Chapter 3 — The Woman by the Lake
The next morning, the sunlight slipped through the curtains and woke Arin before his alarm. He felt lighter somehow — as if last night's silence still lingered around him like a soft echo. The memory of Maya sitting by the lake, her smile framed by the fading sunset, replayed again and again in his mind.
He couldn't explain it, but being near her made the world quieter, calmer. It wasn't just that she didn't speak — it was something deeper. When he was beside her, the noise of other people's thoughts faded, like someone had turned down the volume on life.
He took his coffee to the balcony and leaned against the railing. Below, the city moved on — buses honking, vendors shouting, people rushing. Usually, he could hear fragments of their inner worlds drifting toward him.
"Did I lock the door?"
"I can't be late again…"
"I hope she still loves me."
But today, the noise felt distant — muffled somehow, like his mind had finally learned to breathe again.
He smiled faintly. Maybe it was her. Maybe she was the silence he'd been searching for all these years.
By afternoon, he found himself walking toward the park again, the same path he'd taken every evening for the past week. He didn't even question why anymore. It had become part of his day — something that felt right.
When he reached the lake, she was already there. Maya sat on the same bench, her sketchbook open on her lap, hair tied up in a messy bun. The sunlight reflected off the water, painting her face with a warm, golden glow.
Arin stood there for a second, just watching her.
Then he said softly, "You're early today."
She looked up, smiled, and quickly wrote on her pad:
> "Couldn't wait."
He laughed quietly. "Me neither."
They both smiled — the kind of smile that didn't need any more words.
---
For a while, they simply sat together. She sketched, and he watched the ripples on the lake, occasionally throwing pebbles into the water. The breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby tree.
At one point, she turned her sketchpad toward him. It was a drawing of the lake again — but this time, he was in it. A silhouette of a man sitting beside her.
He blinked, surprised. "That's me?"
She nodded, her eyes glinting playfully. Then she wrote:
> "You sit quietly. You fit in the picture."
He chuckled. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Her lips curved in a quiet laugh, and she returned to drawing.
Arin leaned back on the bench, watching her. He didn't notice it at first, but as she drew, he felt something new — a faint emotion brushing against his thoughts. It wasn't a voice, not like the others. It was more like a feeling.
Warmth. Calm. A soft pulse of peace that seemed to flow from her.
He frowned slightly, curious. Was this her?
He focused a little more, and suddenly, he felt it — a flicker of joy, a spark of affection. Then it vanished, like a wave retreating from the shore.
He stared at her, realizing something astonishing. He couldn't hear her mind, but he could feel her heart.
It wasn't thoughts or words — it was emotion. Pure, unspoken emotion.
And it was beautiful.
---
Later that evening, as the sky deepened into purple and the lamps around the park flickered on, they walked together along the path that circled the lake. Fireflies had begun to glow among the trees, tiny sparks of light in the dusk.
Maya walked beside him, holding her sketchbook to her chest. Her steps were slow, unhurried, almost rhythmic with the sound of the wind.
She stopped suddenly and turned to him. Then, with a hesitant smile, she held out a page from her notebook.
> "Do you believe in fate?"
Arin read it, then looked at her. "I used to think it was just a word. But lately…"
He smiled softly. "I'm starting to think maybe it's real."
Her eyes shimmered in the fading light. She wrote again.
> "Because we met?"
He nodded. "Because we met."
They stood there, both smiling faintly, the lake reflecting the soft glow of the lamps.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The wind brushed against them gently, carrying the scent of wet grass and jasmine. The air felt alive — like even the silence between them was saying something neither of them dared to put into words.
Then she tore out the page she had written on and handed it to him.
"Keep it," he said. "You might want to write more."
She shook her head, insisting, and wrote one last thing:
> "You'll need it more."
He looked at her, puzzled but smiling. "Why?"
She only smiled back, tucked her hair behind her ear, and began walking ahead.
He watched her for a moment — her figure small against the wide lake, her quiet presence somehow filling all the empty spaces in his world.
He folded the note carefully and slipped it into his pocket.
That night, lying in bed, Arin took the paper out again and read the words under the dim glow of his bedside lamp.
> "Do you believe in fate?"
He smiled to himself.
For the first time in years, he didn't fall asleep to the noise of other people's thoughts.
He fell asleep to the sound of silence — and the memory of her smile.