Amara's POV:
The alarm felt cruel after a weekend that had moved like a dream. Vihaan's bag sat by the door, a quiet reminder that real life was already waiting.
I poured two coffees, trying to hide the ache in my chest. He caught my wrist, pulling me between his arms before I could hand him the mug."Five more minutes," he whispered, forehead against mine.
I breathed him in—coffee, soap, the faintest trace of ocean air from yesterday. "Five minutes won't stop your flight," I murmured, though I didn't move.
"Yes, but I can memorise your scent.... our weekend till our next meeting," he said, smiling—a little hint of tiredness.
I tilted my face up, and he kissed me slowly, like he was memorizing everything."Text me the second you land," I said against his collar.
"I will," he said, kissing my hair. "But promise me, you will take care of yourself."
"You too, you are way thinner than you looked in video calls. Eat properly. Keep some snacks so whenever you get a little break, you can eat." I said, fixing the already groomed hair of his.
He gave me a dramatic salute, and we had our last few minutes together. I insisted on going with him to the airport, but he denied. I know somehow he found out I cried looking at his back last time. I don't know, this lawyer of mine has eyes in the back of his head as well.
Before leaving, he paused, eyes scanning mine with that intense, soul-searing gaze he always had. "Ama… don't forget," he said softly, voice low and teasing, "These two years will pass in the blink of an eye, so my dear Ama don't cry, don't miss me too much... just a little."
I smiled, a few tears escaping despite my attempts to stay composed. "Okay, I will miss you... just a little bit."
He chuckled softly, pulling me into a final, lingering hug. "Then I can leave with peace," he whispered. His lips brushed my temple, and I closed my eyes, memorizing the moment. He left, and again I am here in my apartment with the emptiness of silence.
Monday came with a lot of new project work, and of course, the messages from Vihaan. Each message from him: quick updates, little jokes about his flight, and selfies mid-boarding. Each message made my chest flutter, kept him present despite the miles.
Finding the Windows of Us
Our "dates" became small rebellions against busy schedules.
A stolen lunch break, laughing over iced lattes across the screen.
Evening walks where we caught the city lights reflecting off the river, hands brushing accidentally on purpose.
Video calls from my office desk while he dictated briefs, pretending to understand my programming language.
One night, exhausted from back-to-back hearings, he called just to hear my voice."I can't focus," he admitted, running a hand through his hair."I'll distract you," I teased, showing him the doodles I'd made of us from memory. He laughed, low and warm, and I could see him relax for the first time that day.
But I must say, after that incident, he became more aware of the doodles:
"Are you doodling me again?" he asked, spotting a new sketch on my notepad.
"Maybe…" I said, pretending innocence.
"You better not turn it into a meme!"
"No promises," I whispered, winking.
I can sense him helpless every time I try something mischievous, and he doesn't do anything to watch me.
Moments Between Chaos
Weekends were our treasure.I still remember one video: he was working intently, oblivious to everyone around him, until Jia mentioned she'd be sending it to me. In an instant, he leaned toward the camera and greeted me with the most contagious smile.
In those two years, we never followed a calendar. Our meetings felt like chance collisions—Vihaan slipping in at night and leaving at dawn.
Even in the busiest streets, we were invisible to the world. Just him and me, drifting inside our own quiet bubble.
I only managed to visit once during that time—on his birthday. He'd sounded a little dejected when I said an important client meeting would keep me away. And I still remember the look on his face when he saw me standing in front of his office was priceless: surprise flashing into pure joy as he ran forward, scooped me up, and hugged me until my feet left the ground.
"Happy birthday, Vihaan," I whispered, still cocooned in his arms.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he rested his head against my shoulder, holding me as if letting go might tilt the entire planet off its axis.
"You made it… Thank you," he finally breathed, voice rough, like he'd been carrying two years of words he'd only say to me.
A familiar ache tugged at me. I am not alone there but not lonely, and he is lonely here. Surrounded by a world full of voices, but he still kept whole galaxies of thought locked behind that quiet smile.
I inhaled the scent of him—warm soap and that cedar-spiced cologne that could stop time itself. It wrapped around me like a private constellation.
"We'll be together soon," I promised, pressing a kiss to his hair. "Just a little more waiting."
The Little Surprises
Vihaan knew the smallest things about me: how I liked my coffee strong, how I always tapped my pen when thinking, how I froze when people got too close to me in elevators. And he used it all to make me feel cared for.
One Friday evening, I arrived at my apartment exhausted, only to find a little package on my doorstep: a scarf with a note—so you're wrapped up in warmth, even if I'm not there. He didn't need to say anything more.
The moment I was thinking about him, he called: "Got the scarf?" he asked from the other side.
"Yeah, got it," I said. Just hearing his voice was enough to make me relax.
Seasons of Us
Two years passed in a rhythm we barely noticed:
His court victories, my project launches.
Our small celebrations, shared meals, and teasing chats.
Occasional arguments, always ending in laughter, always ending in building a stronger understanding.
Even when work nearly consumed him, he never failed to steal a glance my way, or a minute to make me smile. And I, in turn, learned to balance my ambitions with the little moments that kept us tethered.
It's only one month to go, and I will finally be able to see him as much as I want. No flight calls, no need to depend on video calls. Eric told me not to tell him the exact date I will be coming back, saying he planned something.
"Ready to wrap up the work there," a message popped up.
"Yupp, can't wait to see you." I messaged back in no time.
"When's the last day? Tell me, I will come to take you," he asked, but then I remembered Eric planned something, so why ruin it?
"Umm, the date is not confirmed yet, but I will tell you soon," I tried to lie, hoping he didn't find out.
"Fine, I am happy, I can finally see you every day without any clock ticking," he messaged almost within a second.
I set the phone down, smiling. Only a few more weeks, and the secret will be worth every heartbeat.
Days slipped past, and suddenly it was the final week. I was buried in my last project, tying loose ends like ribbons on a gift.
"Wanna grab dinner with me?" Ethan asked, leaning against the doorframe with an easy smile.
I hesitated. Ethan was good company—kind, a little too observant—but this would make three nights in a row. And Vihaan and I hadn't spoken for days; his back-to-back hearings were eating every spare minute. Tonight I wanted to guard the silence, keep it open for our video call, for the sound of his voice.
"Thanks, but I think I'll stay in," I said, soft but firm.
He gave a mock sigh of defeat. "Rain check, then?"
"Definitely," I said, offering a quick smile.
When he left, the office felt quieter, almost expectant. I finished the last lines of code and shut down my laptop, the screen's glow fading to black.
At home, I brewed tea and checked my phone—still nothing. A faint ache settled in my chest. I told myself he'd call when he could; court days could stretch into forever.
I curled up on the couch, scrolling through old photos of us: his lopsided grin, the way he always tilted his head when he listened. Each picture felt like a small spark in the dark.
Just as I set the phone aside, it buzzed. Vihaan.
Relief bloomed before I even answered.
"Hey, counselor," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Ama," he breathed, tired but warm. "I've been buried alive in briefs. Tell me something good before I forget what normal sounds like."
I smiled into the quiet, every mile between us shrinking. "Hmm… something good? Maybe I'm plotting a surprise. You'll just have to stay alert."
His voice sharpened with playful suspicion. "A surprise? Should I be worried?"
"Not unless you dislike the impossible-to-forget kind," I teased.
"Ama," he said, half laughing, half groaning, "you can't drop hints like that and expect me to sleep."
"Then consider it practice," I replied. "Anticipation is good for you."
He chuckled, low and warm, the sound I'd been waiting for all week. "You're going to drive me crazy."
"That's the idea," I whispered, already picturing his face when the secret finally unfolds.