17 The Distance Between Us
Ansh’s POV
The engine hummed beneath me, steady and familiar, but my mind was anything but.
Diya sat behind me, talking about something—college forms, documents, deadlines—but her words barely registered. The road stretched ahead, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across it, and all I could see… was her.
Niyati.
It had been two months.
Two months since I last saw her.
Two months since I chose to walk away.
And now, for the first time since then, I was on my way to her house like it was just another normal day.
But nothing about this felt normal.
Every turn of the wheel felt heavier. Every passing second tightened something in my chest that I couldn’t shake off. Memories kept slipping in, uninvited and relentless—the way she laughed, the way she looked at me like I was something worth holding onto… the way I let that go.
“Bhai, left here,” Diya said, tapping lightly on my shoulder.
I blinked, pulling myself back to the present, and turned into the familiar lane.
Her lane.
The bike slowed as her house came into view, the gate standing just as it always had. Nothing had changed.
And yet—everything had.
I stopped the bike in front of the house, my grip tightening slightly around the handle before I finally let go.
Diya got down first, adjusting her bag casually, completely unaware of the storm quietly building inside me.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe properly.
Because the door opened.
And she stepped out.
For a moment—
everything stilled.
Niyati stood at the doorway, sunlight falling softly around her like it belonged there. She wore something simple—nothing extravagant—but on her, it didn’t need to be. Her hair fell naturally over her shoulders, slightly messy in a way that felt effortless, and her face…
She looked the same.
And not the same at all.
There was something quieter about her now. Something more contained. Like she had taken parts of herself and tucked them away where no one could reach.
Where I couldn’t reach.
My chest tightened.
She saw Diya.
And smiled.
That same smile I used to think was mine.
She stepped forward immediately, wrapping her arms around Diya in a warm hug, her laughter soft and familiar.
“Finally!” she said, her voice light. “I thought you’d take forever.”
Diya laughed, hugging her back. “Blame my bhai, not me.”
My name hung there for a second.
Unspoken.
Unacknowledged.
Because she didn’t look at me.
Not even once.
Not a glance.
Not a flicker.
Nothing.
And I didn’t expect it to hurt this much.
But it did.
More than I was prepared for.
They pulled away from the hug, already talking about something else, already slipping into their usual rhythm like I wasn’t even there.
Like I had never been there.
Like I didn’t exist in her world anymore.
Something heavy settled in my chest, sharp and quiet at the same time.
They turned toward the house, about to walk in—
“Diya.”
The word left me before I could stop it.
Both of them paused.
Diya turned first. “Haan, bhai?”
Niyati didn’t.
She just stood there, her back partially toward me, her posture still, like she was listening—
but refusing to acknowledge me.
I swallowed lightly, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“How long will it take?” I asked. “The college application thing.”
Diya thought for a second. “Max two hours, bhai.”
I nodded slowly.
“Will it be okay if I stay here till you’re done?” I added, trying to sound casual. “Too tired to come back again.”
There was a brief pause.
Diya’s eyes shifted to Niyati.
That one second felt longer than it should have.
Niyati didn’t turn.
Didn’t look at me.
But she gave a small nod.
That was it.
No words.
Just permission.
Like I was… a guest.
“Okay, bhai,” Diya said, smiling lightly. “Come.”
I nodded once, forcing a small smile in return.
I parked the bike properly, taking a second longer than necessary, trying to steady whatever was unsettled inside me.
Then I followed them in.
The house felt exactly the same—the familiar layout, the faint scent of home-cooked food lingering in the air, the quiet comfort that used to make me feel at ease.
Now it just made everything feel heavier.
“Arrey, Ansh beta!” Mr. Sharma’s voice greeted warmly the moment I stepped inside.
I straightened slightly, forcing myself into the present again.
“Namaste, Uncle,” I said respectfully.
Mrs. Sharma appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her dupatta. “It’s been so long! How are you?”
“I’m good, Aunty,” I replied with a polite smile. “How are you?”
“Good, good,” she nodded, her expression kind as always. “Come, sit. I’ll bring something for you.”
“Ji, Aunty, it’s okay—”
But she had already turned toward the kitchen.
I exhaled quietly, glancing around the living room.
And that’s when my eyes found her again.
Niyati stood a little further away now, talking to Diya about documents and forms, her attention completely focused on her.
Not on me.
Not even for a second.
She moved around the space like I wasn’t part of it.
Like I was just another person in the room.
And maybe—
that’s exactly what I had become.
I leaned back slightly, my jaw tightening as I looked away.
Two months.
And somehow—
she had learned how to exist without me.
The thought settled deeper than I expected.
And for the first time since I stepped into this house—
I wasn’t sure if staying here for the next two hours was a good idea.
Or the worst one I could have made.
Niyati’s POV
The door had barely opened halfway when my world tilted.
I wasn’t expecting him.
I was expecting Diya—just Diya. Another normal day, another step forward, another attempt at moving on with my life the way I had been trying to for the past two months.
But instead—
He was there.
Ansh.
For a second, everything inside me froze. My hand stayed on the door, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat, and my eyes—
My stupid, traitorous eyes—
Found him instantly.
Nothing had changed about him.
Same posture. Same presence. Same way he stood there like he belonged everywhere he went.
And just like that—
Every memory I had been trying so hard to bury came rushing back.
The late-night talks.
The stolen moments.
The way he used to look at me like I was everything.
The way he walked away like I was nothing.
I felt it all in one sharp wave.
So I did the only thing I could.
I looked away.
“Finally!” I said, forcing brightness into my voice as I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around Diya, holding onto her just a little tighter than usual. “I thought you’d take forever.”
Diya laughed, hugging me back easily. “Blame my bhai, not me.”
My heart stumbled at the word.
Bhai.
Not his name.
Not Ansh.
I focused on that.
Held onto it.
Because I refused to look at him again.
If I did—
I knew I wouldn’t be able to control what showed on my face.
We pulled apart, slipping into conversation like nothing had shifted, like my pulse wasn’t racing wildly under my skin, like I wasn’t hyper-aware of his presence just a few steps away.
I could feel him.
Even without looking.
That was the worst part.
I could feel his eyes.
And it took everything in me not to turn.
“Come, let’s go in,” I said, turning toward the house before I could lose control of myself completely.
I just needed to get inside.
To put walls between us.
To breathe.
We had barely taken a step when his voice stopped us.
“Diya.”
I froze.
Not visibly.
But inside—
everything went still again.
Diya turned. “Haan, bhai?”
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
If I turned now… I didn’t know what I’d see. Or worse—what he’d see.
“How long will it take?” he asked. “The college application thing.”
His voice.
God—
why did it still sound the same?
Diya shrugged lightly. “Max two hours, bhai.”
There was a small pause.
And I knew—without looking—that his eyes were on me.
“Will it be okay if I stay here till you’re done?” he added. “Too tired to come back again.”
The question wasn’t really for Diya.
It never was.
It hung there—
between us.
Unspoken.
Uncomfortable.
Unavoidable.
Diya looked at me.
I could feel it.
Waiting.
Asking.
And for a second, I wanted to say no.
I wanted to turn around, look him in the eyes, and say you don’t get to walk back into my space like this.
You don’t get to disappear for two months and then show up like nothing happened.
You don’t get to stand there like I didn’t break trying to understand why I wasn’t enough.
But instead—
I nodded.
Just a small, controlled movement.
Because I didn’t trust my voice.
“Okay, bhai,” Diya said.
And just like that—
he was coming inside.
Into my house.
Into my space.
Into the life I had been trying so hard to rebuild without him.
I walked in without waiting, my steps steady even when everything inside me felt anything but.
Maa and Papa greeted him warmly, just like always, unaware of the storm quietly building beneath the surface. I stayed a little to the side, busying myself with papers, files—anything that gave me an excuse not to look at him.
Not to feel him.
Not to remember.
“Sit, beta,” Maa said kindly. “I’ll bring something.”
I heard him respond politely.
Of course he did.
He was always good at that.
Good at seeming normal.
Good at acting like nothing had changed.
I tightened my grip on the papers in my hand.
Because for me—
everything had changed.
I could feel his presence in the room like a weight. Every movement, every small shift in air, every quiet second—it all reminded me that he was here.
Close.
Too close.
And yet—
so far from me now.
Diya sat beside me, pulling me into discussion about forms and colleges, her voice filling the silence I was too afraid to acknowledge. I nodded, responded, tried to focus.
But my attention kept slipping.
Drifting.
Back to him.
I didn’t look.
Not once.
But I knew.
I knew when he shifted in his seat.
I knew when his gaze lingered too long.
I knew when the silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we hadn’t said.
And still—
I didn’t look.
Because I was scared.
Scared that if I met his eyes—
I wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.
That the walls I had spent two months building would crack in a second.
That all the strength I had forced into myself would disappear.
So I stayed where I was.
Silent.
Distant.
Untouchable.
Even though every part of me—
still remembered what it felt like to be his.
And maybe that was the hardest part of all.
Not that he left.
But that a part of me…
never really let him go.
At the dining table, Niyati and Diya sat side by side, laptops open, documents scattered between them in neat disorder. College brochures, printed forms, and handwritten notes occupied every inch of space, evidence of a future they were both carefully building for themselves.
Between them, two steaming cups of chai rested on coasters, the warmth curling into the air along with the inviting aroma of freshly fried pakoras placed nearby.
Diya, as expected, was only half-focused.
“Focus, Diya,” Niyati murmured, nudging her lightly as her best friend reached for yet another pakora instead of typing.
“I am focusing,” Diya protested with a grin, already dipping it into chutney before popping it into her mouth.
Niyati shook her head, a small, helpless smile tugging at her lips despite herself. For a moment, it felt easy. Normal. Like the past two months hadn’t carved distance into parts of her she hadn’t known could ache this much.
Across the room, Ansh sat with Mr. Sharma, a cup of coffee placed before him, accompanied by a plate of snacks that had long been forgotten. Their conversation flowed easily—studies, career paths, the future—topics that demanded attention and participation.
“So what are your plans after graduation?” Mr. Sharma asked, leaning back slightly, his tone genuinely interested.
“I’m planning to apply to firms first,” Ansh replied, his voice steady, controlled. “Gain some practical experience. Then maybe think about higher studies.”
“Good,” Mr. Sharma nodded approvingly. “That’s the right approach.”
Ansh returned a polite smile.
But his focus—
was fractured.
Because no matter how much he tried to stay present in the conversation, his attention kept drifting. Unconsciously, almost against his own will, his gaze shifted toward the dining table.
Toward her.
Niyati sat with her head slightly bent, strands of her hair falling softly across her face as she typed something into her laptop. The faint glow of the screen reflected against her skin, highlighting the quiet concentration in her expression.
She looked calm.
Composed.
Like nothing had changed.
Like he hadn’t once been a part of her world.
And every time she didn’t look at him—
something inside him tightened just a little more.
He told himself to stop. Forced his eyes back to Mr. Sharma, nodded at something he said, responded when required.
But it didn’t last.
Because a moment later—
his gaze betrayed him again.
And again.
What he didn’t realize—
was that he wasn’t the only one struggling.
Because while Niyati appeared completely focused on her screen, her attention slipping seamlessly between forms and discussions with Diya…
she was aware.
Painfully aware.
Every time he shifted in his seat.
Every time his voice carried across the room.
Every time silence stretched just enough for her to feel his presence.
And sometimes—
when Diya got distracted or leaned away—
Niyati’s eyes would flicker up.
Quick.
Careful.
Guarded.
Just for a second.
Just enough to find him.
Just enough to confirm that he was still there.
Then she’d look away again—
before anyone could notice.
Before he could notice.
They both believed they were hiding it well.
That the other remained unaware.
Until one moment—
undid everything.
Niyati lifted her gaze absentmindedly, her fingers pausing over the keyboard as she searched for a document on the screen.
And this time—
Ansh was already looking at her.
Their eyes met.
Without warning.
Without preparation.
The world around them didn’t stop—but it faded. The soft murmur of conversation, the clink of cups, the rustle of papers—everything dimmed into the background as something far more powerful took over.
His gaze held hers.
Steady.
Unwavering.
There was no anger in it.
No accusation.
Just something deeper—something that hadn’t changed despite everything that had happened between them.
Recognition.
Longing.
A quiet, aching familiarity.
Niyati’s breath faltered.
Because his eyes—
still felt the same.
Like they knew her.
Like they remembered every version of her he had once held close.
Like they were asking questions she didn’t have the strength to answer.
For a brief, fragile moment—
neither of them looked away.
Not him.
Not her.
And in that silence between them, everything resurfaced.
The past.
The closeness.
The way things used to be.
The way they ended.
It was all there—
unspoken, but impossible to ignore.
Then, suddenly—
it became too much.
Niyati broke the gaze first.
Abruptly.
Like she had touched something she wasn’t ready to feel again.
She looked down quickly, her fingers moving across the keyboard again, though her mind had completely lost track of what she had been doing. Her heartbeat had quickened, her chest rising just slightly faster as she tried to steady herself.
“I’ll just… check something,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost distant.
Diya barely glanced up. “Hmm? Okay.”
Niyati pushed her chair back, standing up with a composure that didn’t quite hide the shift within her.
And without looking back—
she walked away.
Toward her room.
Ansh watched her go.
Not just the movement—
but the meaning behind it.
The way she left.
The way she avoided him.
But this time, he knew.
She had felt it too.
The silence that followed her departure stretched just long enough to become noticeable.
Mr. Sharma said something, but Ansh didn’t hear it.
Because his focus had shifted completely now.
To her.
To what had just happened.
To everything that still lingered between them, no matter how much distance they had tried to put in place.
“I’ll just take a call,” Ansh said suddenly, standing up before waiting for a response.
Mr. Sharma nodded casually. “Haan, beta.”
Ansh placed his cup aside and walked toward the hallway, his steps measured—but purposeful.
His heartbeat had picked up slightly now.
Not from confusion.
But from clarity.
Because some things didn’t disappear just because you chose to walk away.
And some feelings didn’t fade—
no matter how long you tried to ignore them.
He reached her door.
Paused.
Just for a second.
Then quietly—
he pushed it open and stepped inside.
The door to Niyati’s room had barely clicked shut behind her when she exhaled sharply, her back pressing against it as if she needed something solid to hold her up.
Her heart was racing.
And she hated that it was.
Two months.
Two whole months—and just one look at him had been enough to undo all the control she had built so carefully, so painfully.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Get a grip, Niyati…” she whispered to herself.
But the problem wasn’t just him being there.
It was how nothing had changed.
Or maybe—
everything had.
A soft sound broke through her thoughts.
The faint creak of the door.
Her eyes snapped open instantly.
And before she could even react—
he stepped inside.
Ansh.
He closed the door behind him quietly, like this was something familiar… like this wasn’t the first time he had entered her space without permission.
For a second—
neither of them spoke.
The air shifted.
Heavy.
Charged.
Too much history standing between them for silence to feel normal.
Niyati straightened immediately, pushing herself away from the door, her expression hardening in a way that hadn’t been there before.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
Her voice didn’t shake.
That surprised even her.
Ansh didn’t move closer.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t try to charm his way out of it like he usually would.
He just looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And that alone felt dangerous.
“I know,” he said quietly.
That wasn’t the answer she expected.
It threw her off for half a second—but she recovered quickly.
“Then why are you here?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest, as if that could protect her from the way his presence was already affecting her.
A brief silence stretched between them.
Then—
“Because you walked away.”
Her brows furrowed instantly.
“I walked away?” she repeated, disbelief slipping into her tone. “Seriously, Ansh?”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Then what did you mean?” she cut him off, her voice sharper now. “Because last I remember, you were the one who decided I was ‘too much’ for your life.”
The words landed.
Hard.
He flinched slightly—not physically, but it showed in his eyes.
“I never said you were too much,” he said, his voice lower now.
“You didn’t have to,” she shot back. “You just… stopped choosing me.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Ansh took a step forward.
Just one.
And Niyati immediately stepped back.
That stopped him.
The distance between them remained—but now it felt intentional.
Painfully so.
“I was trying to protect you,” he said finally.
Niyati let out a short, humorless laugh.
“From what? Loving you?”
“No—from me,” he snapped, the first crack in his control finally showing. “From everything that was happening. From the mess my life had become.”
Her expression faltered.
Just slightly.
But she didn’t soften.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” she said, quieter now—but stronger. “You don’t get to choose when I stay and when I leave.”
His jaw tightened.
“I didn’t have a choice—”
“You always had a choice, Ansh.”
That landed deeper than anything else.
Because it was true.
And they both knew it.
The room fell silent again, the weight of everything settling heavily between them.
Niyati looked away first this time, her gaze dropping to the floor as she tried to steady her breathing.
“Do you know what hurt the most?” she said softly.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t interrupt.
“You didn’t even fight for us,” she continued. “Not once. You just… gave up.”
Her voice cracked at the last word despite her effort to stay composed.
And that—
that broke something in him.
“I think about you every day.”
The confession came out suddenly.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Niyati’s head snapped up.
Their eyes met again.
This time—
there was no anger.
Just truth.
“I tried not to,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I tried to focus on everything else. Mom. Diya. Fixing things that couldn’t be fixed.”
A pause.
A breath.
“But nothing worked.”
Her heart stuttered.
And she hated that it did.
Because this—
this was exactly what she had wanted to hear two months ago.
Not now.
Not when she had finally started learning how to live without him.
“You don’t get to come back just because you miss me,” she said, even though her voice had softened.
“I didn’t come back,” he replied.
Another step.
Slower this time.
“I never left.”
That—
that shook her.
Because a part of her knew exactly what he meant.
Emotionally.
Mentally.
He had been there.
In every memory.
Every silence.
Every moment she had wanted to text him and stopped herself.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
“Then why does it feel like you did?” she whispered.
This time—
he didn’t have an answer.
And that silence said more than anything else could.
The space between them remained.
But the distance?
That was something neither of them had been able to fix.
Not then.
And maybe—
not even now.