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The music from the housewarming party still floated faintly in the air when I stepped outside. A burst of laughter followed me — the kind that only comes from half-drunk students celebrating life and deadlines together.
I smiled. The night was cold, a little misty — typical London. The kind of night when even silence hums softly.
I’d stepped out to see off a few friends. They were planning to drink later, and I had said I’d join. But honestly, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I just wanted air. Or maybe… something else.
And then — I saw her.
Ashna.
She was walking out of the building quietly, her lavender chikankari kurti brushing against her skinny jeans, silver earrings catching the streetlight. She looked… peaceful. But there was something in her eyes — a kind of tired calm, like she was holding too much inside.
For a moment, I thought she hadn’t noticed me. Then she did — and froze.
“Oh… hi,” she said, her voice soft.
“Hey,” I replied, tucking my hands into my pockets. “Leaving already?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a long day.”
I could’ve let her go. I should have.
But before I knew it, I said, “You walking back to your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “It’s fine. It’s just a few minutes away.”
“Still,” I smiled, “London nights can be dramatic. I can be your… bodyguard.”
That made her smile — a small, hesitant curve. “Okay,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
We started walking. The path stretched long and quiet, lined with trees and amber lamps throwing long shadows.
For a while, we didn’t speak. Just the sound of footsteps. Hers were light, careful.
“So,” I finally said, “how’s the new apartment treating you?”
She looked at me briefly. “It’s fine. Shalini managed everything before I came. I just unpacked.”
“Good roommate?”
She smiled faintly. “She’s… too energetic sometimes. But yes, she’s nice.”
“I can imagine. She was the loudest at the party.”
That made Ashna laugh softly. The sound caught me off guard — low, musical, real. Something in my chest shifted.
We talked about random things — the food, the terrible DJ, the chaos of new beginnings. Harmless small talk. Yet, for some reason, it didn’t feel small.
“So,” I said after a while, “PhD in Literature, huh? Impressive.”
She smiled lightly. “It’s not easy. The first few months are always heavy. New place, new people, new everything.”
“Hmm,” I nodded. “Medicine’s the same. Except you don’t read stories — you fix people’s endings.”
Her head turned. “That’s… quite poetic for a doctor.”
I grinned. “Maybe I have a soft corner for words too.”
Her eyes softened. For a second, neither of us said anything. It felt… nice. Comfortable.
Then my phone buzzed. Dev: “Bro, coming out? Drinks ready.”
Ashna noticed. “Your friends waiting?”
“Yeah. They’re planning to drink a little. Weekend thing.”
She slowed her walk. “You drink?”
I hesitated. “Sometimes. Not much. Just a bit, you know — socially.”
Her expression changed — subtle, but enough. Calm eyes turning thoughtful.
“I see,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she murmured.
“Wait,” I laughed awkwardly. “Don’t give me that look. It’s not illegal.”
She stopped walking, turned toward me. “It’s not about that. It’s just… why hurt yourself when you can choose not to?”
Her tone wasn’t scolding. Just… sad.
I frowned. “Ashna, that’s—”
She cut me softly. “I’m not judging. I’ve just… seen enough pain. Some things start small and end up ruining everything.”
Her voice trembled a little. The streetlight fell on her face, and I caught the glint in her eyes before she looked away.
I wanted to ask what she meant. But something told me not to. There was weight behind those words — a story not ready to be told.
We started walking again, slower this time.
After a moment, I said gently, “You don’t drink at all?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Okay,” I smiled. “I’ll remember that.”
Her lips curved. “Why would you?”
I shrugged. “Maybe next time we meet, I’ll offer coffee instead.”
She gave a small laugh. “Maybe.”
And just like that, the tension melted.
Trying to lighten the mood, I said in my terrible Hindi, “Tum… India se ho na?”
She turned, surprised. “You speak Hindi?”
“Thoda thoda. Bahut kharab,” I replied, grinning.
That made her laugh — really laugh this time. And damn, it was beautiful.
“Okay, okay, don’t laugh,” I said, pretending to sulk. “I’m trying, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “It’s just… cute.”
The word cute hit me like a heartbeat. I wanted to say something clever, but my mind blanked.
She stopped laughing, a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. But honestly, I didn’t mind. Her laughter did something strange to me.
We reached her apartment gate. The building was quiet, soft light glowing through the glass doors.
She turned to me. “Thanks for walking with me.”
“No problem,” I said, and meant it.
She hesitated. “Good night, Aarav.”
“Good night, Ashna.”
She smiled once, then walked inside. The lavender of her kurti shimmered under the streetlight until the gate closed behind her.
I stood there, staring for a while.
My phone buzzed again — another message. Bro, shots ready. Come fast.
I looked at the screen. Then turned it off.
A cold gust brushed my face, carrying a faint trace of her perfume.
What the hell are you doing, Aarav? I thought.
For the first time in years, I didn’t have an answer.
And that scared me more than anything.
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