Chapter 5 : A Growing Connection (TTPW)

The golden glow of the evening sun wobbled through Maya's apartment, creating long streams in the room. She sat near her window, sketchbook open on her lap, though the pencil only moved with an almost imperceptible movement. Her thoughts were not of art, but of the man who had come into her life just this day. A melody was etched in her mind as she thought of Aarav—the music seemed to mirror those unvoiced emotions. She had known many people in her life, and yet none had stirred her heart the way he did.

The soft knock on the door pushed her out of the moody reverie that had befallen her. For a moment, she thought before sweeping her hair back from her back and opened it. Aarav stood there, his tall frame silhouetted against the fading light. He was carrying a book with him.

"I thought you might like this," he said quietly, his voice raw.

Maya's glance came to the title of the book—a collection of poetry. A little pleased that he found worth in that, she smiled. "Thanks," she said softly. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him, and a spark course through her that she couldn't ignore. She stepped back, silently making room for him.

The room was not large, nor was it tiny. It smelled like freshly brewed tea and hummed softly with the rumblings of a city about to go to sleep. Aarav glanced at the sketches strewn across her desk. "Yours?" he asked, picking up one that captured in hot color a street market at full throttle.

Maya nodded, watching as he studied her work. "Sketching helps me make sense of things," she admitted to him, feeling vulnerable yet somehow curiously comfortable in his presence.

"You have a gift," he said, his voice sincere.

The evening passed like a soft symphony. They discussed their lives, their passions, and the scars they carried. Aarav shared stories about his childhood, loss that shaped him, and music that came to comfort him. Maya listened attentively, her heart aching for the boy he used to be. In return, she spoke of her struggles as an artist, the sacrifices she had to make to pursue that dream.

The night deepened as Aarav strummed his guitar. It was hauntingly beautiful, each note speaking its tale of emotions in words. Maya watched spellbound as the fingers danced on the strings of the guitar. Unmindfully, she went for her sketchbook. Her pencil on paper would now draw out the very essence of his music.

"You inspire me," Aarav suddenly interrupted the silence with, gazing at her for a second that seemed to melt everything outside into insignificance.

Maya blushed. "Your music… it's like a glimpse into your soul," she whispered weakly.

Aarav's face softened, but a shadow crossed his. "I'm not sure my soul is anything to be seen," he said, with sorrow inflected in his voice.

Maya wanted to reach out and tell him otherwise, but she hesitated. She knew his walls for she had her own. Instead, she put out a sketch on the table, a rough outline of him playing his guitar.

"This is how I see you," she said.

Aarav took the sketch. He ran his eyes over the lines, surprise and gratitude intermingled there. "It's beautiful," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

With each passing day, the tie between them seemed to be getting stronger. Aarav taught Maya to play simple chords on his guitar; her fingers stumbled on the strings as their laughter filled the room. In return, Maya guided Aarav through the basics of sketching, her hand occasionally brushing against his as she adjusted his grip on the pencil.

One evening, as they sat on the rooftop watching the sunset, Aarav turned to Maya. "I never thought I'd ever find someone who understands me like you," he told her sincerely and openly, his voice raw with honesty.

Maya looked at him with a full heart. "And I never thought I'd find someone whose presence feels like home," she replied back.

They became silent for a moment, the words weighing in between them, suspended in the air. Aarav reached out, fingers brushing hers lightly. Then took it all back as Maya's breath clogged up, her heart racing.

But he pulled back just as fast, his face clouded with hesitation. "I should go," he said abruptly and stood up.

So, as she watched him disappear from view, there was the settling in of loss. She felt like running after him, saying it was all right to let someone in, but she didn't move from her stance.

That night, hours later, she opened the book of poetry. Between its pages a note was tucked. Here is what it said: "Thanks for reminding me what it feels like to connect."

Maya traced the words with her fingers, full of hope and uncertainty at one and yet one that she was determined to decipher with this puzzle, Aarav.

The next morning she came to his door, carrying a new sketch in her hand. He opened it up as she held it out to him - a drawing of the rooftop they had shared over the golden hues of sunset.

"I made this for you," she said with a quiver to her voice.

Aarav plucked the sketch, his fingers lingering on hers for just a little longer than needed. He looked at it with softened eyes. "It's perfect," he said with just a faintest smile.

They were still far from the end, but Maya had a glimpse of hope. For the first time in a long while, she actually believed that something beautiful would sprout out from the ashes of their pain.