Pranay's pov:

It had been three weeks since Saisha left for Paris.

Three weeks of time-zone juggling, short calls between shoots, and missed messages.

I was proud of her,insanely proud - watching her grow, hearing her stories, seeing her send snaps of narrow alleys, croissants, and bustling studios.
But... something felt off lately.

Her texts were fewer.
Calls shorter.
And her tone , it wasn't distant but it wasn't completely present either.

This evening, I wrapped up a client shoot early and called her, hoping to surprise her during her lunch break. The call rang and then voice message.

Odd. She always picked up.

I tried again. Still nothing.

A while later, she messaged:

"Sorry! In the middle of something. Will call in 30 mins."

I waited. An hour passed. Then two.

No call.

Around midnight, I finally got a text:

"Hey... sorry. Crazy long day. I'm dead tired. Let's talk tomorrow? Goodnight ❤️"
No mention of what kept her. No voice note. Just... a line.

I typed: "Okay. Goodnight. Take care."
But I didn't send it.

Instead, I stared at our old messages - the ones filled with "I miss you," "Tell me what you ate," "Your face is my wallpaper,"
and I wondered - Was I still her home, or had she found a new sky?

Saisha's pov:

The exhibit had gone better than expected. Mr. Rane even said one of my clicks would be shortlisted for a magazine spread.

I should've felt thrilled.
But my heart felt heavy.

Pranay's missed calls sat like guilt stones on my chest.
I hadn't meant to ignore him,we were editing last-minute until 10:00 PM. Then Anaïs insisted we celebrate with dinner.

There was wine, laughter, music.
And somewhere between smiling for a picture with the team and responding to Luc's joke about pizza being too spicy, I saw the time.

Two missed calls from Pranu.

By the time I texted, I knew it was too late.

I wanted to call. I did. But... I felt so drained. Words wouldn't come right. And I didn't want to sound distracted while talking to him.
I hated that he might be waiting.
I hated this version of me, so caught up in something new that I was not spending time the person who sent me here in the first place.

Next Day: Video Call

The screen connected. He looked calm... too calm.

"Hey, sorry again about yesterday," I said. "We had a last-minute thing, and then Anaïs dragged us for dinner and-"

"You don't have to explain everything," he cut in, gently.

Silence.

"Are you... okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine. Just figuring out how not to miss someone who's barely there."

That stung.

"Pranu..."

"I know you're busy, Aishu. I want you to be. I sent you out there to fly. But I can't help feeling like I'm slowly becoming a line at the end of your to-do list."

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"That's not true."

He looked at me - not with anger, but with quiet hurt.

"I know," he said. "But can you blame me for feeling it?"

I told him everything - about the late night, the exhaustion, the guilt. He listened. Quietly. Patiently.

And then I did what I hadn't done in days.

I asked him about his day - properly, attentively. I laughed at his jokes. I told him I still wear his hoodie. I showed him the fairy lights he had picked online that now hung over my window.

And finally, I said what my silence hadn't.

"I miss you more than I've let on, Pranu. I'm just... trying to prove I belong here too. But remember that I'll never forget who taught me to dream."

His voice softened. "That's all I needed to hear."-

We didn't solve everything that night.

But sometimes, love isn't about solving. It's about showing up - in the pauses, in the silences, in the still choosing you even when it's hard.

And we chose each other again - not with fireworks, but with the quiet promise of a voice on the other end of the line.

A week Later

"Pranu, not now," I snapped, one hand on my laptop, the other holding my phone awkwardly between shoulder and cheek.

"I'm just asking if you ate-"

"I said not now! I have five edits pending and the editor is breathing down my neck and you keep calling at the worst times!"

The silence on the line was loud.

Then quietly, he said, "Sorry. I'll talk to you later."

Click.

The call ended before I could even blink.

I stared at the black screen for a second - heart thumping, breath still heavy. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, then froze.

What did I just do?

I pushed the laptop aside.

Guilt hit like a wave crashing on a calm shore.
I wasn't really mad at him.
I was mad at everything - the pressure, the unfamiliar culture, the loneliness I didn't admit, and the fact that my camera bag had snapped earlier in the metro.

But instead of breathing, I snapped at the one person who's been holding my world together from miles away.

You keep calling at the worst times?

God, he only calls because he cares.

I couldn't sleep that night.

His voice kept replaying in my head - soft, hurt, distant.

He didn't deserve that.

At 3 a.m., I picked up my phone and opened a flower delivery app. I chose a bunch that reminded me of him - soft yellows and gentle whites, like the hoodie I always stole from him.

Message:

"To the only peace I've ever known.
I'm sorry I raised my voice when I should've just reached for your hand.
With Love, Aishu."

Pranay's pov:

The doorbell rang late afternoon. I opened it to find a flower box on the step.

I didn't need to read the note to know it was her.

But I did anyway. Twice.

I smiled - not because the flowers were pretty, but because she remembered.

She remembered how yellow calms me.
How white tulips were the first flowers I ever gifted her on a random Tuesday.
How even after hurting me, she still chose to send softness.

I video-called her that evening.

She answered in seconds.

I held the flowers to the screen. "Got your apology."

She bit her lip. "Still mad?"

I shook my head. "Still in love."

She sniffled. "You're too good to me."

I smiled. "You're worth it."

And just like that, the rough patch passed.

Not because we avoided it,
But because we met it with honesty...
And flowers that didn't need names to say "I'm sorry."

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