The scent hit her first—that unmistakable mix of salt, wind, and something wild. Even before the horizon opened up, Shruti knew where they were.
The sea.
As the road curved, the vast stretch of water shimmered into view—molten gold spreading across the waves as the sun prepared to dip into the horizon. The air was cooler here, tinged with the scent of wet sand and distant tides. The roar of the ocean was steady, soothing, like a giant breathing in and out.
Arjun pulled into the lot near the edge of the beach and killed the engine. The silence that followed felt louder than before.
He climbed off first, then turned and held out his hand to her. No words. Just the quiet offering of presence.
Shruti stared at it for a beat. Her fingers were curled in her lap, still clenched slightly from the tension of the ride.
Then slowly—almost shyly—she placed her hand in his.
Their fingers met, not in urgency but in understanding.
They slipped off their footwear and walked down the short path together, the sand shifting beneath their steps. It was cool and damp, littered with seashells and bits of driftwood. The sky above had turned a dusky blue, streaked with pink and orange. Gulls wheeled overhead, crying faintly.
Arjun led her past a few scattered families, past the volleyball court, all the way to a quiet corner where the rocks dipped toward the shore. A secluded spot. Sheltered. Familiar.
He sat first, pulling his knees up, brushing the sand away like he'd done this a hundred times before.
He looked at her gently. "Sit?"
She nodded, settling down beside him, pulling her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them like a barrier.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The ocean did all the talking—waves washing in and out, the wind rustling the hair at their temples.
Then Arjun's voice came, soft and low. "I come here when I don't feel like myself. When everything in my head is just… too loud. This place—it doesn't ask me questions. Doesn't need me to be anything."
Shruti didn't say anything. She just listened.
"But," he added, looking at her sideways, "it feels a little different today. Like it's listening. Because you're here."
That made her eyes flutter down. Her chin stayed tucked to her knees.
"I know you said you're tired," he continued gently. "But this isn't tired."
She turned her face slightly toward him, lips parting—then closing again.
"It's okay," he said quickly, not wanting to push. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I just… I wanted you to know I see it. Whatever it is. You don't have to carry it alone."
Shruti's throat worked as she tried to speak. Her voice came out smaller than she expected. "I'm just trying to make sense of something. In here." She tapped her chest lightly, still watching the waves. "It's not anything terrible. Just… confusing."
He didn't flinch. Didn't ask what. Didn't press.
She appreciated that more than he knew.
"You ever feel like," she murmured, "you're doing something that might hurt someone, even if you didn't mean to?"
Arjun was quiet for a beat. Then: "Yeah. I have."
She looked at him now, really looked. "What did you do?"
"I tried to be honest," he said. "And when I couldn't be, I tried to be kind."
Her shoulders fell a little. "What if even kindness feels like betrayal?"
"Then maybe," he said gently, "you're being too hard on yourself."
She didn't answer. But her eyes glistened. The wind tugged at her hair, and without thinking, Arjun reached over and tucked a loose strand behind her ear.
She didn't pull away.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
His hand paused near her cheek. "Of what?"
Her voice trembled now. "Of not being enough. Of being replaced. Of hurting someone who didn't deserve it."
There it was—the truth that had been clawing at her all day.
Arjun exhaled, scooting closer, his side brushing hers. "Shruti…" His voice was lower now, careful. "You're not a bad person for being unsure. Or for feeling too much. You're allowed to be scared. I've been scared too."
She looked at him, vulnerable and open. "When?"
He smiled, soft and self-deprecating. "That night. When you cried into my shirt. When I didn't know what to say, and I thought I'd mess it all up. I've been scared since then. Scared I'd say the wrong thing and ruin whatever this is."
A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't even notice until he wiped it away with the back of his knuckle.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?"
"For being… complicated."
He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "If I wanted simple, Shruti, I'd have married someone else."
She blinked.
He met her eyes seriously now. "I'm not here because it's easy. I'm here because it's you."
The wind caught in her chest.
She didn't say anything. Just leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as her breath steadied.
They stayed like that for a moment.
The wind tousled her hair again, loose strands brushing across her cheek. She didn't fix them.
Then—so faintly it might've been mistaken for the wind—she said his name.
"Arjun…"
He turned his head immediately, the quiet call pulling all his attention. "What is it?" he asked gently.
She hesitated. Her fingers twitched, clenching around the fabric of her sleeves.
"I want to ask you something."
To be continued...