My heart wants to ask him what’s keeping him awake. It wants to take this conversation somewhere deeper. But my mind refuses, pulling me back and reminding me that he is just a friend, nothing more and that’s how it needs to stay.
So instead, I shift the conversation.
“It’s late, Aditya. You should try to get some rest,” I say, my voice sounding much calmer than I actually feel.
He chuckles softly. “I could say the same to you.”
I bite my lip, staring at the stars again. “Yeah… I guess neither of us is good at listening to our own advice.”
“Maybe we just have too much on our minds.”
I close my eyes. If only he knew.
Unable to control the pull of my heart, the question slips out before I can stop it.
“Why did you propose marriage to me?”
Silence.
My grip on the phone tightens once again as my own words sink in. I wasn’t supposed to ask that. I wasn’t supposed to open that door. But before I can take back my words, he speaks.
“Because I meant it.”
I inhale sharply, but remain silent. He exhales, and then he continues, his voice softer, more vulnerable. “Because when I look at you, I see something I don’t want to lose. Because you make me want more… more than just ‘existing.’ Because no matter how much you try to push me away, I find myself wanting you even more. And deep down, I know you feel the same way.”
My fingers tremble around the phone. My heart pounds so loudly I wonder if he can hear it.
I want to deny it. I want to tell him he’s wrong. But I can’t.
Because somewhere deep in my heart, I know he’s right. With every passing second, it feels like the line between us is blurring, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to stop it.
“I need to go…” My heart stutters.
“No, you don’t,” he replies sternly. “Listen, you asked me a question, and I told you the truth. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.” His voice softens, full of sincerity. “I know you’re not ready to accept my proposal. But I also know that when you ask me something, I won’t lie or hide my feelings.” He pauses before adding, “Now, stop torturing yourself over it,” he says gently, as if he’s trying to calm my mind. “Let’s put it to rest for now. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about it.”
I swallow hard, nodding even though he can’t see me. “Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Now, can we talk?” he asks.
I take a slow breath, unsure of where this conversation is heading. “About what?” I ask, my heart still racing from our earlier exchange.
He chuckles softly. “I want to know things about you—what you like, what makes you laugh, what your favourite foods are. Now that you’ve given me a chance at friendship, I want to learn these things. I really want to get to know you, Sana.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “What do you want to know?”
“Ahhhh… Let me see… what is your favourite colour?”
“Blue. Yours.”
“Black.”
And just like that, we begin to talk. He asks about everything—my favourite books, my little quirks, what makes me feel alive. The conversation flows effortlessly, surprisingly so, and with each question, it feel like we’re building something—a connection I hadn’t planned on. But it feels so good, so natural, that I can’t help but embrace it, even if it’s just as friends.
A yawn escapes my mouth before I can stop it, and I chuckle softly at myself.
“Looks like someone’s ready for bed,” he teases, a smile evident in his voice.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” I reply, stifling another yawn as the fatigue hits me all at once.
