Ice and Ember

Armaan sipped slowly, the glass cool against his fingers-lemon, soda, the hush of fizz dissolving in silence. His gaze drifted toward the exit, already measuring the distance between him and the door.

And then-a flicker.

A tremble in the edge of vision, barely a breath. A silhouette etched against the golden light spilling through the glass doors. A shape first, then shadow. Then clarity.

There she was.

Her hair was a cascade of midnight, falling in soft curls nearly till her waist, each strand a memory he hadn't asked for but could never forget. She wore denim and a loose white shirt, the fabric catching light like moonlight caught in a sigh.

The ache he never named,
still waiting to be spoken into existence.

Her eyes scanned the room, wide and gentle, framed by kohl like strokes of longing. Her face-sharp, striking-held the serenity of rain in drought.

She didn't try to stand out. And yet-she did. In a room brimming with laughter loud enough to drown hearts, with sequins and sharp perfumes and glittering smiles, she moved like a poem read in silence.

-

Khushi laughed at something beside her, unaware that the axis of one world had tilted.

Armaan couldn't move.

Couldn't blink.

Couldn't breathe.

There she was.
The fire that once warmed his cold heart.

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© [SubbuSutradhar] [2025]. Registered with the Copyright Office, Govt. of India. All rights reserved. Infringement will lead to legal action under the Indian Copyright Act, 1957.