The studio felt different that morning.
Not in a visible way — the same faint hum of equipment, same coffee aroma — but in the air between them.
Suhana arrived earlier than usual. She didn't say it out loud, but she wanted to see how it felt — the silence before Arjun entered.
When he finally walked in, carrying two takeaway coffees, she smiled.
"You're late," she said.
"Traffic," he replied.
She arched an eyebrow. "You live ten minutes away."
He shrugged. "London traffic is emotional, not physical."
Their laughter filled the space, cutting through the tension neither admitted to feeling.
He handed her a coffee — oat milk, one sugar.
She blinked. "You remembered."
"Not many people take oat milk by choice," he said.
Her heart skipped, not because of the gesture, but because he noticed.
They were recording the pilot episode of "The Space Between Us" — a creative experiment Arjun pitched to the producer, exploring human stories through soundscapes and personal reflections.
Today's theme: "Things We Don't Say."
Arjun adjusted the mics, glancing up at her every now and then.
"You ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
He hit record. The small red light blinked.
Suhana's voice came first — warm, thoughtful, just a little nervous.
"Sometimes silence says more than words ever could. Not because we don't want to speak… but because some truths don't fit neatly into sentences."
Arjun smiled faintly at her phrasing. He followed with his line.
> "Or maybe we stay silent because we're afraid that saying it will make it real."
The chemistry was instantaneous — not rehearsed, not forced.
Listeners wouldn't hear it yet, but anyone in that room could feel it.
Halfway through the recording, Suhana drifted from the script.
"Do you ever think," she began softly, "that some people enter our lives to remind us of who we used to be?"
Arjun paused — it wasn't part of the plan.
He looked up, caught off guard by her tone.
> "Yeah," he said slowly. "Sometimes they bring back the parts we thought we'd lost."
The silence that followed wasn't empty — it was charged.
Every hum of the mic, every breath, felt louder.
Suhana didn't meet his eyes.
She just whispered, almost to herself,
"Or maybe they make us remember things we were trying to forget."
He didn't reply. Couldn't.
Because in that moment, the memory of the lake — the child he saved — flashed again in his mind.
Her voice sounded exactly like the little girl's.
Even her phrasing carried the same warmth, the same broken rhythm of speech.
When the red light turned off, neither moved.
The air between them was thick — not romantic yet, but alive.
"That was…" she began.
"Honest," he finished.
They replayed parts of the recording. Hearing themselves talk about silence and fear made the unsaid tension almost unbearable.
The producer entered, breaking the moment.
"That was raw. Keep that energy — that's the heartbeat of the show."
Suhana smiled shyly. "We didn't even plan half of it."
"Exactly," the producer said. "Don't plan too much next time either."
As he left, Arjun turned to her.
"You okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Just — didn't expect it to feel that personal."
He hesitated. "That's what makes it real."
They left together again.
The city was quieter, post-rain — puddles reflecting neon lights, air smelling faintly of coffee and petrol.
"Do you ever regret saying too much?" she asked suddenly.
"Only when it's not to the right person," he said.
Her heart tripped. She looked at him — the easy posture, the sincerity in his tone.
For a second, it felt like he meant her.
He looked away first, pretending to check his phone. "Our episode goes live next Friday. Listeners are going to love your voice."
She smiled faintly. "You mean our voice."
At home, she replayed the audio on her phone.
Their conversation about silence echoed in her room, softer now — intimate in a way she hadn't felt in years.
When he'd said, "Sometimes they bring back the parts we thought we'd lost," she felt that pang — the one that came whenever she wore her old red scarf.
She didn't know why his words reminded her of the lake, of water and fear and a faceless boy who'd pulled her back to safety years ago.
But she remembered one thing: the boy had said,
"Don't be scared. You're safe now."
And that same calm, familiar safety lived in Arjun's voice.
Arjun couldn't sleep. He kept scrolling through old folders on his computer — his childhood town, his father's files, the rescue report that mentioned a missing girl found near the lake twenty years ago.
He never knew her name.
But now, he had a feeling.
He opened his notes and wrote:
"Sometimes destiny doesn't knock — it echoes."
He didn't know what he was hoping to find, or if it was even her.
But the more they talked, the more it felt inevitable.
The next morning, the studio group chat lit up with reactions:
"The Space Between Us — Pilot Episode — trending!"
"You two sound electric on-air!"
Suhana smiled at the messages, then looked out the window.
Rain again.
And across the city, Arjun watched the same clouds from his flat, his fingers tracing the childhood photograph on his desk — two blurred figures by the lake.
He whispered to the photo,
> "If it's really you, Suhana… maybe this time, I'll save you differently."
---
Some stories don't start when we meet — they restart when we finally listen.