The office buzzed with the low hum of keyboards and phones, but inside Apoorva's cabin, the silence pressed heavier than usual. She flipped through a stack of files, her brows furrowed. Numbers, figures, and pending approvals — all roads led to Aaron. With a sigh, she rose from her chair and walked towards his cabin, the click of her heels the only sound following her.
"Aaron, I need those project details before the meeting," she said, standing at the threshold. He didn't look up immediately. His pen moved steadily across the page, his eyes locked on the documents in front of him. When he finally glanced up, it wasn't with the familiar warmth she had grown used to in the past few months. No half-smiles. No casual quips. Just a brief, professional nod. "They're in the shared folder. You can access them whenever you want," he replied curtly, his tone clipped.
For a second, Apoorva stood frozen. This wasn't the Aaron she knew — the one who always leaned back in his chair, threw in unnecessary details just to make her laugh, or found an excuse to explain things longer than needed. His words now carried nothing more than business, nothing less than distance. "Alright… thank you," she managed, though her voice carried a faint trace of confusion.
As she left his cabin, she couldn't shake off the thought: What had changed? Why did it feel like the door between them had silently closed without her noticing?
Back at her desk, Apoorva opened the shared folder Aaron mentioned. The files were neatly labeled, arranged with precision, every document in perfect order — just as she had asked on the very first day they began working together. But something was missing.
Gone were the casual little notes he used to leave behind, the playful winks hidden in comments, the teasing remarks slipped into file names as if to make her laugh in between long hours. Instead, what stared back at her was pure professionalism. Cold. Distant. Obedient to the rules she herself had set, yet strangely suffocating now that he was actually following them.
Her fingers lingered on the mouse, her eyes scanning the screen, but her heart whispered louder than her thoughts: This isn't the Aaron I know… This isn't the Aaron I've seen for the past few months.
A strange heaviness settled in her chest, as though the screen itself was a wall he had built between them.
Apoorva's steps echoed softly against the quiet hallway as she made her way toward Aaron's cabin. But his cabin was empty. She hesitated at the threshold, her eyes scanning the space that still carried his presence. A pile of files on the desk rustled lightly under the ceiling fan, their edges fluttering restlessly as though mirroring the storm she suspected was inside him.
"No wonder he's drowning," Apoorva whispered to herself, moving forward. She gathered the files, straightened them, and reached for the drawer to tuck them away. The wooden panel slid open with a reluctant creak… and her hand froze.
Inside lay a sketch — not just a sketch, but something startlingly alive. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes sunk in it. There she was, standing beside Aaron, their faces drawn with such tender precision that it almost felt like looking into a mirror of a life she had never lived. Both of them smiling… not just smiling, but glowing, as though the world itself had bent to make space for their happiness. The artistry carried warmth, a softness that leapt straight into her chest.
But what made her heart pound — what made her ears ring as if the walls themselves whispered to her — were the words scrawled beneath the drawing, in Aaron's unmistakable handwriting. Two lines. Simple. Raw. Unfiltered.
"I kept waiting for the perfect moment, but the truth is — every moment with you already feels perfect. No words could ever carry what I feel, Apoorva, because if love is a home, then my heart has always had your name etched on its door. Tell me… am I worthy enough to hold your hand, not to lead you, but to stay stitched to you forever — in every step, in every silence, in every tomorrow?"
Apoorva had never imagined Aaron could carry such depth in his heart. She had seen his warmth, his wit, his brilliance at work — but never this. The sudden release of his feelings struck her like a quiet storm, leaving her numb. Her fingers tightened around the sketch as her breath wavered, but her mind refused to gather the strength to think. For the first time in years, words — her greatest weapon — deserted her. All she could feel was the heavy thud of her heart, echoing against the silence the sketch had left behind.
But Apoorva had learned to master herself. With a slow, deliberate breath, she pulled her strength back, piece by piece. Straightening her shoulders, she walked calmly to the chair opposite his desk, her face smooth, her eyes composed—as if she had seen nothing unusual at all. She sat down, folding her hands gracefully on the table, leaving no trace of the tremor that had shaken her moments ago.
The cabin door clicked. Aaron stepped inside, unaware that his secret had already been unveiled. His eyes met hers, and for a fleeting instant, he paused, sensing something unspoken lingering in the air. But Apoorva, her gaze steady and lips curved in a faint professional smile, gave him no clue.
"I just came to leave the updated reports, Aaron," she said, sliding the file across his desk as though that was the only reason she was there.
"The deadlines are tight, but if we shift the testing phase earlier, I think we can avoid last-minute pressure." Her tone was brisk, professional, betraying nothing of the portrait that still echoed in her mind. She didn't give him a chance to respond, didn't even let his searching eyes linger too long on hers.
Gathering her poise, she stood up. "Anyway, we'll discuss it in detail during tomorrow's meeting." And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving behind the faint trace of her perfume and the silence of words unsaid.
That evening, Apoorva reached home, the weight of the day pressing heavily on her shoulders. She tried to mask it with a smile, but her silence betrayed her. The moment she entered, little Roohi ran to her, tugging at her hand. "Amma, you promised! Today tell me the rest of the story before dinner!" Her eyes sparkled with expectation.
Apoorva bent down, brushed Roohi's hair gently, but her voice came out softer than usual. "Not today, Roohi. Amma is a little tired." Roohi's face fell instantly. "You always say that!" she huffed, crossing her arms. With a pout, she ran off to the courtyard where her granny was sitting. "Granny," Roohi muttered, "Amma doesn't want to tell stories anymore."
Apoorva sank into the chair by the window, her eyes fixed on the gathering twilight. A thousand questions clouded her mind: Why did he draw it? What stopped him from telling me? What am I supposed to do with this truth now?
Roohi's giggles with her granny floated faintly from the other room, but Apoorva remained unmoving, her hands clasped tightly together, as though holding onto her own composure was the only way not to break.
Apoorva hadn't realized how long she had been staring out of the window until her mother's gentle footsteps broke the silence. Veena had already tucked little Roohi in, the child sleeping soundly after dinner. "Appu," Veena's voice was soft yet firm, carrying that maternal authority Apoorva could never ignore, "freshen up first. You look as though the whole day has been dragging you down."
Reluctantly, Apoorva obeyed. She splashed cool water on her face, hoping it would wash away the storm inside, but when she returned, nothing had changed. Veena patted the space beside her on the bed. Apoorva sat, her posture tense, her fingers restless.
Her mother placed a warm hand over hers. "Tell me, Appu… what happened?" That question, spoken in her mother's unshakable calm, almost broke her. Apoorva's throat tightened, her eyes dropped to her lap. She wanted to say, Nothing, Amma. I'm fine. But the image of the portrait—her face drawn with such devotion, hidden in a drawer—kept flashing in her mind, and silence wasn't strong enough to conceal it anymore.
Veena watched her carefully, her gaze patient, waiting for the truth Apoorva struggled to release. Words finally spilled out of Apoorva like water breaking through a fragile dam. She told her mother everything.
The strength she had forced herself to carry all evening slipped away. She collapsed into Veena's lap, her tears soaking the soft folds of her mother's saree. For the first time that day, Apoorva let herself break. Veena stroked her daughter's hair, frowning in confusion. She could feel the depth of Apoorva's turmoil, but she couldn't understand why a painting, however personal, had shaken her so deeply.
"My child," she said gently, "it's just a portrait. He admires you, he respects you and he loves you. Why let this trouble you so much? You're strong enough not to be shaken by such things." But Apoorva only wept harder, because to her, it was not a little thing. The portrait wasn't simply colors on a canvas—it was a silent confession, one that had unsettled her world in ways words never could.
Apoorva's voice trembled as she tried to put into words what her heart had been carrying for so long. "Mom..." she whispered, her face still buried in Veena's lap, "you know I was never in a situation to think about marriage. That part of my life… the state I left behind… it isn't suitable for me to dream of any relationship. Never."
Her breath hitched as she clutched her mother's saree tighter. "But this sudden… warm feeling… from someone I never expected… it has shaken me. I don't know how to handle it. I feel uncomfortable, Mom, because…" Her words broke into sobs before she pushed them out.
"You know… not receiving the same love we shower is painful. But… the pain of not being able to love the one who loves us truly… that is far more pathetic. And I… I don't know how to bear it." Her tears spilled freely now, and Veena's hand froze mid-stroke on her hair. The weight of those words struck her deeply, though she still couldn't fully grasp why her daughter, so composed and strong before the world, was crumbling under this unseen burden.
Veena exhaled slowly, her eyes moistening, and she pulled Apoorva closer into her embrace. She didn't have answers yet, but she could feel the sharp truth in her daughter's pain—the ache of a heart torn between past scars and an unexpected future.
Veena cupped her daughter's face, her eyes brimming with both firmness and tenderness. "Appu, the things that happened in the past are finished. Why do you still carry them along with you? It makes no sense. Look at your life now—you have me, you have Roohi, you have built a beautiful world for yourself. What stops you from accepting a relation that wants you wholeheartedly? Someone who is ready to give you a fresh new life?"
She stroked Apoorva's hair as she continued, "See, my child, accepting something positive after living with so much negativity is not wrong. It's not your fault at all. Then why do you fear it?" Apoorva's lips quivered as she whispered, her voice breaking, "It's not the reality that gives me fear, Mom… it's the next reaction. The way they might confess or change after knowing my past. That gives me chills. And I… I am not ready to accept that reaction if it turns out negative."
Veena's gaze softened, but her tone grew resolute. "Then what if it was positive, Apoorva? Did you ever think of that? Remember what you always said in your childhood… 'The one God had written for me should meet me in the way no one else could even dare to enter.'"
Her hand tightened around her daughter's. "Maybe this is that very moment. Maybe Aaron is the one God has carved for you. Maybe he is the one who is daring to enter—even when your doors are locked, even when you are afraid. Appu, not everyone has that courage. Doesn't that mean something?"
Apoorva fell silent, her heart thundering in her chest. The words echoed inside her, unsettling her fears, yet also planting a small, fragile seed of hope she didn't know whether to water or bury. Apoorva sat quietly, Veena beside her, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She made a silent decision as God has commanded her. The night was still, yet inside her, a spark had been lit.