Chapter 18: The Unspoken Comfort
After the day Vansh met her father, something subtle began to shift in Niyati’s life. She didn’t know about their private conversation, yet quietly, little things started changing — little things that all seemed to trace back to Vansh.
It wasn’t a dramatic change, not the kind that movies talk about or stories exaggerate. There were no grand declarations of love, no roses on her desk every morning, and no loud promises whispered in the wind. Instead, it was the small, almost invisible gestures — so small that most people would have missed them, but for Niyati, they became moments she couldn’t overlook.
When she arrived at the office each morning, the familiar aroma of coffee greeted her before anything else. Her favorite cup — not too hot, not too cold — sat waiting for her, perfectly made, exactly the way she liked it. She never asked who had placed it there, but deep down, her heart already knew. There was something in the quiet precision of that act that carried Vansh’s touch — thoughtful, silent, and consistent.
On the days when she forgot her lunch, it was never really a problem. Vansh would appear beside her, holding an extra tiffin, pretending as if it was a coincidence. “It’s too much for me,” he’d say casually, opening it as if he truly needed help finishing it. But both of them knew the truth. He noticed her little forgetfulness before she even realized it, and somehow always found a way to be there without making her feel dependent.
Then came the monsoon days — the season that painted the city in shades of grey and silver. One morning, when Niyati rushed out of her home without an umbrella, she assumed she’d simply face the rain. But as she reached the office gate, she saw him standing there, holding one for her — waiting patiently, drenched just enough to show he’d been there for a while. When she looked up at him, he smiled, that calm, unhurried smile that carried warmth even in the cold rain. He didn’t make it seem like a favor; it felt natural, as if he was meant to be there.
And whenever she worked late — which had become frequent — Vansh would always find a reason to drop her home. “Anyway, it’s on my way,” he would say, his tone light, almost teasing. But she knew it wasn’t true. His home was in the opposite direction. Still, he never complained, never made it a big deal. It was just something he did — as if ensuring her safety was as natural as breathing.
At first, Niyati told herself it was just friendship. A kind, dependable friendship. But friendship didn’t explain why her heart suddenly felt lighter whenever he entered the room, or why her eyes automatically searched for him in a crowd. Friendship didn’t explain why his laughter made her forget her worries, or why even his silence felt comforting. There was something more — something deeper, something unspoken.
One evening, as the sky darkened far too early, a heavy storm rolled in. Thick clouds poured endless rain over the city, flooding streets and slowing everything down. Niyati gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white, as she tried to navigate through the chaos. The wipers worked tirelessly, but visibility was poor. For a moment, fear crept in — the kind that quietly builds when you feel alone in a storm.
Just as she reached for her phone to call her father, it rang. She didn’t even need to check who it was. Somehow, she knew.
“Stop where you are. I’ll come,” Vansh’s voice came through — calm, steady, and firm. There was no hesitation, no question. Just quiet authority and care that left no room for argument.
Within fifteen minutes, his car pulled up beside hers. She saw him step out, walking straight into the pouring rain, an umbrella in one hand. He didn’t care that his shirt was getting drenched or that his shoes were soaked through. He simply opened her door and guided her toward his car, shielding her from the rain as best as he could.
Inside the car, the world outside was nothing but blurred water and flashing headlights. For a moment, she just looked at him — at his wet hair sticking to his forehead, the drops running down his cheek, and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, calm and sure.
“Why do you care so much, Vansh?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t look at her. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road and smiled faintly. “Because someone has to,” he said simply.
Those four words — because someone has to — stayed with her long after she reached home that night.
Lying in bed, the rain still whispering against her window, Niyati’s mind replayed the past few months like a slow-moving film — the temple night, the quiet coffee mornings, the way he listened without interrupting, and the way he seemed to know what she needed even before she spoke.
For years, she had built walls around her heart, tall and strong, convincing herself that needing someone only led to pain. But Vansh wasn’t breaking those walls with grand efforts. He was simply waiting, showing up, caring in silence — and with every small act of kindness, those walls began to crumble. Not with force, but with patience and warmth.
Her father noticed it too. One evening, when Vansh dropped her home and waved goodbye, her father stood by the door watching with a knowing smile.
“Niyati,” he said, his tone teasing yet gentle, “I think this boy cares more for you than you care for yourself.”
She laughed, trying to brush it off, “Papa, please…” But her cheeks flushed with a color she couldn’t hide, and her heart — that guarded, careful heart — skipped a beat.
Still, she wasn’t ready to admit anything, not even to herself. Love was a dangerous risk. She had lost too much in the past, and opening her heart again felt like walking into fire. But somewhere, deep inside, a quiet voice whispered that this time might be different.
Because Vansh was not a storm that swept her away. He was the calm after it — steady, patient, unspoken comfort.
And though she didn’t know it yet, life had already written its next chapter — one where an unexpected moment would soon arrive. A moment that would make her see Vansh not just as a friend, but as the man she could no longer imagine losing.
