Chapter 6: Between Words and Whispers
The days were warmer now. Cresthill Bay had slowly started to feel... lighter.
One weekend evening, Zayaan waved at Eliza from his window and pointed to the garden outside their buildings.
She nodded.
Moments later, they met in the garden for the very first time — no glass, no distance.
Just grass under their feet and stars above their heads.
They sat on an old wooden bench beneath a flowering tree. For a while, neither of them spoke. But the silence felt peaceful — not awkward.
Zayaan broke it first.
"So... you really write poetry?"
Eliza looked up, surprised.
"How do you know that?"
"I saw you once. Your head was down, your hand moving like the world depended on it. I know that look."
She smiled.
"I write when I feel too much. When my thoughts get too loud."
He nodded.
"Same."
Eliza tilted her head.
"But why do you write? I mean… really write?"
Zayaan was quiet for a few seconds. His fingers moved across the edge of the bench.
Then he said softly,
"Because sometimes, when I speak… no one listens. But when I write, at least the paper does."
His voice cracked a little — just a little.
Eliza looked at him, and in that moment, she didn't feel like asking more.
Instead, she said:
"Then keep writing. Because someone finally is listening now."
Zayaan turned to her. And in his eyes, something flickered — like a wall slowly coming down.
Their hearts didn't need grand gestures.
They just needed words
.
And now, they had each other to hear them.