PART 6: When Curiosity Turns Warm
Some connections arrive like storms.
Loud. Fast. Unavoidable.
This one didn’t.
It arrived like warmth.
The kind that settles slowly into your bones without asking permission.
The next few days unfolded in a rhythm Aarushi hadn’t planned, yet somehow needed.
Mornings were still the same—alarm, tea, routine—but her evenings had changed. They now carried anticipation, not anxiety. She didn’t wait with impatience; she waited with curiosity.
She didn’t ask herself if Mira would be there.
She asked herself how it would feel today.
That difference mattered.
On Wednesday evening, the sky was clear again.
Aarushi reached the bus stop early, her bag slung loosely over one shoulder. She leaned against the railing, watching traffic pass. Her phone buzzed—this time it wasn’t her mother.
Unknown Number:
I’m five minutes late. Don’t leave.
Aarushi stared at the screen.
Her heart did something strange—something small and quick.
She typed back before overthinking.
Aarushi:
I’m not going anywhere.
She paused, then added—
Take your time.
She slipped the phone back into her bag, feeling oddly proud of herself.
She didn’t panic.
She didn’t calculate.
She simply… waited.
Mira arrived seven minutes later.
She looked slightly breathless, hair pulled back in a messy knot, sketchbook missing today. When her eyes found Aarushi, relief crossed her face openly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Got caught up with a client.”
Aarushi smiled. “You said five minutes. This is still close.”
Mira laughed. “You’re kinder than most people.”
Aarushi shrugged. “Maybe I just understand.”
Mira’s gaze softened at that.
They stood together, the evening wrapping around them gently.
“Walk?” Mira asked.
Aarushi nodded. “Yeah.”
They didn’t go far.
Just around familiar streets, past shops closing for the night, past homes glowing softly behind curtains. The city felt quieter here, like it was letting them pass without interruption.
Mira broke the silence first.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked.
Aarushi turned to her. “You don’t need permission.”
Mira smiled faintly.
“I don’t usually let people into my routine.”
That caught Aarushi’s attention.
“This,” Mira continued, gesturing around them, “meeting you here, every evening—it’s new for me.”
Aarushi felt a flicker of warmth.
“It is for me too,” she admitted. “I didn’t realize how much space my days had… until someone started filling it.”
Mira stopped walking.
Aarushi stopped too.
They stood facing each other, the words hanging quietly between them.
“I don’t want this to feel like pressure,” Mira said carefully. “Or expectation.”
“It doesn’t,” Aarushi replied instantly. “It feels… easy.”
Mira exhaled, like she’d been holding that breath for a while.
They sat on a low wall near a closed bookstore. The metal shutter reflected streetlight softly.
Mira leaned back, resting her palms behind her.
“Do you ever feel,” she said slowly, “like you’re always the stable one? The one who adjusts?”
Aarushi didn’t answer right away.
“Yes,” she said finally. “I grew into that role without realizing it.”
Mira looked at her then—not curious, but understanding.
“I used to be the opposite,” Mira said. “I used to need people too much.”
Aarushi tilted her head. “Used to?”
Mira nodded. “I learned the hard way that leaning too much can make people leave faster.”
Aarushi felt something tighten inside her chest.
She didn’t interrupt.
“I was in a relationship once,” Mira continued. “Not dramatic. Not abusive. Just… unbalanced.”
A pause.
“I gave everything. My time. My energy. My attention. And when I finally needed space to breathe—there was no room left for me.”
Aarushi listened quietly, her fingers curling slightly in her lap.
“What happened?” she asked gently.
Mira smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“They moved on easily. I didn’t.”
Silence settled between them again—heavier now, but still safe.
Aarushi thought of her own past.
Not one person.
But a pattern.
Always giving understanding first.
Always lowering expectations.
Always telling herself it’s okay when something inside her hurt.
“I think,” Aarushi said slowly, “we learn to protect ourselves in opposite ways.”
Mira turned toward her fully. “How do you mean?”
“You stopped leaning,” Aarushi said. “I stopped asking.”
Mira’s eyes searched her face.
“That’s… accurate,” she admitted.
They shared a quiet smile—one that came from recognition, not happiness.
The wind picked up slightly.
Without thinking, Mira shifted closer. Their arms brushed—this time not accidentally.
Neither of them moved away.
Aarushi noticed how warm Mira felt, even through fabric. She noticed how her own breathing slowed.
This closeness didn’t feel dangerous.
It felt grounding.
“You know what scares me about this?” Mira asked softly.
Aarushi met her gaze. “What?”
“That it feels safe,” Mira said. “And safety makes me careless.”
Aarushi’s voice was steady.
“Maybe safety doesn’t have to mean loss.”
Mira studied her face, like she was considering something important.
“Maybe,” she said.
Later, when they stood to leave, Mira hesitated.
“Aarushi,” she said, “can I ask you something… honestly?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel this too?” Mira asked. “This… pull?”
Aarushi didn’t pretend.
“Yes,” she said simply.
Mira nodded, as if that answer mattered more than she let on.
“Thank you for not making it complicated,” she said.
Aarushi smiled faintly.
“I think we’re both tired of complicated.”
That night, after they parted, Aarushi walked home slower than usual.
Not because she was lost in thought—but because she wanted to stay in the feeling a little longer.
At home, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, but her mind wasn’t racing.
She felt… anchored.
That scared her.
Because anchors were heavy.
Because anchors meant staying.
And she wasn’t sure yet how to do that without losing herself.
Across the city, Mira sat by her window, sketchbook finally open.
She didn’t draw faces.
She drew two shapes leaning toward each other—not merging, not colliding.
Just… choosing proximity.
She closed the book gently.
“Careful,” she whispered to herself.
But for the first time in a long while, the warning didn’t sound like fear.
It sounded like hope.
