Some distances are created by silence.
Some by pride.
And some… by the fear of saying what we truly feel.
The next day felt heavier than usual.
Meera noticed it the moment she stepped into college.
Everything looked the same.
The same classrooms.
The same students.
The same routine.
But something felt… off.
Or maybe—
It was just her.
She walked through the corridor, her steps slower than usual. Her mind wasn't focused on lectures or assignments.
It kept going back.
To yesterday.
To the silence.
To the way Aarav had said "Fine."
That one word had stayed longer than it should have.
She tightened her grip on her notebook.
Why does it matter so much?
It shouldn't.
It really shouldn't.
But it did.
And that was the problem.
—
Aarav didn't come to the library that afternoon.
Not at the usual time.
Not even later.
Meera told herself it didn't matter.
She opened her notebook.
Focused on the project.
Tried to ignore the empty chair across from her.
But her eyes kept drifting there anyway.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Still empty.
Her fingers tapped lightly against the table.
Faster.
Then slower.
Then stopped.
He's not coming.
The thought settled quietly.
And it shouldn't have affected her.
But it did.
More than she wanted to admit.
She closed her notebook.
Not because she was done.
But because she couldn't focus.
Not like this.
—
The next day was the same.
And the day after that.
No messages.
No explanations.
No arguments.
Just silence.
And somehow—
That was worse.
Because at least arguments meant something was still there.
This?
This felt like distance.
Real distance.
—
On the third day, Meera finally saw him.
Near the academic block.
He was talking to someone.
Laughing.
Like nothing had happened.
Like everything was normal.
Meera stopped.
Her chest tightened.
Just slightly.
Then she turned away.
Of course he's fine.
Why wouldn't he be?
He hadn't done anything wrong.
Neither had she.
So why did it feel like something was broken?
She started walking again.
Faster this time.
As if leaving the moment behind would make it easier.
It didn't.
—
That evening, Meera sat in her room, staring at her open notebook.
The words blurred.
The numbers didn't make sense.
Everything felt… distant.
She dropped her pen.
"This is stupid."
It didn't matter.
It shouldn't matter.
So why did it feel like she was waiting?
Waiting for something.
Waiting for him.
She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes.
And for the first time—
She admitted it.
She missed him.
Not the arguments.
Not the rivalry.
But the presence.
The conversations.
The way things had started to feel… easier.
And that realization scared her.
—
The next day, Aarav finally walked into the library.
Meera saw him.
And immediately looked away.
As if nothing had changed.
As if everything was normal.
He sat down across from her.
Neither of them spoke.
Not at first.
The silence returned.
But this time—
It felt heavier.
More fragile.
More real.
"Did you finish the presentation slides?" Aarav asked.
His voice was calm.
Neutral.
Like before.
"Yes."
"Can I see them?"
Meera slid the laptop toward him.
No eye contact.
No extra words.
Aarav looked at the screen.
"They're good."
"I know."
That tone again.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Distant.
Aarav closed the laptop slowly.
"Meera."
She didn't look up.
"What?"
"We need to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"There is."
"No, there isn't."
Aarav exhaled.
"This isn't working."
"Then focus on the project."
"That's not what I mean."
Meera looked at him.
Finally.
"What do you mean then?"
Aarav held her gaze.
"This."
"This what?"
"This distance."
Meera's expression didn't change.
"There is no distance."
"There is."
"No, there isn't."
"Meera—"
"Stop."
Her voice was firm now.
"We're working. That's all that matters."
Aarav stared at her.
For a moment, he didn't say anything.
Then—
"Is that really all this is to you?"
The question landed quietly.
But it hit harder than anything else.
Meera's breath caught.
Just slightly.
But she recovered quickly.
"Yes."
Aarav looked at her.
Trying to read her expression.
Trying to understand what she wasn't saying.
"You're lying," he said softly.
"I'm not."
"You are."
Meera stood up suddenly.
"This is exactly why I didn't want to talk about it."
"Why?"
"Because you keep making it something it's not."
"And what is it then?"
"Nothing."
The word came out too quickly.
Too firmly.
And that was when Aarav understood.
Not the words.
But the silence behind them.
"Fine," he said.
This time—
The word felt different.
Not sharp.
Not defensive.
Just… tired.
Meera picked up her bag.
"We'll continue tomorrow."
Aarav didn't stop her.
Didn't argue.
Didn't follow.
And somehow—
That hurt more than anything else.
—
That night, Meera lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Her thoughts refused to quiet down.
His voice.
His question.
"Is that really all this is to you?"
She turned to her side, pulling the blanket closer.
"Why didn't I just say something?"
The answer came easily.
Because she didn't know what to say.
Because she didn't understand it herself.
Because admitting it would change everything.
And she wasn't ready for that.
—
Across the campus, Aarav sat alone in his room.
His notebook open.
Untouched.
He stared at the blank page.
Then closed it.
"This is pointless."
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.
He didn't like this.
This distance.
This silence.
This… confusion.
But more than anything—
He didn't like not knowing what she was thinking.
Or why it mattered so much.
He exhaled slowly.
Because it did matter.
More than he expected.
More than it should.
—
The next day came quietly.
But the tension remained.
Unspoken.
Unresolved.
And growing.
Because sometimes—
It's not the words that create distance.
It's the ones we choose not to say.
And the longer they stay unspoken…
The harder they become to say at all.