❝ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔'𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 - 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒈𝒍𝒚. ❞
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Sometimes love doesn't knock on the right door. Sometimes it slips in through a misdial, a l...
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Auhtor's POV-
The dinner was simple - dal, roti, aloo ki sabzi - but every bite tasted like something heavier. Arjun hadn't spoken much. His mother had smiled at Mira, tears still lingering in her eyes, and Mira had gently kept the conversation alive with little stories, soft smiles, and a silent promise in her gaze that said - "I'm here. For both of you."
After dinner, the plates clinked gently in the kitchen sink, and the clock on the living room wall ticked in a slow, patient rhythm.
Arjun's mother had retired to her room after insisting twice that she was fine, that they should spend time together. Her smile hadn't quite reached her eyes. Neither had Arjun's.
The house had the silence of mourning. Polite. Restrained. Heavy.
Mira looked at him. "Terrace?" she asked.
He simply nodded.
They made their way up the narrow staircase to the terrace each footstep echoing more than words ever could. The sky was unusually clear, stars blinking in solidarity, or maybe indifference.
The Kanpur air was softer at night, cooler, but it did little to ease the tension.
And Arjun? He stood by the railing, his shoulders slouched but held together by sheer habit. His fingers twitched occasionally, and when he sat on the bench, he did it like the act itself took more strength than it should've.
Mira stood a few feet away, watching him. She noticed. She noticed everything.
The boy who once stood tall with dreams glowing in his eyes - now dimmed, cracked... but not broken. Not completely.
"You're still carrying it all," she finally whispered, walking toward him. "I can see it... the weight."
Arjun didn't look at her. "It's not going anywhere, Mira."
She waited.
Finally, he spoke. "I left after one game. One bloody game. Everyone's talking. Saying I bailed. That I couldn't handle pressure. That I'm soft."
