Silence had always been Riyan's shield.
When things got complicated, he stepped back.
When emotions demanded answers, he buried them.
When the risk felt too high, he chose control over connection.
Silence kept him safe.
Or at least… it used to.
---
He noticed what he was losing
Aarvi no longer waited for him to leave meetings.
She didn't glance toward his office when something went wrong.
She didn't look relieved when he walked past.
She functioned.
Perfectly.
And that terrified him.
Because people who were fine didn't pull away this cleanly.
They didn't detach with this much calm.
They let go.
---
The realization hit him unexpectedly
It happened during a routine board meeting.
Numbers were being discussed.
Strategies debated.
And yet, Riyan found himself staring at the empty chair beside him — the one Aarvi usually occupied to take notes.
She was seated farther down the table today.
Efficient.
Professional.
Replaceable.
The thought made his chest tighten painfully.
Not because she was replaceable —
but because she was acting like she was.
---
He finally understood her silence
She wasn't testing him.
She wasn't punishing him.
She was protecting herself.
The same way he always had.
And suddenly, he saw himself in her restraint.
The careful distance.
The emotional withdrawal.
The refusal to hope.
This is what I taught her, he realized.
And the guilt settled deep.
---
He confronted the truth he avoided
That night, Riyan stood alone in his office, lights off, city glowing faintly through the glass.
He replayed every moment he hesitated.
Every time he chose distance instead of clarity.
Every time he thought caring quietly was enough.
It wasn't.
Because silence didn't reassure.
It didn't promise.
It didn't stay.
Silence only waited for people to leave.
---
He made a decision — finally
Riyan didn't pick up his phone.
He didn't send a message.
He didn't ask for advice.
He stood, grabbed his coat, and walked out of the office with one clear thought—
If I don't speak now, I lose her.
And losing her quietly would hurt more than risking everything loudly.
---
Aarvi wasn't expecting him
She was halfway through making tea when her doorbell rang.
She frowned at the time.
9:21 p.m.
Her heart picked up pace — not with hope, but with instinct.
When she opened the door—
Riyan stood there.
No rehearsed calm.
No controlled distance.
Just a man who looked like he had finally run out of places to hide.
"Aarvi," he said quietly, "we need to talk."
She didn't step aside immediately.
"We already did," she replied softly.
He shook his head.
"No. We avoided it."
Silence stretched.
Then he said the words he had been holding back for far too long—
"I'm losing you because I'm afraid to stay. And I don't want to do that anymore."
Her breath caught.
---
The truth, spoken without armor
"I've spent my life believing stepping back was kindness," he continued.
"But watching you pull away showed me what it really costs."
Aarvi looked at him — really looked.
Not hopeful.
Not angry.
Just tired.
"I didn't ask you to be perfect," she whispered.
"I just needed you to be present."
"I know," he said.
"And I failed at that."
Silence again.
But this time, it wasn't avoidance.
It was honesty finding space to exist.
---
He took the risk he never did before
"I don't know how to promise forever," Riyan said quietly.
"But I do know this—if I stay silent, I lose you. If I speak, I at least give us a chance."
Aarvi's chest tightened.
"And what if you get scared again?" she asked.
He didn't dodge the question.
"Then I talk," he said.
"I don't disappear. I don't pull away. I stay."
That word — stay — landed heavy.
Because it was the one thing she was afraid to hope for.
---
Nothing was fixed. But something changed.
Aarvi stepped back slowly, opening the door wider.
"Come in," she said softly.
Not forgiveness.
Not acceptance.
But an opening.
And Riyan Malhotra realized something in that moment—
Silence had almost cost him everything.
And speaking up — even imperfectly —
was the bravest thing he had ever done.