"A Stranger Across the Table"

The restaurant glowed softly, bathed in warm amber light and the quiet murmur of polite conversation. Sia sat across from Kabir, her red dress catching the flicker of candles, her posture perfect yet distant. Their parents spoke warmly, weaving dreams of a business alliance and a personal one - but Sia's thoughts were far away.

Kabir watched her, every inch of him leaning forward to catch even the smallest trace of the girl he used to know. Her silence tonight wasn't cold, but it was unyielding - like a door he couldn't find the key to.

He cleared his throat, the weight of memory heavy on his tongue. "Sia... you've been so quiet tonight," he said gently, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. "Back then, at the farewell... did something happen? You left so suddenly."

For a moment, Sia didn't answer. Her eyes lowered to her plate, and her breath caught in her throat. How could she explain the crack in her trust - the crack that had turned into a chasm?

That night... it still lived in her veins.

She had been drawn by laughter, by the glow of fairy lights in the college garden, only to find a darkness she hadn't expected.

Kabir and some of his friends were talking about women. She didn't hear everything - only bits and pieces, but it was enough. They were joking about tearing down a woman's dignity, like women were nothing but objects... like they were just there to be used, tossed aside, like they were some kind of shoes you wear and discard.

It had been more than crude banter - it had been a dismissal of her dreams, her worth. Sia had felt her breath catch, her palms go cold as the laughter of his friends echoed in the quiet night.

She had stood frozen behind a curtain of leaves, every word sinking like a dagger. And though Kabir hadn't joined in, his silence had felt like a betrayal all its own.

Now, in the warm glow of the restaurant, the memory was a bitter taste on her tongue. She forced a polite smile, her voice steady but distant. "Mr. Malhotra, let's not dwell on the past," she said softly. "We're here because of our families - let's just focus on that."

Kabir's brow creased, confusion flickering across his face. He leaned forward, his voice low, urgent. "Sia... please. I don't know what you're holding back, but I can see it in your eyes. If I did something... if I hurt you, I want to make it right."

But Sia simply looked at him, her gaze as calm as a winter's dawn. Inside, her heart was a storm - but she had learned how to keep it hidden.

"Kabir," she said quietly, "some things can't be undone. Some wounds... they're meant to be carried alone."

He searched her face, the soft candlelight reflecting in his dark eyes. There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness - just a quiet ache that he couldn't seem to touch.

He didn't know - truly didn't know - how those careless words had hollowed her out. He only saw the woman before him now: elegant, composed, and so heartbreakingly out of reach.

Their parents continued to chat, weaving plans for the future, oblivious to the silent distance between their children. Sia nodded politely, smiling when required, but her fingers twisted in her lap, hidden by the crisp white tablecloth.

Kabir reached for the water jug, his hand brushing hers by accident. She flinched - a small, almost invisible shiver - but it was enough. He felt it, like a ripple in still water, and it cut deeper than any spoken word.

As the dinner went on, Sia's mind wandered - to the garden, to the laughter that had turned her world cold, to the truth she would never speak aloud. She would not give those words any more power. She would not let them stain her voice tonight.

When dessert was served, she excused herself, her voice as gentle as the night air outside. "I'll see you at the next meeting," she said softly, rising from the table with a grace that left Kabir's heart aching.

He watched her walk away, her red dress whispering against the floor, and felt a pang of helplessness. He didn't understand - couldn't understand - why she looked at him like he was a stranger.

All he knew was this: he wasn't ready to let her go. Not yet.

Outside, the moon hung low and golden in the sky, and as Sia stepped into the night, she felt the weight of every word she had never spoken. The memory of laughter in the garden would never fade completely - but maybe, just maybe, she could learn to walk past it. And in the quiet spaces of her heart, she could begin again.