The Space Between

Bridging Barriers

Scene 1: Bittersweet Breakfast

It had been weeks since the truth unravelled their fragile peace. Savi's anger, once fiery and loud, had now frozen into a wall of silence. For Rajat, her indifference was far worse—it was the void where her laughter used to live, an emptiness that mirrored the hollow space in his chest—her silence felt like punishment, an endless echo of his failure to protect her trust.

This morning, he decided to try again. Rising before dawn, he ventured into the kitchen with determination masking his anxiety. The clatter of utensils and the hiss of the stove accompanied his nervous energy as he prepared her favourite thaalipeeths and kothimbir vadis. recalling every little detail she'd mentioned even in passing, "Kya kar rahe ho Rajat, Tel kam hona chahiye," she'd said once, laughing. "And crisp edges, always, with less green chillies."

By the time the sun had risen, the table was set with the care of someone trying to mend something broken. Rajat wiped his hands on a towel, staring at his handiwork with a mix of hope and anxiety- a hopeful offering against the storm that had settled between them. When Savi emerged from her room, her hair still damp from a shower, she froze at the sight of him bustling around the table. Her gaze swept over the neatly arranged plates, the familiar smells wafting from the table, and finally, him—standing there, looking awkward yet resolute.

"Yeh sab kya hai?" Her voice was flat, her eyes guarded.

Rajat turned quickly, his smile cautious. "Breakfast. Tumhare liye."

Her stomach twisted—not with hunger, but with emotions she refused to name. For a moment, she said nothing, then took a small step back.

"Mujhe tumse yeh sab nahi chahiye," she said, Her tone was clipped, each word a dagger aimed at his fragile resolve. "Kuch bhi kar lo, Rajat, it won't change anything."

"I know," he said quietly, his eyes steady on hers. "Par main karna chahta hoon, Savi. Tumhare liye." He took a step forward, "Savi, I know I've hurt you—"

"Don't," she interrupted sharply, holding up a hand. "Don't pretend this is about me. Yeh sab tumhare guilt ka natak hai. Aur na thaalipeeth, na kuch aur jo tumne banaya, uss bharose ko wapas laa sakta hai jo tumne toda."

Rajat flinched, her words sliced through him, leaving wounds he knew he deserved. Still, he refused to retreat.

"You're right," he admitted softly. "I do feel guilty. And I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I can't just sit by and watch you suffer. Please, Savi. At least eat something. Tumne itne dino se theek se kuch nahi khaya, Apna gussa khaane pe mat nikalo, Savi. Please." Her jaw tightened as she turned to leave, the walls around her heart slamming shut again. "I'm not hungry."

But Rajat wasn't ready to give up. As she walked away, he called after her, his voice laced with desperation. "You might not care about yourself, but your mother wouldn't want you to fall apart like this."

That stopped her in her tracks. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought back tears. She didn't turn around, didn't let him see how his words had hit their mark. Without saying a word, she stormed into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Rajat sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, the quiet aftermath of her rejection pressing on his chest. He glanced at the table—the food was still warm, but his hope felt cold.

Resolutely, he picked up a plate and placed it outside her door, knocking softly. "I'll leave it here," he said, his voice gentle. "If you don't want it, that's fine. But... please, Savi. Khud ka dhyan rakho. Tumhe kuch hogaya toh mai-" He pleaded, not being able to bring himself to even think about something ill happening to his savi. His Savi..

He waited for a response, but none came. Shoulders slumping, he walked away. Later, when he checked the plate, it was gone. For the first time in weeks, a faint smile tugged at his lips—a fragile ember of hope, flickering but alive. It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't healing.

But it was a beginning.

Scene 2: Under the Rain's Resolve

The rain poured relentlessly, its rhythmic drumming on the rooftops blending with the splashes of water against the pavement. The streets were a maze of shallow rivers, and Savi hurried through them, clutching her bag tightly to her chest. She hadn't brought an umbrella, partly because the sudden downpour had caught her off guard, and because her mind had been weighed down by thoughts too heavy to notice the darkening sky.

As she neared the gate of her house, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. Rajat stood there, holding a large black umbrella, his hair slightly damp from the wind, strands clinging to his forehead despite his efforts to stay dry under its cover.

"Yahan kya kar rahe ho tum?" she demanded, stopping a few feet away. Her voice cut through the rain like a sharp blade, her eyes narrowing at him.

He stepped closer, extending the umbrella over her head without hestiation. "Tum bheeg jaogi," he said simply, as if standing in the rain, waiting for her, was the most natural thing in the world for him.

Savi stepped back into the rain, glaring at him. The cold droplets slid down her face, mingling with the warmth of her anger. "Mujhe tumhari madad ki zarurat nahi hai, Rajat. Just stop doing this."

His jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the umbrella handle as the rain bounced off the umbrella in a rhythmic pattern. "Savi, please. You'll catch a cold." he replied softly, his voice steady but filled with quiet concern.

She scoffed, her voice rising above the downpour. "I said I don't need your help! Why don't you get that?"

"I do get it," he said, his voice low and steady, though there was a tremor in it. "I get that you don't want me around, that you hate me for what I've done. Aur sahi hai... main uske laayak hoon. But I can't just stand by and watch you get hurt. Not again."

Her heart twisted painfully at the raw sincerity in his voice, but she shoved the feeling aside. "Stop pretending like you care about me," she spat. "It's pathetic."

For a fleeting moment, Rajat looked like she had struck him. His grip on the umbrella faltered, but he quickly steadied it , stepping closer again, undeterred"Tum chaho toh kuch mat maano," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I'm not going anywhere. Tumhe chhod ke jaana ab mera bas ka nahi."

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she spun on her heel, storming away. The rain soaked through her clothes, but she didn't care. She hoped her retreat would force him to give up.

But he didn't. His footsteps followed hers, measured and persistent, as he held the umbrella above her, shielding her from the rain.

"Go away!" she shouted, spinning around to face him. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because I care about you!" he burst out, his voice breaking. His hand trembled as he held the umbrella, his other hand clenched at his side. "I can't fix what I've done, but I can't let you destroy yourself, Savi. Hate me all you want, par please mujhe yeh karne do."

Her breath hitched, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. The vulnerability in his voice, the rawness of his gaze—it was too much. She clenched her jaw, forcing her emotions back into the cage she had locked them in. Without another word, she turned and resumed walking. This time, her steps were slower, less resolute.

Rajat stayed beside her, silent now, holding the umbrella over her. The rain continued to pour, unyielding, but the space between them was filled with words left unsaid. By the time they reached the house, both of them were drenched—her from the rain, him from the guilt and anguish etched into his features.

As she stepped inside, she paused in the doorway, her back to him her shoulders stiff, as though she were debating whether to acknowledge his efforts. Her hand hovered over the door handle. But the memory of his betrayal was still too fresh, the pain too raw.

Instead, she closed the door behind her without a word. Rajat stood outside for a long time, the rain soaking through his clothes as he stared at the closed door. His heart felt as heavy as the stormclouds above, but despite the weight, he stayed rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave the threshold of her world.