Two People Under One Roof.

Riya stood by the window, watching the city bleed into the evening. The sun had long slipped behind the concrete skyline, leaving behind a purple haze that blurred the sharp edges of the buildings. Car headlights flickered below like restless fireflies, weaving through the endless traffic.

She cradled a cup of cold tea between her hands, its warmth long gone — much like the warmth in her marriage.

Aarav was home. She could hear him in the next room, the low murmur of the television mingling with the occasional ping of his phone. She knew the pattern by now. He would come home late, offer a quick, distracted hello, and then retreat into his world of screens and work emails. The distance between them wasn’t marked by slammed doors or shouted words. It was quieter than that. It was the silence of words left unsaid, of questions never asked, of evenings spent in the same room yet feeling oceans apart.

They had been married for eight years.

In the beginning, everything had been effortless. Conversations flowed like water, and laughter came easy. They spent long nights talking about impossible dreams, future travels, and what their home would look like when they finally bought one. Their love was simple then — no conditions, no heavy expectations.

But over time, life happened.

Aarav’s job at a multinational firm demanded more hours, more travel, more of him. Riya started freelance graphic design to keep her creative soul alive while juggling responsibilities at home and caring for her aging parents. Slowly, life’s endless to-do lists and invisible burdens wore them down. Conversations shrank to practicalities: Did you pay the rent? Pick up the groceries? What time’s your meeting tomorrow?

Neither of them noticed when love took a backseat.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Riya thought. They had simply stopped choosing each other.

That evening, as she stood by the window, a sudden memory surfaced — their honeymoon in Goa, walking barefoot on the beach at midnight, the salty wind tangling Riya’s hair, and Aarav chasing after a floating lantern they’d released into the sky. She smiled despite herself.

Where had those people gone?

The ache in her chest was sharp. She glanced at the digital clock — 8:45 PM.
She made a decision.

Riya picked up a notepad from the kitchen counter and scribbled a note:

“Let’s talk. Not about bills. Not about work. About us. 9 PM, balcony.”

She placed it on the dining table where Aarav would see it.

At exactly 9:05 PM, she heard hesitant footsteps. Aarav stepped onto the small balcony, rubbing the back of his neck. His face was tired, but his eyes carried a flicker of something else — regret, maybe. Or hope.

He leaned against the railing, keeping a cautious distance. The hum of traffic rose from below. For a moment, neither spoke.

“I didn’t know you still liked sitting out here,” Aarav began.

“I do. Just… no one ever asked anymore.”

He sighed. “I guess I stopped asking.”

Riya looked at him, really looked. The fine lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped. He looked older, wearier than she remembered. But then again, maybe they both did.

“I miss us,” she said quietly.

Aarav stared out at the city. “I miss us too.”

The words hung between them, heavier than any argument they might have had.

“I don’t know when we stopped trying,” Riya continued. “We used to talk about everything. Now, it’s like we’re just… coexisting.”

Aarav nodded. “I’ve been so caught up with work. Trying to make partner, managing projects, deadlines… I thought if I could just get through this quarter, then the next, then the next, things would get easier. But I forgot about you. About us.”

Riya’s throat tightened. “And I let it happen. I stopped fighting for us too. I filled my days with work, family stuff, endless scrolling on my phone because it was easier than facing how lonely I felt in this house.”

Aarav ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

“I didn’t either… until I did.”

The city stretched below them, indifferent to the small, intimate unraveling happening on a 12th-floor balcony.

“I don’t want to keep living like this,” Riya admitted. “Not hating each other, but not loving each other either. It’s the emptiness that scares me more than anger.”

Aarav exhaled. “Same.”

They stood in silence for a while, the sounds of the city filling the spaces between their words.

“I remember our honeymoon,” Riya said suddenly. “That stupid lantern you chased into the sea.”

Aarav chuckled, a soft, surprised sound. “You said I was an idiot.”

“You were. But you made me laugh so hard I cried.”

He smiled, a real one this time. “We were good, weren’t we?”

“We were great.”

A cool breeze drifted through, carrying the scent of wet earth and night-blooming flowers from a nearby balcony. The world felt softer in that moment, less heavy.

“I want to find that again,” Aarav said quietly. “Maybe not the wild, reckless version. But a quieter, steady love. I want to fight for us.”

Tears pricked at Riya’s eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was hope or grief or both.

“It won’t be easy,” she warned.

“I know,” he said. “But it’ll be worth it.”

They sat down on the old balcony chairs, shoulders brushing, the contact unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“We could start with dinner together,” Riya suggested. “No phones. No TV.”

Aarav grinned. “Even better — I’ll cook. Or attempt to.”

“You mean instant noodles?”

“Hey, I make a mean masala Maggi.”

They laughed, the sound small and uncertain, but it was a start.

Later that night, Aarav closed his laptop before 10 PM for the first time in months. Riya tucked her phone away in a drawer. They made instant noodles together, burning one batch and laughing over it. They ate on the balcony, under the glow of a single lamp, the city still humming around them.

There were no grand gestures, no sweeping apologies. Just two people under one roof, choosing to be present. Choosing to remember. Choosing to try.

The distance between them wasn’t gone. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like something they could cross.

And as the city lights twinkled like scattered stars, Riya realized something important — not every relationship breaks in storms. Some fade in whispers. And if you’re brave enough to listen, you might just hear the echo of what once was, and what could still be.