The drive back from the warehouse had been quiet, and when they arrived at home, Lathika wasted no time. She stormed into her office, shutting the door behind her with more force than necessary. The silence of the house pressed against her, amplifying her guilt as she slumped down on the couch by the window. She buried her face in her hands, taking in a deep breath.

"How could you do that to him?" she whispered to herself, her words barely audible over the noise of her thoughts. She had been ruthless and cold to Prashanth, dismissing his help when all he wanted was to ease her stress. His kindness had been met with sharp words, and now, it felt like a wound she couldn't ignore. He had tried—he always did—but she had been too caught up in her own whirlwind to see it.

Lathika knew what she had done, and the weight of her actions sat heavily in her chest. She had taken his kindness for granted. How could she have been so thoughtless?

But then again, he had always been that way—always trying to fix everything, even when it wasn't his problem to solve. It was a part of who he was, and she had pushed him away when he had only wanted to be there for her. She couldn't understand why she did that and it hurt more than she expected.

She sat there for a long while, turning the situation over and over in her mind. And yet, for reasons she couldn't quite grasp, she couldn't bring herself to apologize. The silence between them stretched out, and she wasn't sure how to bridge the distance she had created.

The days passed in a haze. Their conversations were curt, like the ones they'd exchanged after her outburst. A simple "Have you eaten?" from him, followed by his standard reply of, "I'll be back in two days," seemed like more of a formality than a real exchange. Twice, they had parted with a kind of painful distance between them. And now, Lathika knew it was time to break that silence.

One evening, as they sat across from each other, she decided to speak. "How was your day?" she asked, her voice softer than she expected.

"The usual," Prashanth replied with a shrug. He glanced up at her, his eyes kind. "And yours? Still stressed about business?"

The knot in her chest tightened at his simple, gentle question. Despite the coldness she'd put between them, he still cared. And it hurt to realize how much she had pushed him away.

"Yeah... it's endless... it's just too much," she said quietly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Prashanth leaned forward, his eyes full of concern. "Tell me about it. What's going on?"

Lathika let out a sigh, feeling the weight of her stress flood back. "I don't know how I'm going to manage everything tomorrow. The venue is smaller than I expected, and the client keeps changing their requirements. It feels like no matter what I do, it's never enough."

Prashanth immediately shifted into problem-solving mode, as if he was instinctively wired to fix it. "Why don't you switch the layout? Maybe rearrange it to use the space better? Or, you could ask the client to finalize their decisions now, so you're not chasing them at the last minute. I could even call someone from my contacts to help with the venue—"

Lathika placed her hand gently on his, stopping him. "Prashanth, stop," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "I don't need you to solve this for me. I just... I just needed someone to listen."

Prashanth blinked, taken aback. He looked at her, confused. "I was just trying to make things easier for you. I didn't realize listening was all you needed."

Her heart softened at his words. She could see the confusion in his eyes—the way he had only wanted to help, the way he always tried to make things better. She squeezed his hand gently. "I know you're trying, and I like that about you. But sometimes, I just need to let it out. You don't always have to fix everything for me."

The silence stretched between them for a moment, but this time, it wasn't awkward.

Later that night, Prashanth knocked on her office door before walking in quietly. He didn't say anything at first, just sat down on the couch, letting the weight of the day fade away. Lathika was still at her desk, her fingers running absentmindedly over a few papers, the soft glow of the desk lamp illuminating her tired face.

"I guess I'm so used to trying to fix things because it feels like the only way to help," Prashanth said after a while, his voice low and contemplative. "I didn't realize I was making you feel unheard."

Lathika got up and walked over to him, sitting beside him on the couch. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to do everything, Prashanth. Sometimes, just being there—letting me talk—is more than enough."

Prashanth looked at her for a long moment, searching her eyes, as if trying to fully understand. Then, he nodded slowly, his heart lighter than it had been in days.

"All I need is you to just be there for me," she added softly, her gaze meeting his. "And I'll handle the rest."

Lathika hoped, this little talk could bridge the gap she had created and prayed there wouldn't come another day with this kind of dreading silence that ached them both.

❁ ❁ ❁

Despite Prashanth's acknowledgment of Lathika's needs, deep down, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she didn't need him as much as he wanted to be needed. She was more than capable of handling everything on her own. In fact, she thrived under pressure, and that only made him feel more like an outsider in her world. The truth was, he didn't fully understand how listening was enough. He wanted to be involved, to fix things, to offer his solutions—maybe it was too much, maybe it was his way of trying to stay relevant in her life.

But Lathika had made it clear, time and again, that her independence was non-negotiable. She didn't always need his help, and though she appreciated his concern, she wanted space to handle things on her own. That gap between them—her self-sufficiency and his need to contribute—had started to feel insurmountable. It had been building for months, and the more Prashanth thought about it, the more he realized that he was the one making it worse by overcompensating.

To keep himself from constantly trying to fix things that didn't need fixing, Prashanth decided to focus on what he knew best: his job. Flying. It was simple, it was something he could control, something that let him escape from the weight of the growing distance between them. He knew he was drifting, but it was easier than facing the reality that Lathika didn't need him the way he wanted her to.

A corner of his heart, however, had found an anchor in Lathika. Despite everything, despite the tension, despite his self-imposed distance, he couldn't quite let go of her. She had, without him realizing it, become his grounding force. But he wasn't ready to admit it yet, not to himself, and not to her. So, he kept his distance, focusing on the one thing he could do well—flying—and tried not to dwell on the fact that the gap between them was growing wider.

❁ ❁ ❁

Four months had passed, and a call for celebration finally came. It was Jaimathi's 85th birthday, and Lathika's father had invited them to a grand celebration in Madurai. This trip would be their first as a married couple returning to their hometown, and despite the lingering distance between them, they both agreed to attend, hoping to honour family and the occasion.

Prashanth, in an effort to make up for his absences and the tension between them, opted to drive rather than fly. It was a seven-hour drive, and maybe, it would give them the time and space to talk, to clear the air.

But as the car hit the highway, the silence between them grew louder. The steady hum of the engine was the only sound that filled the cabin, and it weighed on Prashanth more than he expected. He wanted to bridge the gap, to somehow ease the tension between them. So, after a long stretch of quiet, he tried to break the silence.

"Are you angry?" he asked cautiously, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Lathika, who had been staring out of the window, shifted her gaze towards him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why? Do I look angry?" she replied, her tone sharp, though there was an underlying amusement in her voice.

Prashanth smirked, a little teasing. "Yes, you do. What's with the face?"

She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smile despite herself. "Smart. Then you must also know why," she shot back, her voice softer now, but the tension was still palpable.

Prashanth sighed, his smirk fading. He knew exactly why she was upset. The long hours away, the missed time together, and the emotional distance that had grown between them because of his constant absences. "Of course, I know," he said, his voice quiet, filled with the regret he hadn't yet voiced. "And I'm sorry."

Lathika turned back to face the road ahead, her expression softening just a little. "You should be," she muttered under her breath, but it wasn't the harsh reprimand he feared.

He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He'd been living with the consequences of his own choices, and Lathika's text from a few weeks ago was still fresh in his mind. He had read it over and over, her words coming through loud and clear.

Lathika:

Has your leave been approved for the birthday party?

If not, do something!

I hate that you are away for so long.

And we hardly get time to spend together.

Listen! Stop avoiding the problem. I know what you are trying to do.

Get your leave approved or apply a sick leave or DO WHATEVER.

But we are going back to Madurai for Achi's birthday. Period.

Prashanth had chuckled when he first read it, amused at how she had typed everything in such a hurry, the words coming through as if she was shouting at him. But behind her urgency, he knew there was something deeper—something that needed addressing. The thought that he had been running away from the problem, from her, hit him square in the chest. It wasn't just the flight hours that had kept him away; it was the emotional distance he had created by hiding behind his work.

So, as the car continued down the highway, he reached over and placed his hand on hers. "I know I've been absent, Lathika. And I'm sorry. I'm here now, and I'll make it right."

Her fingers curled around his, and for a brief moment, the silence between them felt a little less suffocating. "I just want you to be present, Prashanth," she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of frustration and hope. "I don't need you to fix everything, I just need you here with me."

"I'll try," he nodded truly trying to fit into her need.

As the tension eased in the car, Prashanth and Lathika slipped into a more casual conversation, the kind they used to have when the weight of silence didn't hang between them. Prashanth began recounting some of the long-haul flights he had taken recently, his voice light as he shared the usual work stories. Lathika, too, filled him in on the details of her business progress—the meetings, the clients, the new hires that had been a part of her growing team over the months he had been absent.

"I hired another event planner to help me coordinate projects," she said, breaking down the latest change as he drove them to Madurai on a cloudy, cozy afternoon.

And as Lathika animatedly shared how Aditya's entry into her business had helped her sail both her businesses smoothly, a tiny bit of jealousy sprouted in him.

❁ ❁ ❁

Thank you for reading!