18 Let Me In
The silence between them stretched so long it almost became its own conversation.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them seemed willing to be the first to break whatever fragile thing had formed in the space between them.
Niyati stood near her desk now, arms still folded tightly across herself, as if physically holding herself together. Her breathing had steadied, but only on the surface. Inside, she was anything but calm.
Ansh remained a few feet away, his gaze fixed on her in a way that made it difficult for her to look anywhere else.
It was unfair.
How after everything-after the hurt, the silence, the distance-he could still make her feel like this.
Like her heart was betraying her.
His voice, when he finally spoke again, was softer now.
"Niyati."
Just her name.
Nothing more.
But somehow, hearing it from him after so long felt dangerously intimate.
She looked away.
"Don't," she murmured.
His brows pulled together slightly. "Don't what?"
"Say my name like that."
A faint flicker of pain crossed his face.
"Like what?"
"Like nothing changed."
That landed between them with quiet force.
Ansh exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair again, the gesture revealing the restlessness beneath his calm exterior.
"A lot changed," he admitted.
"Exactly."
Her reply was immediate.
A small, bitter smile touched her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"So you understand why this is weird for me."
He gave a quiet nod.
"I do."
Another silence.
This one softer.
Less hostile.
But no less heavy.
Ansh looked at her for a long moment, like he was debating something internally.
Then, slowly-
he took a step closer.
Not enough to invade her space.
Just enough to test the waters.
Niyati's breath caught.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn't stop.
Another small step.
Now the distance between them had shortened noticeably, enough that she could pick up the faint scent of his cologne again-familiar, achingly familiar.
Her pulse quickened.
No.
No, no, no.
She couldn't do this.
Not so easily.
Not after everything.
Ansh's hand lifted slightly, tentative in a way that was so unlike him it almost startled her more than if he'd been confident.
Like he wasn't sure if he still had the right.
Like he knew he probably didn't.
His fingers moved toward her face, slow and careful, almost as if asking permission without words.
Niyati's gaze dropped to his outstretched hand.
It hovered there between them, steady and patient, close enough for her to take if she wanted to. Just a few inches. A tiny distance, laughably small, yet somehow carrying the weight of everything they had been and everything they had broken.
For a brief, dangerous moment, her chest tightened.
Because this was what she had wanted once.
Not just his touch, not just the comfort of his hand in hers-but this. Him choosing to come back. Him standing in front of her with honesty instead of distance, vulnerability instead of silence.
There had been a time when she would have closed that gap without hesitation.
A time when she would have reached for him instinctively, like her body knew its place beside his before her mind could even process it.
But that was before.
Before the unanswered messages.
Before the growing silence.
Before the ache of being slowly shut out by the person she trusted most.
Her throat tightened.
And just as his fingertips were about to brush against hers-
she stepped back.
The movement was subtle.
Barely noticeable to anyone else.
But in that quiet room, it might as well have been thunder.
Ansh's hand stilled midair.
The rejection wasn't loud. There was no dramatic confrontation, no sharp words thrown between them. Niyati didn't glare at him, didn't lash out or turn away in anger.
She simply stepped back.
A small action.
A clear boundary.
And somehow, that made it hurt far more.
Slowly, Ansh lowered his hand.
For the briefest second, something flickered across his face. A flash of disappointment so raw and unguarded that it made Niyati's chest ache instantly.
Then it was gone.
Masked over with that same careful composure he had been carrying all night.
But she had seen it.
And that somehow made this harder.
Her fingers curled lightly at her sides as she forced herself to stay still.
To stay firm.
"You don't get to do that anymore," she said quietly.
Her voice wasn't cold.
Wasn't angry.
Just honest.
And honesty, she was learning, could cut deeper than cruelty ever could.
Ansh held her gaze for a moment before giving a small nod.
A slow, understanding nod.
"You're right."
The response caught her off guard.
No argument.
No playful deflection.
No attempt to charm his way around her walls.
Just acceptance.
Pure and immediate.
And absurdly enough, that hurt too.
Because some embarrassingly foolish part of her had expected him to push harder.
To fight.
To insist.
To tell her she was being unreasonable, or stubborn, or dramatic.
To do something that would make this easier.
But he didn't.
Instead, Ansh leaned back slightly against the edge of her desk, deliberately creating more space between them.
Respecting the line she had drawn.
And somehow, that simple act of restraint made her heart twist even tighter.
"I know I lost that right," he said after a moment.
His voice was calm, but there was something heavier beneath it now. Something weighted with quiet regret.
"I'm not pretending otherwise."
Niyati stayed silent.
The room suddenly felt smaller than before, the air heavier somehow.
She hated how complicated this was becoming.
Because this wasn't the reaction she had prepared herself for.
She had spent weeks imagining this moment.
Weeks imagining what she would say if he ever came back.
In those imaginary versions, she was stronger. Colder. Sharper.
She slammed the door in his face.
Told him exactly where he could go.
Made him feel even half of what she had felt.
But reality was crueler.
Reality gave her this version of him.
Not arrogant.
Not defensive.
Not careless.
This Ansh was quieter.
Softer.
Almost painfully human.
And somehow, that made forgiving him far more dangerous.
Because anger was easy.
Distance was easy.
But this?
This made her remember.
The boy who stayed up late just to hear her ramble about nonsense.
The boy who brought her pav bhaji because he knew it was her favorite.
The boy who once looked at her like she was the center of his entire world.
And the worst part?
That boy was still standing right in front of her.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me tonight," he continued.
Niyati looked at him again.
There was no expectation in his expression.
No pressure.
Just sincerity so disarming it almost made her angry.
"Not tomorrow either," he added.
A small pause.
His jaw tightened briefly before he spoke again.
"I just wanted you to know... I never stopped caring."
Her breath caught.
There it was.
That softness again.
That dangerous, infuriating softness that weakened every defense she had spent two months building.
Niyati looked away almost immediately.
Because if she kept looking at him right now, she might do something stupid.
Like believe him too easily.
Like forgive him before he earned it.
Like close the distance she had just created.
"This doesn't fix anything," she murmured, staring somewhere past his shoulder.
"I know."
His response came instantly.
No hesitation.
No false hope.
Just truth.
Her fingers tightened into small fists.
Then why are you making this so hard?
The thought burned through her mind, sharp and frustrating.
She didn't say it aloud.
Didn't have to.
Because when her gaze flickered back toward him, she knew he had read it all over her face.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Not teasing.
Not smug.
Just tired and strangely fond.
"You always did have terrible timing," she muttered under her breath.
A soft laugh escaped him.
Quiet.
Brief.
But real.
And just like that-
something shifted.
Something tiny, almost imperceptible.
But there.
For one fleeting second, it felt familiar.
Like before.
Not entirely.
Not enough to undo the hurt.
But enough to remind both of them what still existed underneath all of it.
Their eyes met again.
This time, the sharpness between them had dulled.
Not gone.
Just softened.
Still bruised.
Still complicated.
But warmer.
And suddenly, the room felt charged with something entirely different.
Not anger.
Not resentment.
Something quieter.
Something infinitely more dangerous.
Niyati became painfully aware of every little detail.
The way Ansh was watching her.
The slight rise and fall of his chest.
The softness that had replaced the earlier tension in his expression.
And then-
his gaze dipped.
Just for a second.
To her lips.
It was subtle.
Barely noticeable.
But Niyati noticed.
Of course she did.
Her breath hitched instantly.
The air around them thickened.
No one moved.
Not him.
Not her.
But somehow the space between them felt smaller now.
Still present.
Still deliberate.
But no longer impossible.
Her heart hammered traitorously against her ribs.
This was dangerous territory.
Far too dangerous.
Because despite everything-
despite the hurt, the anger, the heartbreak-
some parts of them still knew each other too well.
And maybe that was the real problem.
Not that they had stopped loving each other.
But that they hadn't.
Not even a little.
The silence stretched.
Fragile.
Heavy.
Waiting.
And then-
A sudden knock sounded sharply against the bedroom door.
Both of them froze instantly.
Niyati's eyes widened.
Ansh straightened from the desk.
Another knock.
"Niyati?" Diya's voice came from outside, casual and unsuspecting. "How much longer? This portal is asking for some weird document."
The fragile moment shattered instantly.
Niyati's eyes widened slightly before she turned toward the door.
Ansh reacted immediately.
Without wasting a second, he stepped back silently, moving away from the center of the room and toward the corner near her wardrobe-just out of direct sight from the doorway.
The movement was so natural, so quick, it almost made Niyati stare.
Of course.
Sneaking around her room clearly wasn't new territory for him.
She shot him a look that was half disbelief, half irritation.
He only lifted a brow faintly, as if to say: Open the door.
Another knock.
"Niyati?" Diya called again. "Are you sleeping in there or what?"
Taking a steadying breath, Niyati quickly adjusted her expression and opened the door just enough to step partially outside.
"What happened?" she asked, trying to sound normal.
Diya frowned slightly. "You disappeared for so long. I need that PDF document-the extracurricular certificate one."
"Oh." Niyati nodded quickly. "I think it's in my downloads folder. Wait, I'll come."
Diya squinted at her.
"Why are you acting weird?"
"I'm not acting weird."
"You are."
Niyati forced an unimpressed look. "Diya, please. College applications are already stressful enough."
That seemed to satisfy her.
Mostly.
"Fine," Diya muttered dramatically. "Come fast."
She turned and walked away toward the dining area.
Niyati waited until Diya disappeared before exhaling quietly.
Then she shut the door again and turned around.
Ansh was still standing near her wardrobe, one hand tucked casually into his pocket, looking far too calm for someone hiding in a teenage girl's room.
"This is funny to you?" she whispered sharply.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"A little."
Niyati stared at him in disbelief.
"You almost got caught."
"But I didn't."
His answer was maddeningly calm.
She shook her head, trying-and failing-not to react to the faint amusement in his expression.
There it was.
A glimpse of the old him.
The one who used to get under her skin effortlessly.
The one she had missed more than she ever admitted.
"You should go," she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.
Ansh studied her for a moment.
Neither moved.
Neither seemed willing to be the first one to break whatever fragile thread had reformed between them.
Then slowly, he nodded.
"Fine."
But instead of walking past her immediately, he stepped closer.
Not too close.
Just enough.
Enough for her pulse to betray her again.
His gaze softened slightly.
"We're not done talking," he said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
Not a demand either.
Just certainty.
Niyati looked up at him, her heart doing that frustrating thing again.
"Who says I want to continue?"
A faint smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
"Your eyes."
Her breath caught.
Before she could respond, he leaned slightly closer-not enough to touch her, just enough to make the air between them feel thinner.
More dangerous.
Then, quietly, he murmured near her ear-
"You still look at me the same way."
And just like that-
he stepped back.
Turned.
And slipped out of her room before she could recover enough to reply.
Leaving Niyati standing there completely still, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs.
And her thoughts in complete chaos.
The house had long fallen asleep by the time Ansh found himself standing beneath Niyati's window.
The street outside was quiet, wrapped in the stillness of late night. A faint breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the distant sound of dogs barking somewhere far away. But none of it registered in his mind.
All he could hear was his own heartbeat.
Fast.
Uneven.
Restless.
For the second time in his life, he was doing something incredibly reckless.
Climbing into Niyati Sharma's room through her window.
He almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
Some things, apparently, never changed.
Ansh pulled himself up carefully, gripping the ledge before slipping inside with practiced ease. His shoes landed softly against the floor.
The room was dimly lit by a bedside lamp.
Niyati sat cross-legged on her bed, a book open in front of her, though it was obvious she hadn't been reading.
The moment she saw him, her entire body stiffened.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"What the hell-?"
She immediately lowered her voice into an angry whisper. "Ansh!"
He straightened, brushing his hands together. "Hi."
Niyati stared at him as though debating whether to scream, throw something at him, or both.
"Did you seriously just climb into my room?"
"Yes."
"At night?"
"Yes."
"Through my window?"
Ansh exhaled. "You're focusing on the wrong details."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sarcastically, folding her arms. "Should I focus on the fact that my ex-boyfriend is trespassing?"
That word hit harder than he expected.
Ex-boyfriend.
He deserved it.
Still, hearing it from her lips felt like a punch to the ribs.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The tension between them was thick enough to suffocate.
Ansh took a step closer.
"Niyati, I came here to talk."
Her expression hardened instantly.
"Talk?" she repeated. "Now you want to talk?"
He swallowed.
Fair.
Completely fair.
"I know I messed up."
A bitter laugh escaped her.
"Messed up?"
She stood from the bed, shaking her head in disbelief.
"You ignored me for days, Ansh."
Her voice trembled-not from weakness, but restrained hurt.
"You barely replied. You stopped calling. You acted like I was some inconvenience in your life."
"I know."
"No, let me finish."
There was something in her eyes now-months of bottled-up pain finally surfacing.
Ansh stayed quiet.
He owed her that much.
Niyati stared at him, her chest rising and falling unevenly.
"I kept trying to understand," she said softly, more painfully now. "I told myself maybe you were busy. Maybe college was stressful. Maybe something happened."
Her laugh came out softer this time-quieter, touched with something fragile that hadn't been there before.
"Something did happen."
The words settled between them, gentle but heavy enough to shift the entire air of the room.
Ansh's gaze dropped almost immediately, as though he had been expecting that answer and still wasn't ready to face it. For a moment, he simply stood there, shoulders slightly tense, before letting out a slow breath and moving toward the chair near her desk.
He sat down, dragging a hand through his hair, his posture losing that guarded stiffness he had been holding onto since he walked in.
And then, for the first time in two months, he stopped holding back.
He told her everything.
Not in rushed fragments. Not in half-answers or deflections. But properly-like it had been sitting inside him all this while, waiting for a place to exist.
He spoke about his father, about the affair that had shattered everything they thought they knew. About the day his mother found out-the way her voice had broken, the way the house had filled with shouting that didn't feel real until it was too late to take back.
He spoke about Diya, about how she had stood there, small and confused, watching her world collapse without understanding why. About the silence that followed, the kind that settled into walls and refused to leave.
His voice grew rougher as he went on, quieter too, like each word was pulling something out of him he hadn't dared to touch before.
He told her about the divorce, about how quickly things had fallen apart after that. About how his home had stopped feeling like a home and started feeling like something unfamiliar-something he didn't know how to exist in anymore.
And then, finally, he spoke about himself.
About the way everything inside him had shut down.
"I didn't know how to deal with any of it," he admitted, his voice low and worn, like it had carried too much for too long. "I was angry all the time... tired... not even fully present half the time."
A faint, humorless breath escaped him.
"I barely knew how to keep myself together," he continued. "Forget being a boyfriend."
Niyati didn't interrupt.
Didn't question.
Didn't react immediately.
She just listened.
Quietly.
Fully.
The way she always had.
Ansh looked up at her then, meeting her eyes with something more vulnerable than she had ever seen in him before.
"I thought..." he hesitated slightly, choosing his words carefully, "if I kept you close while I was like that, I'd just end up hurting you more."
A pause followed, heavy but necessary.
"So I convinced myself pushing you away was the right thing."
Silence filled the room once he finished.
Not uncomfortable.
Just... full.
Niyati stood there for a long moment, her expression unreadable at first, her gaze steady on him as if she was absorbing not just his words, but everything behind them.
Then, quietly, she spoke.
"I know all that."
Ansh blinked.
The response caught him completely off guard.
"...What?"
Her arms folded around herself, not defensively, but as if she needed something to hold onto.
"I knew from the very beginning."
Confusion flickered across his face, his brows pulling together.
"How?"
Niyati gave him a look that almost held disbelief.
"Diya."
The realization hit him instantly.
Of course.
Of course she knew.
"She's my best friend, Ansh," she continued, her voice steady but carrying an edge now. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
He opened his mouth, ready to say something-anything-but nothing came out.
Because there was nothing he could say.
No excuse.
No justification.
Nothing that would make that better.
Niyati took a small step closer, her composure beginning to crack just slightly, her eyes glistening now in a way that made his chest tighten painfully.
"That's not what hurt me," she said softly.
Her voice wavered just enough to make the words feel heavier.
And suddenly, Ansh understood.
Not completely.
But enough to feel it.
"I didn't need you to be perfect," she continued, her voice quieter now, the emotion beginning to slip through despite her effort to hold it back. "I didn't expect you to fix everything or pretend like nothing was wrong."
She shook her head, frustration and hurt bleeding into her expression as tears finally gathered at the edges of her eyes.
"I just wanted you to let me in."
The words didn't come out loudly.
They didn't need to.
They landed hard anyway.
Her breathing grew uneven as she continued, everything she had been holding back finally surfacing.
"I wanted you to come to me and tell me you were struggling," she said, her voice rising just slightly now, trembling with emotion. "I wanted to sit with you, hold your hand, tell you it was going to be okay."
A tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed by her but impossible for him to ignore.
"I wanted to be there for you."
Her hand pressed lightly against her chest, as if grounding herself.
"Not just when things were easy. Not just when you wanted affection or comfort or romance."
Her voice cracked.
"I wanted to be everything to you, Ansh."
That broke something in him.
Completely.
"The first person you come to," she continued through the tears now falling freely. "For everything. Happiness, anger, fear, sadness... anything."
She shook her head slowly, her expression filled with a kind of hurt that didn't shout-but lingered.
"But you didn't."
Ansh couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Because every word she was saying was true.
Painfully, undeniably true.
"When I finally decided I was going to talk to you about it," she whispered, her voice trembling now under the weight of everything she had carried alone, "that was the day you broke up with me."
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
The room seemed smaller.
Heavier.
Filled with everything he hadn't understood then-but couldn't ignore now.
Ansh looked at her differently in that moment.
Not just as the girl he had kissed in quiet corners.
Not just as the girl who made him feel alive in ways nothing else did.
But as someone who had loved him deeply.
Selflessly.
Enough to stay.
Enough to carry his pain alongside her own.
And he had pushed her away.
Not because she wasn't enough.
But because she had meant too much-and he hadn't known how to let her see him fall apart.
The realization hit him hard.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
"Niyati..." he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
He stood slowly, every movement careful, stripped of the confidence he once carried so effortlessly. There was no charm in him now, no teasing ease-just honesty, raw and unfiltered.
"I'm sorry."
Not a casual apology.
Not something said to ease tension.
This one carried weight.
Regret.
Truth.
"I was an idiot."
A soft, wet laugh escaped her through her tears.
"That's one thing we can agree on."
For a fleeting second, a small, helpless smile touched his lips.
Then it faded.
He stepped closer-but this time, slowly.
Carefully.
Leaving space between them.
Not assuming anything.
"I was so busy trying to protect you from everything going on in my life," he said quietly, "that I didn't realize you were asking to stand in it with me."
Niyati's eyes softened.
Just slightly.
Enough to make his chest ache.
"I don't deserve how much you love me."
She held his gaze for a long moment.
"No," she said honestly.
He let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh slipping through despite everything.
Fair.
"But..." she added.
That one word stilled him completely.
Niyati wiped at her cheeks, steadying herself.
"You should've trusted me."
He nodded immediately, without hesitation.
"I know."
"No more deciding things for both of us."
"I know."
"No disappearing."
"I know."
"No shutting me out."
His voice was firmer now.
"Never again."
The silence that followed was different.
Not tense.
Not distant.
Just... fragile.
Like something new was forming, carefully, quietly, between the cracks of what had been broken.
Ansh looked at her-really looked at her.
And felt it all over again.
The love.
The longing.
The unbearable truth that he had come dangerously close to losing her.
Maybe he still had.
Or maybe-
just maybe-
she was giving him something he didn't deserve.
A chance.
Slowly, he lifted his hand.
Not reaching.
Not taking.
Just offering.
A question without words.
Niyati's gaze dropped to it.
Then lifted back to his face.
Her lips pressed together, as if she was arguing with herself, weighing everything-every memory, every hurt, every feeling that hadn't left despite everything.
And then-
very slowly-
she placed her hand in his.
The contact was light.
Careful.
Not the same as before.
But not empty either.
And in that quiet, fragile moment-
Ansh felt like he could finally breathe again.