The rain drummed softly against the car windows as they drove through the dimly lit streets. The city felt distant, muted, as if the world outside had agreed to give them space.
Isha sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring straight ahead. Aarav focused on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting tensely near the gear.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was… heavy.
"Thank you," Isha said quietly, breaking it. "For earlier."
Aarav nodded once. "You didn't deserve that."
She glanced at him. "You didn't even hesitate."
His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. "I don't like injustice."
"That's not all it was," she said before she could stop herself.
He didn't respond.
The car slowed at a red light. Reflections of rain-streaked neon flickered across his face, revealing exhaustion beneath his calm exterior.
"You don't talk much," Isha added softly.
"That's intentional," he replied.
"Because?" she asked.
The light turned green. The car moved again.
"Because talking leads to attachments," he said after a pause. "And attachments complicate things."
Isha frowned. "Not everything complicated is bad."
He let out a short breath. "Experience says otherwise."
The words weren't harsh—but they carried weight. Pain.
For the first time, Isha didn't feel annoyed by his distance.
She felt curious.
When they reached her building, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Aarav parked near the gate.
"We're here," he said.
She nodded, then hesitated, fingers curling around the strap of her bag.
"Aarav," she said.
He looked at her.
"Why did you stop yesterday? In the rain. When I almost fell."
The question hung between them.
"I didn't think," he replied honestly. "I just reacted."
"People don't usually do that for strangers," she said.
His eyes darkened slightly. "You weren't a stranger."
Her heart skipped. "I wasn't?"
"You looked scared," he said quietly. "And I know that look."
Before she could ask what he meant, he opened the door from his side and stepped out into the rain.
"I'll walk you in," he added.
"I can—"
"It's fine."
They walked toward the entrance together, the damp air cool against their skin. When they reached the covered area, Isha shivered slightly.
Without a word, Aarav removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
She froze.
"I—I'm okay," she said.
"I know," he replied. "Still."
The warmth of the coat wrapped around her, carrying his scent—clean, subtle, comforting.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He stepped back immediately, as if afraid of standing too close.
Later that night, Isha sat on her bed, the coat folded neatly beside her.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Did you get home safely?
Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed back.
Isha: Yes. Thank you for checking.
There was a pause.
Then—
Unknown Number: Don't misunderstand today.
Her chest tightened.
Isha: Misunderstand what?
The typing dots appeared… then disappeared.
Finally:
Unknown Number: I don't get involved easily.
She stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then replied:
Isha: I'm not asking you to.
Another pause.
Unknown Number: Good.
But the word felt less like relief—and more like fear.
Across the city, Aarav stood alone in his apartment, staring at his phone.
He replayed the moment she'd looked at him in the car. The way her voice softened when she thanked him. The way she'd worn his coat like it belonged to her.
"That's the problem," he murmured.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in years, the ice around his heart had cracked.
And through that crack, someone warm was quietly finding her way in.