Aarav ka room zyada bada nahi tha, par khaali lagta tha.
Aur ye khaali hona sirf space ka masla nahi tha.
White walls. Ek single bed. Ek wooden table jisme right side ka drawer hamesha thoda atakta tha. Window ke bahar saamne wali building ki pichhli deewar dikhti thi—grey, cracked, bilkul bejaan. Jaise kisi ne jaan-bujhkar view hata diya ho.
Aarav ne keys table par rakhi. Har roz ki tarah, unhe thoda align kiya. Ye aadat use khud bhi ajeeb lagti thi, par fir bhi karta tha. Shayad kyunki zindagi ke baaki parts align mein nahi the.
Darwaza band hua. Click.
Wo awaaz usse pasand thi. Clear. Final. Jaise din officially khatam ho gaya ho.
Shoes utare. Bag chair par rakha. Jacket tang di. Sab kuch mechanically. Emotions ke bina. Jaise ek well-rehearsed routine.
Aarav thakaa hua nahi tha. Par fresh bhi nahi tha. Wo beech mein kahin atka hua tha—jaise uski life pause pe chal rahi ho.
Wo bed ke kinaare baitha. Phone haath mein aaya. Screen on hui.
No new notifications.
Usne phone ulta rakh diya.
Hope ek ajeeb cheez hoti hai. Jab ho, toh distract karti hai. Jab na ho, toh shaanti deti hai. Aarav ne shaanti choose ki thi.
Office mein uska din normal gaya tha. Meetings, emails, deadlines. Log usse pasand karte the—ya shayad tolerate karte the. Wo loud nahi tha. Opinions strong nahi rakhta tha. Kisi ke personal matters mein ghusne ki koshish nahi karta tha.
Logon ko aise log pasand aate hain.
"Tum kaafi sorted lagte ho," kisi ne ek baar kaha tha.
Aarav ne sirf smile ki thi.
Sorted hone ka matlab ye nahi hota ki sab theek hai. Kabhi-kabhi iska matlab hota hai—tumne mess ko chhupa liya hai.
Wo bed par let gaya, chhat ko dekhte hue. Ceiling fan dheere-dheere ghoom raha tha. Ek patli si crack fan ke paas se ja rahi thi. Us crack ko dekhte hue use hamesha ek ajeeb comfort milta tha.
Cracks honest hote hain.
Wo pretend nahi karte.
Bahaar se traffic ki halki awaaz aa rahi thi. Kabhi-kabhi koi bike zor se nikal jaati. Kabhi koi horn. Kabhi kisi ka hansna.
Wo awaazein us tak poori tarah nahi pahunchti thi. Bas ek background noise bankar reh jaati thi. Jaise duniya chal rahi ho, aur wo sirf observe kar raha ho.
Loneliness ko log over-dramatize kar dete hain.
Aarav ke liye loneliness koi tragedy nahi thi. Ye ek steady state thi. Jaise body temperature. Tum tab notice karte ho jab zyada ho ya kam ho. Warna nahi.
Usne aankhen band ki.
Aur phir—
Bzzzt.
Phone vibrate hua.
Aarav ki aankhen turant khul gayi.
Is waqt koi message nahi karta tha. Jo log kabhi karte the… unhone kab ka karna chhod diya tha.
Usne phone uthaya.
Unknown Number
Is this Aarav?
Uska thumb screen par ruk gaya.
Unknown cheezein hamesha ek decision maangti hain. Reply karna ya ignore karna. Aarav usually ignore karta tha. Life simple rehti thi.
Par is baar… usne reply kiya.
Yes.
Typing indicator turant aaya. Phir ruk gaya. Phir wapas aaya. Jaise saamne wala bhi decide kar raha ho—bolna chahiye ya nahi.
Unknown Number:
This is Mira. We met at the café last week. You lent me your charger.
Aarav ko yaad aa gaya.
Wo café mein window ke paas baitha tha. Laptop open, kaam pretend kar raha tha. Wo ladki opposite table par akeli baithi thi. Black coffee. Phone dead. Face par irritation nahi—bas acceptance.
Usne bina zyada hesitation ke poocha tha, "Do you have a charger?"
No smile. No awkwardness. Bas direct.
Aarav ne diya tha. Wo thank-you bhi simple tha. Jaise koi favour nahi, bas ek transaction.
Haan, yaad hai, Aarav ne likha.
Pause.
Mira:
You didn't have to reply.
Wo sentence Aarav ke liye thoda zyada familiar tha.
Ye line usually log tab bolte hain jab unhe lagta hai ki wo disturb kar rahe hain. Ya jab wo already rejection expect kar chuke hote hain.
Aarav ne screen ko dekha. Fan ghoom raha tha. Room waise ka waise hi tha. Par usse laga jaise silence thodi si shift ho gayi ho.
I wanted to, usne likha.
Reply bhejne ke baad use khud par thoda gussa aaya.
Truth dangerous hota hai. Especially jab wo unnecessary ho.
Typing indicator aaya. Is baar rukne ka naam nahi le raha tha.
Mira:
That's… unexpected.
Aarav ne ek halki si saans chhodi.
Unexpected cheezein routine tod deti hain. Aur routine hi toh uska armor tha.
Tumne message kyun kiya? Aarav ne likha.
Thodi der baad reply aaya.
Pata nahi. Shayad isliye kyunki tumne kuch zyada poochha nahi tha.
Aarav ko samajh aaya. Log usually poochte rehte hain. Tum kya karte ho? Kyun akele ho? Tumhare parents? Tumhari story?
Wo café mein bhi nahi poochha tha. Bas charger diya tha. Aur wapas apni jagah baith gaya tha.
Zyada sawaal exhausting hote hain, Aarav ne likha.
Haan, Mira ka reply aaya. Aur answers aur bhi zyada.
Aarav thoda sa smile kiya. Real smile. Rare.
Tum abhi akeli ho? Mira ne agla message bheja.
Wo sawal simple lag raha tha. Par Aarav jaanta tha—simple sawal aksar simple nahi hote.
Haan, usne likha.
Main bhi, reply aaya. Par logon ke beech.
Aarav kuch seconds chup raha.
Loneliness ka ye version use samajh aata tha. Jab tum surrounded hote ho, par connected nahi.
Tumhe uncomfortable nahi lagta? usne poocha.
Lagta hai, Mira ne likha. Par ab aadat ho gayi hai.
Aarav ka haath ruk gaya.
Aadat. Wo word usse hit kar gaya.
Comfort aur aadat mein difference hota hai, Aarav ne type kiya. Comfort choose karte ho. Aadat ban jaati hai.
Reply aane mein time laga.
Main choose nahi kar paayi, Mira ne likha. Bas reh gayi.
Wo line heavy thi. Too honest for a late-night text.
Aarav ne phone neeche rakh diya. Bed par baitha raha. Kuch sochta raha. Kuch mehsoos karta raha—jo wo usually avoid karta tha.
Phir phone dobara uthaya.
Kal coffee? Mira ka naya message tha.
Wo invitation nahi tha. Wo ek door tha—jo khul sakta tha, ya band reh sakta tha.
Aarav ne screen ko dekha. Room ko dekha. Ceiling crack ko dekha.
Aarav ko laga jaise uski carefully built solitude ke beech ek naya crack aa raha ho.
Aur cracks…
wo sirf badhte hain.
Usne type kiya—
Time?
Reply turant aaya.
Shaam. Same café.
Aarav ne phone side mein rakh diya.
Room phir se shaant ho gaya.
Par ab wo shaanti pehle jaisi nahi thi.
Usse pehli baar laga—
shayad uski loneliness ko koi naam milne wala hai.
Aur ye thought…
use dara raha tha.