai, he is indeed lucky."

Vidyut, who was also in the balcony, pretended to be lost in his phone. But his ears were tuned in, waiting for Aarohi’s reply.

And Aarohi, unaware of her unintentional audience, sighed dreamily. A soft blush painted her cheeks.

"He’s not lucky. I am," she murmured, her voice laced with a kind of affection Samiksha had never heard before.

And then, she continued—words spilling from her lips like poetry, raw and honest.

"He is... everything, Samiksha. He’s the kind of person you write about in your poems—the ones who love quietly, deeply, without demanding anything in return. He listens when I don’t speak. He understands what I need before I even know it myself. I thought love was about grand gestures, about shouting from rooftops. But with him? It’s in the small things. The way he remembers how I like my coffee. The way he stands between me and the road when we walk. The way he looks at me—like I’m someone worth looking at. I regret not seeing it before. But now, I do. And I don’t want to lose it."

A beat of silence.

Samiksha exhaled, stunned. "Damn, Jaan, you really love him."

Aarohi just smiled, a little shy, a little radiant.

But someone else? Someone else was absolutely doomed.

Vidyut.

His heart skipped a beat. His grip on his phone tightened.

She loved him.

Aarohi. Loved. Him.

Oh. My. God.

His entire world tilted. His face turned red. His ears burned. His stomach twisted in a way he never expected. He was blushing.

Before he could embarrass himself further, he shot up from his seat and walked—no, floated—out of the balcony.

Samiksha watched him go, her face contorted in confusion.

A second later, she heard Vidyut humming a love song under his breath. And then—he randomly twirled in the hallway, hugged his mom out of nowhere, and went about his evening with the dumbest, dreamiest smile plastered on his face.

Samiksha blinked.

"Paagal hai kya yeh?" she muttered to herself.

Samiksha had taken extra effort with her outfit tonight—a simple yet elegant Indian wear, subtle makeup, and a tiny black bindi. As she stood near the mirror, adjusting her earrings, Avya lounging in her PJs and oversized tshirt raised an eyebrow.

"Itna kya ready ho rahi hai bhai? Ladke waale nahi aa rahe tujhe dekhne."

Samiksha just smirked, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Aap nahi samjhoge, jao."

Avya rolled her eyes and left, while Samiksha turned to her bookshelf. She pulled out a small wooden box—the one that held all the letters she had written for Abeer over the years but never given to him.

One by one, she added more letters inside, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her chest.

But in her rush to put it back, one letter slipped from her grasp and fluttered onto the floor.

She didn’t notice.

Instead, she took a deep breath and walked downstairs.

Abeer had just arrived.

He was standing in the living room, effortlessly charming, his gaze scanning the room until it landed on her.

For a second, everything else blurred.

"Kaise ho?" she asked, trying to sound normal.

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. "Better. Tum?"

"Good," she lied.

But upstairs, lying forgotten on the floor, was a letter.

A letter filled with love, longing, and every unspoken word she had ever been too afraid to say.

Samiksha really wanted to talk to him.

To thank him. To say something—anything—about that night when he had held her, listened to her cries, and let her sleep in his arms.

But nope. Fate had other plans.

Because everyone else in the house seemed way too interested in Abeer.

Uncles, aunts, cousins, even her dad—all of them were hovering around him like he was some newly crowned prince. "Abeer beta, kaise ho?" "Abeer, suna hai aaj kal gym ja rahe ho?" "Abeer, business kaisa chal raha hai?"

Humph.

And there she was, standing at a distance, trying to find an opening, but the universe clearly enjoyed watching her suffer.

Once—just once—he turned to look at her. Their gazes locked for a fleeting second before some uncle clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him into another "beta yeh batao" conversation.

Samiksha crossed her arms, pouting. Great. Everyone is an Abeer fan today.

Dinner was no better.

She sat across from him at the dining table, finally close enough to see his expressions, but too far to actually talk.

Instead, all she could do was steal glances at him. And oh, he was doing the same.

Their eyes met over the dishes passed around the table. Over bites of food. Over sips of water.

Every time their eyes locked, her mind betrayed her—bringing back the memory of that night. His arms around her. His voice—soft, reassuring. His warmth.

She could feel her cheeks burning, and from the way Abeer’s lips twitched slightly, he knew what she was thinking about.

As they were lost in their silent game of glances, the elders were deep in discussion. Something about a land dispute and government policies—stuff neither of them was remotely interested in.

And then—

Under the table, Abeer’s leg accidentally brushed against hers.

A sharp breath hitched in her throat.

Oh.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

But before she could react, Abeer—smooth, gentle, smart Abeer—deliberately dropped his spoon.

It clattered onto the floor.

"Arre, gir gaya," he muttered, crouching down to pick it up.

And then—just before he rose—his fingers grazed her foot.

She sucked in a breath.

And then he did something that made her heart stop.

He pressed his fingertips to his forehead.

It was quick. Subtle. A simple, almost reverent gesture.

But it was intentional.

A silent acknowledgment. A quiet kind of devotion.

And Samiksha?

Finished.

Her face was on fire.

And of course, Abeer’s mother noticed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyeing her suspiciously. "Koi infection hai?"

Samiksha frantically shook her head. "N-no, Aunty."

"Accha? Toh gaal laal kyun hai?"

Oh, my God.

She scrambled for an excuse. "Uh… mirchi zyada lag gayi thi…"

Silence.

Abeer—who had witnessed everything—pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh.

"Hmm." His mother gave her a look before going back to her food.

Samiksha exhaled. That was close.

But Abeer? He smirked as he took a sip of water, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

She was never going to survive this dinner.

After dinner, Samiksha was helping her father with some files when he suddenly said,

"Beta, woh tere room mein jo box rakha tha, woh le aa."

She barely looked up. "I'm busy, Papa. Avya didi se keh dijiye—"

"Avya toh yahaan hai hi nahi."

Before Samiksha could argue, her mother called her for something, and she had to rush off.

So instead, her father turned to Abeer.

"Abeer beta, tu le aa na?"

Abeer nodded. "Haan, uncle."

And just like that, Abeer found himself stepping into her space.

The moment he entered, her fragrance enveloped him.

Jasmine and vanilla. Soft, warm, hers.

His gaze drifted over her neatly arranged bookshelves, her fairy lights, the cozy little reading corner. A soft smile tugged at his lips.

Shaking his head, he made his way toward the table where the box was kept.

But then—

Something on the floor caught his eye.

A piece of folded paper.

Curious, he picked it up, unfolding it absentmindedly.

His breath hitched the moment he saw the first words.

"Dear Abeer,"

Oh.

His heart stopped.

This… was for him?

The words that followed? They weren’t just words. They were poetry.

"Dear Abeer,"

I do not know when it began.

Perhaps in childhood, when you laughed a little too loudly, and I found comfort in that sound.

Or maybe in adolescence, when I watched you from afar, my heart filling with things I dared not name.

But what I do know is this—

If Radha had never spoken her love aloud, would it have made her love any less true?

No. Because love, in its purest form, does not need to be declared—it simply exists.

And so, I have loved you in silence.

In glances stolen across crowded rooms.

In words I never had the courage to speak.

In prayers whispered into the night, hoping that in some way, the universe would carry them to you.

You have been the warmth of the first sunlight on a winter morning, the quiet comfort of the moonlight when the world feels too loud.

You have been my greatest secret, my most beautiful truth.

I have loved you in the way Radha loved Krishna—without possession, without demand.

She never needed him to be hers, for he already lived within her.

And perhaps that is how I have loved you too—without ever needing anything in return.

But tonight, as I write this, I wonder…

If love, when kept hidden, is still love at all.

Or does it fade, unheard?

So here it is—my heart, unguarded.

Not asking, not expecting.

Just telling you what has always been true.

I have loved you, Abeer.

And maybe, in some quiet, distant way… I always will.

Yours, (not really)

Samiksha

Abeer’s fingers tightened around the letter.

His heartbeat was wild.

His lips parted slightly as he read and re-read every single word.

She loves me.

Not a fleeting crush. Not admiration.

But love. Pure, deep, sacred—the kind that didn’t need validation. The kind that existed simply because it was meant to.

Something warm—something uncontainable—spread through his chest.

He exhaled shakily.

And then—without even realizing it—he lifted the letter to his lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the paper.

As if sealing the words. As if holding her feelings close to his heart.

But then—

Footsteps.

His eyes widened.

Without a second thought, he folded the letter, slipped it into his pocket, grabbed the box, and sneaked out of her room before she could catch him.

His heart was still racing. His mind was still spinning.

And on his lips?

A smile so soft, so genuine—as if he had just found something he never even knew he had been looking for.

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I know it was a small chapter but how was it?????

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