Chapter 17 – When the Walls Begin to Fall
Walls aren't always built with bricks.
Sometimes, they're made of unanswered texts, long silences, and the quiet ache of disappointment.
And Mehar had built hers high.
—
It had been twelve days since they last spoke.
Not a moment passed when Aarav didn't think of her—wondering if she was okay, wondering if she missed him the way he missed her. He replayed their conversations, re-read their old chats, and every time, guilt settled deeper in his chest.
He had hurt her. Not with a fight. But with a sentence meant to be funny.
And what he didn't realize then—what he now knew with painful clarity—was that love doesn't survive mockery.
It only survives when it's cherished.
—
Mehar wasn't angry anymore.
She was tired.
Tired of explaining. Tired of defending her feelings. Tired of giving someone access to her heart only to be made small inside it.
But she still loved him.
And that's what made it hard.
—
One evening, as the sky turned soft with dusk, Aarav sat on the campus bench where they had first laughed together.
He opened his phone and recorded a voice message.
Not a text. Not a call. Just his voice. Honest. Shaky.
"Hey... I know you probably don't want to hear from me right now. But I needed to say this somewhere other than in my head. You didn't overreact. I disrespected your trust. I didn't mean to, but I did. I reduced your feelings to a joke, and I'll regret that longer than you'll ever know. I miss you—not just because I love you, but because you made me want to be someone better. And I'm still trying to be him."
He didn't send it.
He saved it.
Because maybe someday, when the timing was right, she'd be ready to hear it.
—
Meanwhile, Mehar was sitting in her room, window cracked open to let the evening breeze in.
She stared at a photo on her wall—one they had taken together, blurry and bright, laughing so hard they couldn't breathe.
She remembered how safe he used to feel.
And how suddenly unsafe it had become.
But pain doesn't erase connection.
And disappointment doesn't undo love.
What it does do… is change the way you guard your heart.
—
Two days later, their professor assigned a joint presentation.
Mehar and Aarav. Together.
They hadn't chosen it. Fate had.
And neither of them fought it.
—
The day of the presentation, they stood side by side in front of their class. Their voices steady, their eyes careful not to meet too long.
When it ended, there was polite applause.
And then—silence between them again.
Until Mehar turned to him and said quietly, "You spoke well."
He blinked, surprised. "So did you."
A pause.
Then she added, "I listened to your voice message."
Aarav's heart stopped.
"I wasn't ready to reply," she said, eyes distant, "but I heard you."
He nodded slowly. "That's more than I hoped for."
And for the first time in two weeks, a fragile understanding settled between them.
Not forgiveness.
But acknowledgment.
And in love, that's where rebuilding begins.
—