Chapter 4: A Shared Song (TTPW)

Rain streamed unceasingly down on windowspane like battering drums while Maya stared at the sketchbook lying in her lap. The pencil stayed suspended in her hand, its tip twirling above the page. Her heart was still racing from the chance encounter she had with Aarav in the corridor a little while ago. His quiet intensity had stayed in her mind—the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he'd made his excuses and disappeared.

She traced faint outlines of yet another drawing, her subject unformed, her mind elsewhere. Something in Aarav simply rubbed her wrong ways she could not explain. Be it the music or the unspoken sadness she sensed inside him. Or maybe it was her own yearning for that which remained shut out for months.

Her reverie was interrupted by a thin sound coming in through the walls—the familiar strains of Aarav's piano. Tonight was different though. The melody wasn't merely melancholic; it was searching, tentative, as if he spoke to her without words.

Maya set the pencil down; her fingers brushed over the textured paper of her sketchbook. She sat back, lost in music as it envelopes her, draws her into its ebb and flow. She had an idea now - a sketch inspired not only by the music but by the mind that created it. Again her pencil came across her paper, tracing his profile from memory: the sharp angle of the jaw, the soft curve of his lips, the mess of hair falling across his forehead.

She was startled by the sudden knock on her door, and her pencil slipped from her fingers. She thought she had imagined it, but again came the persistent knocking, firmer this time. Her heart leapt into her throat as she stood up and crossed the room.

Aarav was standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. Rain glistened on his hair and jacket, and he shunned the gaze, staring somewhere past her shoulder.

"I didn't mean to disturb you earlier," he said his voice barely above a whisper. "I just. I wanted to apologize."

Maya blinked, having been taken aback by the sudden gesture. "You didn't wake me," she said quietly. "I should probably apologize for bursting in on you like that."

He shook his head. "You didn't. It's just… I don't really talk to people. Not anymore."

His admission hovered between them, a delicate truth that had Maya's chest ache. She stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in out of the rain. Aarav hesitated, but then he stepped inside, his movements cautious, as though not wanting to disturb the space.

The room was warm and inviting, a weird contrast to the storm raging outside. Aarav's eyes briefly made a tour of the cluttered desk, pencils and brushes arranged like a professional artist's workplace, the half-finished sketches pinned on the wall.

"You are an artist," he said, his tone quiet with awe.

Maya smiled, feeling a little self-conscious beneath his gaze. "I try to be. But your music-it's what inspires me."

A flicker Aarav's face shifted, something unreadable crossing his eyes. "It's not really music, is it? Just. noise."

"It is," Maya said, stepping closer. "It is emotion. It's a story. And it's beautiful."

For an instant, he would protest, then he bowed his head and slumped his shoulders. "I haven't played like this in a long time," he said. "Not since….. His words meshed with the words, and he stopped speaking.

"You don't have to tell me," Maya said quickly, not wanting to push him. "But if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Aarav nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. They stood there in silence for some time, the only sound being the relentless raindrops hitting the windowpane. Then, as if by some string, Aarav's eyes strayed towards the open sketchbook on the coffee table, and he came closer, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the drawing.

"Is that. me?" he questioned his voice full of surprise.

Maya's cheeks heated up. "I—it's just a rough sketch. I wasn't trying to—"

"It's amazing," he said, hovering his fingers an inch above the paper as if afraid to touch it. "You caught something… I don't know, real."

Maya's embarrassment vanished, leaving quiet pride in its wake. "You are a good subject," she said, her voice light.

Aarav looked at her then, really looked at her, and Maya felt as if he were peeling back the layers she kept so carefully guarded. It was both unnerving and exhilarating.

"I don't understand why you're so kind to me," he said after a long pause.

"Perhaps because I know what it's like to be lonely," Maya said, her words laced with honesty.

Something shifted in Aarav's face, a crack in the armor he'd erected around himself. He glanced back at the sketch one last time before straightening.

"Thanks," he said, his voice softer now. "For looking."

Before Maya could reply to that, he turned and moved toward the door, almost actually hurrying.

"Aarav," she said, catching him by saying his name.

He stopped in his tracks, his eyes on hers.

"You're not alone, you know," she went on. "Not anymore."

He turned; she saw his eyes for a moment before he nodded and went out into the rain.

Maya stood in the doorway, watching as he disappeared down the hall. She slowly closed the door, her heart heavy under the weight of his sadness but lightened by this small connection they shared.

She picked up her pencil, sat down at her desk, and returned to the sketch but this time didn't simply draw what she was seeing. This time, she would draw what she was feeling instead.