19 Being There For Him
The moment her hand settled into his, neither of them moved.
It was such a simple thing.
Just fingers brushing against fingers.
Just skin against skin.
Yet somehow it felt heavier than every kiss they had ever shared.
For two months, there had been nothing between them but silence. Unanswered messages. Unspoken hurt. Distance carefully maintained by pride and pain.
And now, after all that, the first bridge between them wasn't built with words.
It was built with a hand.
Niyati became acutely aware of the warmth of his palm.
The familiar shape of his fingers.
The way his hand instinctively adjusted around hers, as though it remembered exactly how she fit there.
And maybe it did.
Some things were difficult to forget.
Ansh looked down at their joined hands for a brief moment before lifting his gaze back to her face.
There was something vulnerable in his eyes.
Something almost disbelieving.
As if he hadn't truly expected her to take it.
As if even now, after everything she had said, a part of him believed he deserved to leave this room empty-handed.
The realization made something twist painfully inside her chest.
Neither of them spoke.
Words suddenly felt unnecessary.
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan above them and the distant sound of traffic outside.
For the first time that night, the silence wasn't painful.
It wasn't awkward.
It wasn't filled with things left unsaid.
It simply existed around them.
Gentle.
Tender.
Fragile.
Ansh's thumb twitched slightly against her knuckles before stopping immediately, as though he had done it instinctively and then remembered he no longer had that right.
Niyati noticed.
Of course she noticed.
She noticed everything when it came to him.
The way he immediately withdrew the movement.
The way guilt flashed across his face.
The way he seemed afraid to ask for more.
And suddenly, she understood something.
He wasn't standing here expecting forgiveness.
He wasn't expecting things to go back to normal.
He wasn't expecting her to fall into his arms and pretend none of it happened.
For once-
Ansh wasn't asking for anything.
He was simply grateful she hadn't let go.
That realization softened something inside her.
Not enough to erase the hurt.
Not enough to heal everything.
But enough.
Enough for tonight.
Enough for now.
Ansh swallowed hard.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was almost embarrassingly quiet.
"I missed you."
The confession hung between them.
Raw.
Honest.
Unprotected.
Niyati's heart squeezed.
Because there was no charm in it.
No flirtation.
No attempt to win her over.
Just truth.
Three simple words carrying months of loneliness.
She looked down briefly, unable to hold his gaze.
"I know."
A small smile appeared on his lips.
Sad.
Tender.
Relieved.
"You know?"
Niyati rolled her eyes lightly despite herself.
"You climbed through my window at midnight."
The laugh that escaped him was soft and genuine.
And for the first time that night, she found herself smiling too.
Only a little.
But enough.
Ansh stared at that smile like it was something precious.
Something he hadn't seen in far too long.
Something he was terrified of losing again.
The sight made his chest ache.
Because God, he had missed her.
Missed this.
Missed them.
Not the romantic parts.
Not the stolen kisses.
Not the secret dates.
Just this.
Talking to her.
Hearing her voice.
Watching her roll her eyes at him.
Feeling the room become lighter simply because she was in it.
And perhaps that was how he finally knew.
Not that he loved her.
He had known that long ago.
But that losing her had been the biggest mistake of his life.
Niyati glanced toward the window.
The night had grown darker while they talked.
The clock on her wall showed a time that would have horrified both their parents.
"You should leave," she said softly.
This time there was no dismissal in her voice.
No anger.
Just concern.
Ansh followed her gaze toward the clock and winced.
"Probably."
Neither moved.
Again.
A small smile tugged at Niyati's lips.
"You're still standing here."
"So are you."
That earned him another eye roll.
And somehow, it felt like victory.
A tiny one.
But victory nonetheless.
For a few seconds they simply looked at each other.
No walls.
No pretending.
Just two people standing in the aftermath of heartbreak, trying to figure out whether love could survive it.
Finally, Ansh released her hand.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
As though he wanted her to know the choice was entirely hers.
That he wasn't holding on.
That she was free to pull away.
The loss of warmth was immediate.
Unexpectedly disappointing.
For both of them.
Neither acknowledged it.
Instead, Ansh took a step backward toward the window.
Then another.
His eyes never leaving hers.
"I meant what I said."
Niyati's brows lifted slightly.
"Which part?"
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"All of it."
Something warm fluttered inside her chest.
Dangerous.
Hopeful.
Terrifying.
Before she could respond, Ansh climbed onto the window ledge.
Then paused.
"Niyati?"
"Hm?"
His expression softened.
"So we're not completely hopeless, right?"
For a moment, she simply looked at him.
At the boy who had broken her heart.
And the same boy who had spent the entire night trying to put the pieces back together.
Then very slowly-
a small smile touched her lips.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But something close to possibility.
"Goodnight, Ansh."
The answering smile that spread across his face was brighter than anything she had seen all evening.
And somehow-
that felt like an answer.
The news arrived on a quiet Tuesday afternoon.
No shouting.
No dramatic confrontation.
No visible collapse.
Just a few signatures on legal documents, a judge's approval, and years of marriage officially came to an end.
The Raizada divorce was finalized.
When Diya appeared at the Sharma house later that day, Niyati immediately sensed something was different.
Her best friend wasn't crying. She wasn't even particularly emotional.
But sometimes sadness wasn't loud.
Sometimes it settled quietly behind tired eyes and exhausted smiles.
Diya looked exactly like that.
The moment she stepped inside, Niyati wrapped her arms around her.
Diya hugged her back without hesitation.
Tightly.
Almost desperately.
And that alone told Niyati everything she needed to know.
Neither girl spoke for several moments.
Words felt unnecessary.
There were moments in life when language simply wasn't enough.
This was one of them.
They eventually settled in Niyati's room, sitting cross-legged on the bed while pretending to discuss college applications, hostel facilities, entrance requirements, and future plans.
Pretending.
Because both of them knew that wasn't what occupied their minds.
Every now and then, Diya would fall silent midway through a sentence, staring at nothing in particular.
And each time, Niyati would gently redirect the conversation.
Not because she wanted to avoid the topic.
Because she knew Diya wasn't ready for it.
The girl needed normalcy.
Even if only for a few hours.
Yet despite sitting beside her best friend, Niyati's thoughts continuously wandered elsewhere.
To someone else.
To a boy with tired eyes and a broken heart.
Ansh.
The moment she had heard about the divorce being finalized, her thoughts had immediately gone to him.
Not because she had forgiven everything.
Not because all their problems had magically disappeared.
But because she knew him.
And she knew that beneath his stubbornness, beneath his calm exterior, beneath the protective walls he built around himself, Ansh felt things deeply.
Sometimes too deeply.
The realization refused to leave her mind.
How was he handling this?
Was he handling it at all?
Had he spoken to anyone?
Had he eaten?
Had he locked himself in his room again?
The questions lingered.
Unanswered.
Persistent.
Eventually, unable to ignore them any longer, Niyati spoke.
"I'll come with you."
Diya looked up from her phone.
"Huh?"
"When you go home."
A small smile appeared on Diya's face.
"Really?"
Niyati shrugged casually, pretending it wasn't a big deal.
"You shouldn't be alone today."
The statement was true.
Mostly.
But there was another truth she wasn't ready to admit aloud.
She wanted to see Ansh.
Just once.
Just to know he was okay.
Or at least surviving.
The Raizada house felt different.
Not physically.
Everything looked the same.
The furniture hadn't moved.
The family photographs still occupied the walls.
The familiar scent of home still lingered in the air.
Yet something felt missing.
As if happiness itself had quietly packed its bags and left.
Mrs. Raizada welcomed Niyati warmly.
The older woman smiled and hugged her affectionately, asking about college admissions and future plans.
Niyati answered politely.
But her attention remained divided.
Every few seconds, her gaze drifted toward the staircase.
Waiting.
Watching.
Searching.
Ansh never appeared.
Mrs. Raizada continued speaking.
Diya wandered in and out of the living room.
Time passed.
Still no sign of him.
A strange disappointment settled heavily inside her chest.
Before she could overthink it, she turned toward Diya.
"Can I use your room washroom?"
Diya stared at her.
"Since when do you ask for permission?"
Niyati laughed awkwardly.
"Just asking."
"Go."
The response came immediately.
"You're practically family."
The words made something flutter painfully inside her chest.
Family.
Once upon a time, she had secretly hoped for that.
She pushed the thought away.
Then headed upstairs.
The hallway was quiet.
Sunlight streamed through the large windows at the far end, casting long golden shadows across the floor.
Niyati reached Diya's room.
Then stopped.
Her eyes shifted toward the room opposite.
His room.
The door was closed.
For several seconds, she simply stood there staring at it.
Her heartbeat quickened.
This was ridiculous.
She should turn around.
Walk into Diya's room.
Use the washroom.
Go back downstairs.
Instead, her feet carried her toward the closed door.
One slow step after another.
Until she found herself standing directly outside it.
Her hand lifted.
Paused.
Dropped.
Lifted again.
What was she even doing?
The last thing Ansh probably wanted right now was company.
Maybe he wanted to be alone.
Maybe he needed space.
Maybe-
Before she could talk herself out of it, her knuckles lightly tapped against the wood.
Silence followed.
Then a tired voice emerged from inside.
"Come in."
Niyati swallowed.
Took a breath.
And entered.
The room was dim despite the afternoon sunlight outside.
The curtains were partially drawn, leaving soft shadows scattered throughout the space.
Ansh sat on the edge of his bed.
A photo album rested open in his hands.
For a moment, he didn't notice her.
His attention remained fixed on one of the photographs.
Then he looked up.
And froze.
"Niyati?"
Surprise flashed across his face instantly.
He stood so quickly the album nearly slipped from his lap.
"You... what are you doing here?"
Niyati's breath caught.
Not because he wasn't wearing a shirt.
Not because she suddenly became aware of how broad his shoulders had become.
Not because of the faint scars and tan lines visible across his skin.
None of that mattered.
What caught her attention were his eyes.
They were red.
Swollen.
Glass-like.
The eyes of someone who had spent a long time crying.
Something inside her shattered immediately.
All the irritation.
All the lingering anger.
All the carefully maintained distance.
Gone.
Because for the first time, she wasn't looking at the boy who had broken her heart.
She was looking at someone who was hurting.
Deeply.
Without thinking, she crossed the room.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Until she stood directly in front of him.
Then she reached for his hand.
Holding it firmly between both of hers.
"Are you okay, Ansh?"
The question was simple.
Gentle.
Sincere.
And it completely destroyed whatever composure he had left.
Niyati saw it happen.
The exact moment his expression broke.
The exact moment the carefully constructed mask shattered.
His eyes closed briefly.
His jaw tightened.
Then suddenly-
he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
The hug wasn't romantic.
It wasn't hesitant.
It wasn't even intentional.
It was the hug of someone drowning.
Someone reaching for the nearest lifeline.
Niyati stumbled slightly from the force of it.
Shock momentarily rooted her in place.
Then she felt it.
His shoulders trembling.
His breathing breaking.
The quiet sound of tears.
And her heart broke.
Because Ansh Raizada never cried.
At least not in front of people.
Yet here he was.
Holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping him upright.
"I'm not okay."
His voice cracked against her shoulder.
Raw.
Broken.
"I thought I would be."
Another shaky breath.
"But I'm not."
Niyati slowly placed her hand against his back.
Saying nothing.
Allowing him space to fall apart.
Sometimes comfort wasn't found in advice.
Sometimes comfort was simply being allowed to break.
"He is my father."
The words came out unevenly.
Confused.
Angry.
Heartbroken.
"You know what he was like."
Niyati closed her eyes.
She did know.
Everyone knew.
Mr. Raizada had always been the kind of father people envied.
Warm.
Funny.
Affectionate.
Present.
The kind who attended every important event.
The kind who treated his wife like she was still the girl he had fallen in love with.
At least that's what everyone believed.
"Diya and I used to tease him all the time whenever he flirted with Mom."
A painful laugh escaped him.
One filled with bitterness rather than amusement.
"We thought it was cute."
His grip tightened.
"We thought they were perfect."
Silence.
Then-
"Was it all fake?"
The question lingered heavily between them.
"Was it all an act?"
Niyati didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
And she wasn't going to lie.
"How could he do that to her?"
His voice cracked again.
"She gave him everything."
The tears returned.
Fresh.
Relentless.
"I looked up to him."
A pause.
Then more quietly-
"I wanted to be like him."
The confession hurt more than anything else he had said.
Because she understood exactly what he meant.
When your hero falls, part of you falls with them.
Eventually, she gently pulled away.
Only enough to guide him toward the bed.
"Sit."
For once, he obeyed immediately.
No arguments.
No teasing.
Nothing.
He sat heavily on the mattress.
And before she could react, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his forehead against her stomach.
The vulnerability of the gesture stole her breath.
He looked younger suddenly.
Not twenty-one.
Not strong.
Not responsible.
Just tired.
So incredibly tired.
Unsure what else to do, Niyati slowly ran her fingers through his hair.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The simple motion gradually steadied his breathing.
Gradually eased the tremors running through him.
"What happened has happened, Ansh," she said softly.
Her fingers continued moving through his hair.
"You can't change it."
Silence.
"You still have your final semester."
Silence.
"Aunty needs you."
Another pause.
"Diya needs you."
His grip tightened slightly around her waist.
Then he whispered something so quietly she almost missed it.
"I need someone too."
The words struck her harder than she expected.
Because beneath everything-
the responsibilities,
the expectations,
the protective older-brother role,
the pressure of being the man of the house-
he was still only twenty-one.
A young man trying to hold together pieces that were never his responsibility to fix.
Slowly, Niyati crouched down in front of him.
Her hands rose to his face.
Gently cupping his cheeks.
Making him look at her.
His eyes were red.
Lost.
Filled with pain.
And for the first time since their breakup, she didn't hesitate.
Didn't overthink.
Didn't pull away.
"I'm here for you, Ansh."
The words came quietly.
But they carried all the sincerity in her heart.
No promises.
No labels.
No expectations.
Just truth.
And for the first time since his world had fallen apart-
Ansh looked like he believed he didn't have to carry everything alone.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The room remained quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional sound of traffic somewhere far outside.
Ansh didn't move away.
Neither did Niyati.
She continued running her fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, until his breathing finally steadied.
The tears had stopped.
The pain hadn't.
But at least he wasn't carrying it alone anymore.
Eventually, he lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
For a second, neither of them looked away.
Niyati felt her heartbeat stumble.
Because this wasn't the Ansh she was used to.
Not the confident boy who always had a teasing remark ready.
Not the stubborn idiot who drove her crazy.
This was simply Ansh.
Stripped of every defense.
Every wall.
Every mask.
And somehow that made him feel closer than he had in months.
"Thank you."
His voice was rough from crying.
Niyati offered a small smile.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do."
He looked down briefly before meeting her gaze again.
"You still came."
The words were simple.
Yet she understood everything he wasn't saying.
After the arguments.
After the distance.
After the heartbreak.
She still came.
Something tightened inside her chest.
Slowly, she reached up and brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead.
A gesture so natural she didn't even think about it.
Ansh froze.
Not because of the touch.
Because of what it meant.
For months, there had been a careful distance between them.
An invisible line neither dared cross.
Now, for the first time, that distance felt smaller.
Fragile.
Almost gone.
"Niyati..."
The way he said her name made her stomach flutter.
Soft.
Careful.
As if he was afraid she might disappear if he spoke too loudly.
She swallowed.
"Yeah?"
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something.
Something important.
Something dangerous.
But then his eyes lowered.
And he shook his head.
"Nothing."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Liar."
To her surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted too.
Only slightly.
But it was there.
The first genuine smile she had seen from him all day.
And somehow it felt like a victory.
A small one.
But a victory nonetheless.
Without thinking, she shifted closer beside him on the bed.
Their shoulders brushed.
Neither moved away.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It was peaceful.
The kind shared between two people who no longer needed words every second.
After a while, Ansh quietly rested his head against her shoulder.
Tentatively.
Giving her every opportunity to pull away.
She didn't.
Instead, she leaned her head lightly against his.
And together they sat there.
Not fixing anything.
Not discussing the future.
Not pretending everything was okay.
Just existing.
Just breathing.
Just finding comfort in the simple fact that neither of them was alone.
Outside, the sun slowly began to set.
And for the first time that day, the weight on Ansh's chest felt a little lighter.A stronger romantic progression after this could be a near-confession scene later that evening, where they talk about their breakup and realize their feelings never completely disappeared.
That would feel more natural than jumping straight into physical intimacy.
That works well because it breaks the emotional intensity naturally and brings back a bit of their old dynamic.
Then reality hit her.
Hard.
Niyati's eyes widened.
"Oh my God."
Ansh blinked.
"What?"
She immediately pulled away, looking horrified.
"I've been gone forever."
A brief pause.
Then-
"Diya is definitely looking for me."
The panic in her voice was so genuine that Ansh actually stared at her.
"Niyati-"
"No, seriously."
She stood up so quickly she nearly lost her balance.
"If she comes up here and finds me in your room after disappearing for half an hour, she'll never let me live it down."
For the first time all day, something close to amusement appeared in Ansh's eyes.
"I think you're overestimating her investigative abilities."
Niyati pointed an accusing finger at him.
"You have no idea how dangerous your sister is."
A small laugh escaped him.
Actual laughter.
Soft.
Unplanned.
And the sound made her chest tighten unexpectedly.
Because she hadn't heard it in so long.
"There he is," she murmured before she could stop herself.
Ansh frowned.
"There who is?"
A faint smile touched her lips.
"The real you."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The sadness was still there.
The grief.
The exhaustion.
But for the first time since she had walked into the room, she could see a glimpse of the boy she knew beneath it all.
The sight made something inside her settle.
He was hurting.
But he was still there.
Niyati cleared her throat and took a step backward toward the door.
"I should go."
Ansh nodded.
Neither of them seemed entirely happy about it.
"Yeah."
Another awkward second passed.
Neither moved.
Neither looked away.
Then Niyati abruptly pointed toward him.
"Drink water."
Ansh raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"You've been crying for hours. Drink water."
A reluctant smile appeared on his face.
"Okay, Mom."
"Don't start."
His smile widened slightly.
And just like that, the atmosphere felt lighter.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
Just lighter.
Satisfied, Niyati reached for the doorknob.
Then paused.
Turning back one last time.
"Ansh?"
"Hm?"
Her expression softened.
"If things get bad again..."
She hesitated.
Then finished quietly.
"Call me."
Something flickered across his face.
Gratitude.
Affection.
Maybe something more.
"I will."
The answer came without hesitation.
And somehow that meant more than she expected.
Niyati nodded once.
Then immediately fled the room before her courage could abandon her.
The door clicked shut behind her.
For several seconds, Ansh simply stared at it.
The room was empty again.
Yet it no longer felt quite as lonely.
A quiet chuckle escaped him as he leaned back against the headboard.
The first genuine one he had managed all day.
Somehow, without even trying, Niyati had walked into a room full of grief and left behind a little bit of peace.
By the time Niyati reached the bottom of the stairs, she had almost convinced herself that her face looked completely normal.
Almost.
Diya was sprawled across the couch, scrolling through her phone with the concentration of someone investigating state secrets.
Mrs. Raizada had disappeared into the kitchen, the faint sounds of utensils and running water drifting through the house.
The moment Diya looked up, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"There you are."
Niyati immediately headed for the sofa.
Diya sat up straighter.
"Were you building a washroom?"
Niyati nearly choked.
"What?"
"You disappeared forever."
Diya pointed dramatically toward the staircase.
"I was two minutes away from launching a search operation."
Niyati dropped onto the couch beside her.
"Yaar, bad stomach."
Diya stared.
Niyati stared back.
"Don't judge."
The silence lasted three seconds.
Then Diya rolled her eyes so hard it looked physically painful.
"You're impossible."
"And yet you're still friends with me."
"Unfortunately."
Niyati gasped.
"You wound me."
"I'll survive."
The exchange felt so normal that Niyati almost laughed.
Almost.
Because for the first time all day, Diya sounded like herself again.
Not the girl whose family had just been shattered.
Not the girl pretending she wasn't hurting.
Just Diya.
Annoying.
Dramatic.
And completely herself.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Raizada returned carrying a plate of snacks.
Immediately, Diya lunged forward.
"Oh, thank God."
Mrs. Raizada shook her head.
"I fed you less than two hours ago."
"That was past Diya."
"And?"
"Current Diya is starving."
Niyati burst out laughing.
Mrs. Raizada sighed dramatically.
"I don't know where she gets this from."
"Definitely not from me," Diya declared while reaching for a samosa.
"Obviously."
The three of them ended up gathered around the coffee table, talking about everything and absolutely nothing.
College applications.
Hostel horror stories they had read online.
Ridiculous professors.
Childhood memories.
At one point, Diya found an old photo on her phone from when they were thirteen.
The picture was awful.
Niyati was mid-sneeze.
Diya had braces.
Both of them looked ridiculous.
Naturally, they spent the next ten minutes laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
"Delete it."
"No."
"Diya."
"No."
"Please."
"I'm framing it."
"You're evil."
"I know."
For the first time since arriving, Niyati saw genuine laughter reach Diya's eyes.
Not forced.
Not polite.
Real.
And it made the house feel a little warmer.
A little less heavy.
As the evening sun filtered through the windows, filling the living room with golden light, the girls continued teasing each other endlessly.
For a few precious hours, they weren't thinking about lawyers, court documents, broken marriages, or uncertain futures.
They were simply two best friends laughing until their stomachs hurt.
And sometimes, that kind of normalcy was exactly what wounded hearts needed.