The Space Between

Flickers of Hope

Scene 3: Festive Flames

The week since the rainstorm had passed slowly, yet the distance between Savi and Rajat remained stubbornly unbridged. The house was alive with preparations for the festival of lights—walls draped in shimmering fairy lights, the air rich with the sweet aroma of freshly made laddoos and kheer. Laughter echoed from various corners of the home, but between Savi and Rajat, silence prevailed like an unwelcome guest.

Savi, dressed in a simple yet elegant saree glowing softly in the diya light meticulously arranged the rows of lamps on the porch. Her face betrayed no emotion, but Rajat knew it masked an inner storm. He could see it in the faint tremor of her hands as she placed the diyas, the downward tilt of her lips when she thought no one was watching.

From a distance, Rajat stood, his heart heavy with regret. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile, to erase the pain in her eyes. He had spent days thinking of ways to break through her cold exterior, to show her that his regret wasn't fleeting but deeply rooted in his heart. He tried everything to mend the frayed threads of their bond, yet no attempt seemed enough. But tonight, under the warm glow of the festival, he resolved to try again.

As Savi bent to light another diya, Rajat approached, holding out a small box. She straightened, her brows furrowing as her eyes landed on him.

"Yeh kya hai?" she asked, her tone clipped, her gaze wary.

"A diya," he replied softly, opening the box to reveal a beautifully carved brass lamp, intricate designs etched into its surface shimmering in the light. "I thought you'd like it."

Her eyes flicked to the diya and back to him, her expression unreadable Then, with a curt nod, she turned away. "Mujhe tumse kuch nahi chahiye, Rajat," she said, her voice as cold as the evening breeze.

He inhaled sharply, his grip on the diya tightening. "Mujhe pata hai," he said quietly. "Par mujhe phir bhi tumhare liye kuch karna tha."

Her movements stilled, and she spun to face him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Why?" she demanded, spinning back to face him. Her voice rose, drawing the attention of a few family members nearby. "Why do you keep doing this, Rajat? Do you think a pretty diya will make me forget what you've done?"

"Bilkul nahi," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "I don't expect you to forget. Or forgive me. But I can't stop trying, Savi. I can't stop wanting to make things right. Tumhare liye nahi."

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she stepped closer, her finger pointing at his chest. "You don't get to decide what's right for me, Rajat. You lost that right the moment you lied to me."

He flinched, but he didn't back down. "You're right. I lost that right. But I'll spend the rest of my life earning it back if I have to."

Her chest heaved with the effort to keep her emotions in check. For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them palpable. Finally, she shook her head and stepped back.

"You're wasting your time," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

""Tumhare liye koi bhi time spend kiya hua kabhi time waste nahi ho sakta Savi," he replied, his voice breaking.

Without waiting for a response, he bent down and placed the diya in the row she had been arranging, lighting it with a matchstick. The flame flickered to life, casting a warm glow between them.

Savi's breath hitched as she watched him stand, his gaze unwavering. There was something in his eyes—a vulnerability, a desperation—that made her chest tighten. But she forced herself to look away, picking up another diya and moving to the other side of the porch.