The studio was warmer than usual.
Late afternoon sun poured through the high glass panes, casting sharp shadows on the floor. Dust danced in the beams of light, and somewhere in the distance, someone was sanding wood — that soft rasping noise that almost became background music.
Inaaya sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting materials for the test build.
Vihaan arrived — again, late.
She didn’t comment this time. Just slid over a spare cutter and muttered, “You’ll need this.”
He dropped his bag next to hers, sat down with a sigh, and took the cutter with a low “Thanks.”
They worked in quiet coordination for a while — measuring, marking, taping thread lines along the cardboard frame they were prototyping.
Then his phone buzzed.
Once. Twice.
He ignored it.
On the third buzz, he cursed under his breath and pulled it out, glancing at the screen.
Inaaya didn’t mean to look.
But the name on the caller ID caught her eye — clear, bold:
“Rhea (Do Not Pick)”
He declined the call without hesitation, face unreadable. Then he shoved the phone into his pocket and went back to the cutter like nothing happened.
Inaaya didn’t ask.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t even pause.
But something settled in her.
Rhea.
The name from whispers she’d heard during the first month of college.
The girl some seniors said Vihaan had dated last year — briefly, intensely, and then not at all.
The same girl who disappeared from group chats, and whose name became a kind of silence whenever Vihaan entered a room.
Inaaya kept her eyes on the frame.
She didn’t ask questions.
She didn’t give him a knowing look or an awkward smile.
Just kept aligning the threads, taping them in place one by one.
After a moment, Vihaan exhaled — not loudly, just… like a weight had shifted slightly.
He didn't explain.
But he looked over at her — saw the fact that she had noticed, and also saw the fact that she chose not to speak.
And somehow, that silence felt louder than any conversation they could’ve had.
—
Later that evening, as they packed up, Vihaan casually asked, “You ever dated?”
Inaaya didn’t flinch.
“No.”
“No one at all?”
“Not everyone comes with history.”
He looked at her. “Fair.”
She zipped her kit shut, stood up, and slung her tote bag over one shoulder.
“Some of us just watch other people burn their bridges and quietly draw them from a distance,” she added, almost like a joke.
Vihaan cracked a smile. “And what do you do with those sketches?”
“Sometimes… I turn them into installations.”
She walked out first.
He followed, quietly.
No confessions. No layers peeled back.
Just one small truth seen and stored.
And that was enough for today.
---
🌿 To Be Continued...
Sometimes silence isn’t avoidance.
It’s respect.
---
YOU ARE READING
Unfiltered
General FictionShe disappeared after the first semester. No warning, no message. Just... gone. And strangely, he noticed. When Inaaya returns for jury day - calm, sharp, and unapologetically herself - Vihaan doesn't say a word. But something shifts. No friendship...
