I'm sure you've heard a lot about unrequited love, but what if I say there exists an unwilling love, hidden somewhere between the echoes of silence and the whispers of the heart's secrets? A love that fights to stay buried, yet yearns to be discover...
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A/N: Early updates hints towards an emotional wrecked...me! I believe in, when there's a lot of things on your plate, abandon the plate itself even if it's for a short while and do what you love doing. Anyways enjoy!
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The bus was packed and the air, thick with the scent of damp clothes along with the quiet murmur of exhausted passengers.
It was peak hour, and every inch of space was occupied-people stood shoulder to shoulder, gripping onto metal poles and overhead straps as the vehicle swayed through the streets.
Amaan stood beside Zumar trying to be steady despite the jolts of the moving bus. His gaze drifts toward her, like it did time and again, expecting the same distant expression she had worn all day.
But then-something different. A shift. The slightest curve at the corner of her lips caught his attention.
Curious, he followed her line of sight and spotted a baby cradled in its mother's arms a few feet away. The child, all round pink cheeks and bright eyes, gurgled happily, tiny fingers reaching out towards the light filtering through the bus window.
Amaan turned back to Zumar, watching as the softness twinkled in her gaze.
"You like babies?" he asked, his voice light, meant to coax her into conversation.
Zumar blinked, realizing she had been caught in a moment of ease. Her smile faded just a little. "Who doesn't?" she replied, a tone casual but lacking the coldness she usually carried. Maybe she was tired too.
Amaan nodded. "True. They do have a way of making the world seem... quieter."
Zumar didn't respond immediately, but she didn't dismiss his words either. The bus jolted slightly, and she tightened her grip on the strap above her, steadying herself.
"You should hold one sometime," Amaan continued after a pause, his voice was still gentle, carrying only conversation. "They say it's calming."
She glanced at him briefly. "Not interested."
Amaan accepted the answer with an easy nod pushing back the golden locks of his hair. "Fair enough."
"How's the progress in your studies?" He asks.
She rolls her eyes, "You're not my fathe—" Her voice halts abruptly, it dawned upon her that her father was not in a state to ask her that, even if she wished he did so.
"I thinks there's a month or two for the exam yet. And I reckon it's not a lot given the syllabus." Amaan doesn't pay heed to her words and continues.
"I'll do what I can." Zumar replies, composed.
The bus rumbled on, the city lights flashing through the window in streaks of gold and red. Another quiet moment passed before Amaan spoke again, this time softer.
