Three years later, they were still together — not just in love, but in rhythm.
They shared a small apartment that always smelled like chai, rain, and old books. Their fridge was covered in stick-figure notes and unfinished grocery lists. The walls — a blend of courtroom memos and charcoal sketches.
Tiara was no longer an associate. She had become the youngest junior partner at her father's firm — a title she wore with quiet pride. But on the days when the deadlines drowned her and the world felt too loud, Arvind was there. By the window. Sketching. Steadying her like he always had.
Arvind had finished art school. His work now lived in cafés and children's homes. He taught part-time, spending afternoons with wild, smudged hands and louder laughter. And when Tiara came home, drained from twelve-hour shifts, he had dinner waiting — still learning, still over-salting the dal, still smiling.
They danced barefoot in the kitchen when it rained.
Argued about who left the lights on.
Hummed to old Bollywood songs while washing dishes.
They bought the apartment together. No ring. No proposal. Just a quiet understanding that this — this ordinary, precious life — was the dream they once whispered under that banyan tree near the schoolyard.
Two broken mirrors, gently reassembled.
Brighter. Softer.
Until one day...
Tiara came home late from work. Exhausted. Hungry. Ready to collapse.
She pushed the door open quietly, already pulling off her heels.
The lights were dim. A jazz playlist hummed from the speaker.
And there — in the middle of the living room — she saw him.
Arvind.
Kissing Kiara.
Not a friendly hug.
Not a mistake.
A full, unhurried, intimate kiss.
Tiara didn't scream.
Didn't cry.
She just stood there.
Still.
Silent.
Watching the man she loved — the man who promised her forever — fold back into the arms of the girl who once walked away.
The chai she had picked up on her way home slipped from her fingers.
And with the shattering of that cup, the mirror broke all over again.
YOU ARE READING
Parallel Lines: a story of memory, silence, and first love
RomanceThere was a rooftop. A page that went unread. A name she never said out loud again. Years passed. The silence stayed. One train. Two people. No second chance - only the memory of what almost was. Parallel Lines is a story you don't read. You remembe...
