Rafiq eased the truck into the shelter’s parking bay. The rain had blurred the world outside, but inside him, the storm was sharper. Each raindrop seemed to echo the moment he’d watched Meera step out of his truck and walk away, a month ago.

She hadn’t said a word then. Just pressed her trembling hand against the glass, as she watched him with hollow eyes, as if her silence was speaking louder than any plea. He’d thought he was helping her by leaving her in the safety of the shelter. But she'd folded into herself, vanished into a quiet he couldn’t reach.

For a month, that silence had haunted him. He’d replayed it on endless highways, in the empty cab of his truck. He could’ve moved on, let silence become distance. Just like before. But he couldn’t. Not with that silence still begging for presence and not solutions, not forgiveness. Just someone who wouldn’t walk away.

And so today, he didn’t.

The shelter smelt faintly of antiseptic and wet wool. He walked in, his boots echoing off the cold concrete. Meera sat on a cot, gazing at her steady palms. 

He sat down, not too close, just enough to let her know he was there, but stayed quiet."

Time passed with only the sound of rain tapping on the tin roof. 

She finally looked up. “Why are you here?” Her voice cracked like dry twigs.

He exhaled. “Because I know what it is to break. And to want someone to reach across… even when they don’t know how.”

Her lip trembled. Her belly, swollen beneath her dupatta, moved slightly. He noticed her hand resting protectively over it.

“I thought I’d scream if I saw you again,” she whispered. “Or cry.”

“And?”

“I just saw someone who didn’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Meera. I was just... lost. When you disappeared, when you married... I didn’t know how to hold on. And for years, I kept waiting for a sign from you. And when we met the other day, I hoped that you would stay back.”

She blinked, a tear escaping. “I didn’t know how to ask for help.”

“You didn’t need to,” he said. “I should’ve stayed anyway. You know me, Meera. For you, I’d move any mountain.”

Her eyes brimmed. “I’m scared.”

“I’m here.” He reached over slowly, his hand trembling as it touched hers. Her fingers didn’t flinch this time. “And I’ll stay.”

“I can’t go back,” she said. “Not to who I was, not to where I’ve been.”

“Then don’t,” Rafiq said gently. “My truck has enough fuel to take us anywhere we want. It doesn’t care about the past. It only moves forward.”

A tear fell from her chin to the dusty floor. She didn’t speak, but her hand stayed in his.

And that was enough, for now.