Chapter 31 – Storm Before Spring
Not all storms come to destroy.
Some arrive to shake the silence, test the roots—
And remind you what's worth holding on to.
—
The monsoon came early.
And with it, came the silence between Aarav and Mehar.
Not the loud, screaming kind.
But the kind that sits between two people like a wall made of words left unsaid.
—
It started small.
A missed call.
An ignored text.
A postponed dinner.
Aarav had been working late. Building his startup meant sleepless nights, endless emails, unpredictable hours.
Mehar tried to understand. She really did.
But days turned into weeks, and she found herself dining alone too often, talking to empty walls instead of to him.
—
One Friday night, she waited for three hours.
The food was cold, the wine untouched.
When he finally walked in, tired and distracted, she barely looked up.
"You didn't even call," she said quietly.
"I was caught up. There was a crisis."
"There's always a crisis."
He looked at her, frustrated. "This is important, Mehar. I'm doing this for us."
She stood, crossing her arms. "But you're losing me in the process."
—
That night, they slept with their backs to each other.
No apologies.
No cuddles.
Just cold space in between.
—
The next morning, Mehar packed a bag.
"Where are you going?" Aarav asked.
"To my mom's. I need space."
He didn't stop her.
That hurt more than any argument ever could.
—
At her mother's home, Mehar cried for the first time in months.
Not because of what he did.
But because of what they had become.
Two people so in love.
Now two people avoiding eye contact and conversations.
—
Three days passed.
Then came the knock.
She opened the door to find Aarav, drenched in rain, holding a canvas wrapped in plastic.
"I painted this last night," he said. "The startup can wait. You can't."
He unwrapped it.
It was them.
Not perfect. Not posed.
Just them—laughing under fairy lights in their first rented apartment.
"I forgot," he said. "What this feels like. I forgot to love you loudly."
She stepped forward, touching the edge of the painting, then his cheek.
"We both forgot," she whispered.
—
They spent the night talking. No distractions. No phones.
Just confessions.
"I felt lonely," she said.
"I felt pressure," he admitted.
"I needed you."
"I was scared I'd fail you."
And then they held each other like they were holding all the missing pieces.
—
The storm passed.
Not because it vanished—
But because they learned to dance in the rain together.
—