Chapter 39

Subhi

I sat beside him, close enough to feel his presence but not enough to intrude. The silence between us wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either. It was there, sitting in the space between our shoulders, filling in the gaps where words should have been.

For the first time, I had no idea what to say.

A few minutes ago, I had been so sure—so sure that finding him, being here, was what I needed to do. And now that I was here, now that I had thanked him for letting me in, I realized… I didn’t know what came next.

I sneaked a glance at him. His face was unreadable, his gaze fixed on something far away, but I knew his mind was nowhere near it. His hands were resting on his knees, unmoving, almost like he was afraid to move, afraid to break whatever fragile moment we had created.

I didn’t know how long we sat there like that. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But in that time, I realized something strange.

I wasn’t uncomfortable.

I wasn’t panicked by the silence. I wasn’t searching for words to fill it. I wasn’t anxious that he hadn’t responded, that he hadn’t said anything.

I just… existed next to him.

And for some reason, that felt enough.

I let my gaze drift away from him and toward the trees in front of us. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting golden patterns onto the ground. A light breeze passed through, carrying the faint scent of wet earth and something unexplainably familiar.

Maybe it was him.

Not in a literal sense, but in the way that certain moments become tied to certain people. This—this quiet, unspoken understanding—was Abhimanyu. The version of him that didn’t need to talk to be heard.

And maybe that was why I stayed.

I had never been good at silence. I always felt the need to say something, to fix awkwardness, to make sure things weren’t left unfinished. But with him, I didn’t feel that urge. I didn’t feel like I had to try to make things right, because somehow, just being here was enough.

I looked down at my hands, my fingers idly playing with the edge of my sleeve.

"I don’t know why I’m still sitting here," I admitted, half to myself.

He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the movement from the corner of my eye.

"Then why are you?" he asked, his voice quieter than I had ever heard it.

I swallowed. "I don’t know."

And I didn’t.

But I didn’t move. I didn’t leave.

Neither did he.