700 ᏦᎥᏝᎧᎷᏋᏖᏒᏋᏕ ᏗᏇᏗᎩ

Chapter 11: A Quiet Goodbye to the Roads

"If we were flowers," Ishwaani said, pulling at the end of her dupatta, "I think you’d be that stubborn marigold that grows even in the crack of a wall."

"And you’d be the jasmine that shows up unexpectedly and makes everything smell better," Harshan replied.

She looked down, smiling, her cheeks pink.

They reached her street late that day. The shadows were longer, and a soft wind had picked up. At her gate, she turned and faced him seriously.

She punched his arm gently. "Come to the terrace. Tonight. Don’t forget."

He raised a brow. "Only if you promise not to distract me with ghost stories."

She grinned. "Deal."

They stood there a moment longer. Words still hung between them—words that couldn’t be said now. So instead, she raised her hand, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and said, "Bye, Harshan."

He waved, watched her disappear behind the gate, and turned away slowly.

That walk had been different. He knew it. She knew it.

It was a closing chapter—but also, a gentle promise of another one beginning.

Terrace study sessions soon became their sanctuary.

Each evening, they climbed their respective staircases at nearly the same time, sometimes carrying notebooks, sometimes snacks. From their parallel rooftops, only a few feet apart, they built a world of their own.

Ishwaani would recite biology definitions dramatically, and Harshan would pretend to award her Oscars. He’d explain physics concepts with exaggerated diagrams on his notebook, tilting them so she could see.

---

One night, the sky was clearer than ever. Harshan stepped onto his terrace, clutching a notebook, though he knew they wouldn’t be studying much. Across the way, she appeared a moment later, her hair pulled back in a loose braid, a shawl draped around her shoulders.

They didn’t talk much at first. Just exchanged a few questions about the Chemistry revision, a few laughs over how terrible the math paper had been. But the air was thick with something else—something quieter and deeper.

Then suddenly, the creaking door behind Harshan flew open.

"I’m done!" his mother’s voice rang sharply in the night. "I’m not staying here anymore! I can’t live with that man!"

Harshan turned in shock. Ishwaani immediately ducked, hiding behind a water tank on her side of the terrace.

His mother stood there, eyes red with fury. "You think I don’t see what’s happening? You think I’ll let him treat me like this forever? I’m leaving, Harshan. I’m leaving this house."

Harshan stepped forward, trying to calm her. "Amma, please. It’s late. Just go inside. We’ll talk tomorrow."

But she wasn’t listening. Her voice cracked, anger and exhaustion blurring into one. Eventually, after a few more heavy words, she turned and stormed back down the stairs.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Harshan didn’t turn to the terrace right away. He stood still, breathing in deeply, trying to contain the storm inside him.

Then, slowly, Ishwaani stood again, hesitant.

He finally looked at her, his face pale and quiet.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded slowly. "She says this a lot. But it still stings."

She didn’t say anything more. Instead, she reached over the ledge between them, stretching her hand out.

He stepped closer. Reached out. Their fingers touched, then intertwined.

And just like that, the night softened.

No words were spoken. They didn’t need to talk. Their hands said what their lips couldn’t.

They stood like that, fingers laced, under the canvas of stars. The wind moved gently around them, like a lullaby. The world, with all its chaos and rules and noise, seemed far away.

Harshan looked up. The stars flickered silently above. The same stars that had watched them from day one, that had seen their awkward beginnings, their stolen glances, their shared pani puri and laughter.

"I don’t want you to go anywhere," he said quietly.

"I'm not going," she replied. "Not now. Not while we're here."

The rooftops around them were asleep. Only the hum of a distant motorcycle and the occasional bark of a street dog broke the quiet.

But between their rooftops, between their joined hands, a different world existed.

In that world, they weren’t students buried in revision notes. They weren’t children of families fraying at the edges. They weren’t hiding from rules or people or realities.

They were just two hearts, quietly beating together under a blanket of sky.

Time seemed to slow.

Ishwaani rested her cheek on her other hand, elbow on the ledge, eyes not leaving Harshan.

"Will you remember this moment?" she asked.

"Every second of it," he whispered.

"Even the silence?"

"Especially the silence."

Their hands remained joined. They didn’t need the full embrace. This was enough. This was more.

And as the night deepened, and the stars multiplied above, Harshan and Ishwaani stood hand in hand, watching the sky. Their problems, their fears, the uncertainties of tomorrow—all of it faded in the presence of that stillness.

For in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Not school. Not exams. Not family.

Just the pulse of her fingers in his. Just the way her thumb gently brushed his. Just the shared promise that no matter what came next, they had this moment.

And in that silence, they weren’t just holding hands.

They were holding onto each other.

__

They stayed like that. Two silhouettes, two hearts balancing on rooftops and fragile hopes, holding each other in silence. Letting the stars witness what words couldn’t.

Time blurred. Minutes passed, or maybe hours.

...

Ishwaani looked at him, her eyes soft, yet shimmering. "Harsha… I want to tell you something."

He turned, eyes meeting hers, as the wind carried her voice gently toward him.

"I… I—"

Suddenly, a loud voice called from below.

"Ishwaani!"

She flinched.

"My sister!" she whispered. "She might come upstairs."

In a flash, she tucked her pen into the book, gave Harshan an apologetic smile, and ran down the stairs, her footsteps vanishing into the night.

Harshan stood there, staring at the space she’d just occupied.

She was gone.

But her presence still lingered in the air—in the warmth of his palm, in the crackling quiet between the stars.

He looked up at the sky.

Whatever she was about to say, it would come. Maybe not today, but someday soon.

And until then, he would wait.

Because some silences didn’t need to be filled.

They just needed to be shared.

Together.