Present:
The house was louder than ever that evening.
Aunts gossiping in excited circles, uncles arguing about cricket scores, children running across the hallway like stray fireworks. The smell of biryani floated through the rooms, warm and familiar, and every few minutes someone shouted another cousin’s name.
I slipped into the living room, adjusting the bracelet on my wrist — the one that had brought back too many memories on the flight here. Amma was calling someone, Akka was busy taking selfies with our cousins, and Mamayya was giving orders like a general.
But all this noise… all this warmth…
Somewhere in it, my heartbeat searched for one person.
Even though I told myself I wasn’t.
Even though I pretended I wasn’t hoping.
---
And then—
The door opened.
Not dramatically. Not slowly.
Just a simple turn of the handle.
Laksh walked in, dusting the travel air from his shoulders, a polite smile on his face as everyone welcomed him.
He looked older.
Sharper jawline. Broader shoulders. Tired eyes that held too many nights without sleep. A man who had grown into responsibility, into silence, into something steadier than the boy I used to know.
But when his gaze lifted—
When his eyes found mine across the room—
Everything stopped.
The noise blurred.
The laughter softened.
His smile faded, just a little.
My breathing did too.
For a full heartbeat, we simply stared at each other.
No greetings.
No words.
Just… recognition.
A soft shock.
A quiet ache.
A memory returning home.
And then—
His breath trembled.
So did mine.
Write a comment ...