Light Enough 2

It had been nearly a week. No café, no library, no accidental hallways. Tara had simply disappeared back into whatever corner of the world she came from. I told myself I was fine with it. I wasn’t.

I tried focusing on assignments, tried laughing louder in the common room, even sat through a full reading of Wings of Fire just to feel anchored again. But something in me had shifted. I wasn’t sure if I missed her presence or just the version of myself that only existed around her.

Then Thursday evening, post-rain, everything changed again.

She was at the back of the campus auditorium, leaning against the far wall where the cracked cement met patches of peeled posters. She didn’t wave. Just looked at me as I stepped out with a cup of cutting chai, my fingers still damp from the handle.

“Lost?” she asked.

“You were gone,” I replied.

Her lips curved—softly, not in amusement. In understanding. “I wasn’t sure if you needed space or if you were building a wall.”

“Maybe both,” I said.

She pushed herself off the wall and walked toward me, slow, unhurried. She always moved like she had nowhere urgent to be, but always ended up exactly where I was.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I feel... full,” I admitted. “Like I’ve been carrying around a question too long.”

“What question?”

I hesitated, looking at her hair tied up again, the same pencil holding it all in place. She noticed me looking, smiled, and pulled it free. Her hair fell. Familiar now. Still dangerous.

“What are we doing?” I asked. “You and I.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t fumble.

“We’re waiting for each other to say something we both already know.”

“Which is?”

She stepped closer, eyes level with mine.

“Kahin na kahin is baat se tum bhi waaqif ho,” she said slowly, like a secret being released into the air, “Jo ishq mujhe hua hai...”

I finished the line without thinking. “Vo tumhe bhi hua hai.”

Silence wrapped around us again. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy with everything we had left unsaid until now. The streetlights buzzed faintly in the background. A scooter passed, its headlights briefly lighting up her face.

I exhaled. “You always knew?”

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