The World That Existed Only for Them - Part 9

 

The Fear That Didn’t Speak

The call came on an ordinary afternoon.

Aarav stood near the office steps, phone pressed to his ear, listening. His expression didn’t change much, but something inside him tightened.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I understand.”

He ended the call and stood still for a moment, watching people move past him—unaware, unconcerned.

When Ananya arrived later that day, she noticed it immediately.

“You look like you’re somewhere else,” she said.

He considered brushing it away. He didn’t.

“Transfer,” he said simply. “Likely confirmed.”

She stopped walking.

“Oh.”

Not the word she wanted. Not the word she meant. But it was all she had.

“When?” she asked.

“In a few months.”

A few months. Long enough to pretend nothing had changed. Short enough to feel it pressing in.

They walked slower than usual. Their steps no longer aligned naturally; one would pause, the other would adjust.

“Congratulations,” Ananya said after a while, the word heavy but sincere.

He nodded. “It’s good for my career.”

She didn’t argue. She had never been that kind of person.

That evening, she spoke less. Listened more. She told herself it was maturity, acceptance. But when she returned home, she sat quietly in her room, staring at nothing in particular, aware of a fear she hadn’t invited.

Not fear of distance.

Fear of absence.

Aarav, meanwhile, tried to reassure himself that this was normal. People moved. Life progressed. Nothing was promised between them.

And yet, the thought of leaving without knowing where he stood with her felt unbearably incomplete.

Still, neither of them spoke.

Because some bonds are so precious, the thought of naming them feels like risking them.