Hridya’s POV
It’s Sunday morning and the whole campus is half asleep while I am getting ready to meet him.
Last Friday, when I returned after celebrating Noor’s birthday, he called me and asked if I am free on Sunday because he wants to take me out somewhere.
I was hesitant at first because it’s the first time I will be going out with a boy alone in all my four years of college. It’s not like that I don’t trust him but it’s just that I can’t tell about this to my parents.
Usually whenever I go out with my friends, I tell my parents just to inform them that I am safe and fine and it’s a part of me that also wants to share everything with my parents.
But Avyukt? He is just a secret I can’t share with them. Not yet. Not until I am independent enough to take my decisions on my own.
After mulling over his proposal, I finally said yes. He didn’t tell me where he is taking me so when I asked about how should I dress up for the place wherever he is taking me he just said:
“Jaise Meri Hrdiya humesha hoti hai.”
[Just like my Hridya always is.]
I knew what that meant. So here I am. Wearing a lavender Anarkali suit. I put on a small bindi on my forehead and slip into a pair of jhumkas that he brought me. I put my duppata over my shoulders and look in the mirror.
“Ab lag rahi ho na Avyukt ki Hridya.” I smile at the thought and quickly wear the new juttis I bought from the market earlier.
[Now you feel like Avyukt’s Hridya.]
I sling my bag putting my room key and phone and a small cash. I have already informed the girls that I am going out with him.
I walk towards the boys hostel gate and I see him already waiting there and as soon he sees me he gets up. He is wearing a white kurta with jeans today.
His face softens when he sees me and smiles. his hand reaches and tucks a strand behind my ear his fingers brushing against the jhumka and my heart rate quickens.
“Ache lag rahe hain.” He whispers softly.
[Looking good.]
I bite my lips and respond. “Kya? Main ya jhumke?” I say teasingly.
[What? Me or the earrings?]
“Tumne pehne hain isiliye jhumke ache lag rahe hain.” He says leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on my forehead, his words and lips lingering on my skin even when pulls away.
[The earrings look good because you’re wearing them.]
“Chalein?” he holds my hand and that’s when I come out of my thoughts and nods.
[Shall we go?]
We walk side by side holding hands. He still hasn’t said a word about where we are going. We take an auto and he even whispers to the auto driver so I can’t hear him. This boy is really going to keep it as surprise.
After half an hour, the auto stops outside the famous Gurudwara in the city. I look at him confusingly as we get down from the auto.
It’s not like I haven’t been here before. Even if I don’t pray or believe in God, I don’t mind visiting these places because the people around me wants to and I don’t have a problem until and unless they don’t force me to believe or pray.
“Tum yahan lana chahte the mujhe?” I look at him with a smile.
[You wanted to bring me here?]
He nods. “Bas aana chahta tha tumhare saath yahan.”
[I just wanted to come here with you.]
We walk inside the Gurudwara and remove our shoes. I cover my head with the dupatta and he ties the rumal on his head. We wash our hands at the marble tap near the entrance. And then we step inside.
The Gurudwara is bathed in a peace that’s hard to describe. Not silence—peace.
A child is humming. An elderly man folds his hands. A few women bow their heads and place offerings of karah prasad wrapped in muslin cloth. And at the centre of it all, the Guru Granth Sahib rests—beneath golden cloth, behind sheer drapes, glowing in the morning light.
We both kneel down.
His forehead touches the marble floor.
But I remain bowed slightly—hands folded, eyes half-closed, unsure of what to say… if I am even allowed to say anything at all.
But then I look at him. He isn’t just bowing down like any other people here. He is being grateful for something like the man whose prayer has been answered.
We sit in the Sangat, cross-legged on the white floor, our knees brushing slightly beneath the long cloth spread out for everyone.
The Shabad continues in the background.
“Satnam Waheguru…”
He doesn’t look at me.
Not yet.
But he speaks. Barely audible.
“Holi ke next day aaya tha main inke paas….tumhare jaane ke baad.”
[I had gone to them the day after Holi… after you had left.]
I don’t react. I just listen.
“Ye wahi jagah hai… jahan maine tumhe maanga tha. Lekin wapas paane ke liye nahi. Balki… tumhare pyaar ke layak banne ke liye..”
[This is the same place… where I asked for you. But not to get you back. Rather… to become worthy of your love.]
And then, quieter—
“Maine inse mujhe wo Avyukt bnane ko kaha tha…jisme tum inko dekhti thi.”
[I asked them to make me that Avyukt… the one in whom you used to see them.]
I turn my head slightly, looking at him—not with surprise, but with a knowing ache.
Because he wasn’t lying.
Because he had become him again. Slowly. Patiently. Without demanding anything back.
“Toh… sun li gayi tumhari ardaas,” I whisper. It sounds like a tease, but there’s no smile behind it.
[So… your prayer has been heard.]
“I never believed in prayers,” I murmur, eyes still on the altar ahead.
“I know,” he says.
“But I believed in you. And when you left… aisa laga jaise maine apna vishwas hi kho diya ho.”
[It felt as if I had completely lost my faith.]
A beat.
“I didn’t stop loving you,” I add. “I just stopped believing love was enough.”
I see his throat tightening.
“And now?” he asks.
I exhale.
“Now... I don’t know what I believe in. But I know this—if I were to believe in something again… it would begin from here. From you.”
He looks at me and his face softens. Like he can’t grasp the fact that I am still choosing to believe in him.
He just leans forwards and puts the dupatta on my head fixing it as it was slipping from my head. His way of telling me that he is grateful for having me. And I am too. For having him.
Before we leave, I take one last look at the Guru Granth Sahib.
I don’t bow this time.
I just fold my hands. And maybe, that’s enough.
Outside, the sun is warmer. Softer.
I look at him as we wear our shoes again. He bends down to tie his lace, then looks up at me.
Our eyes meet.
No smile. Just silence.
But it holds everything now—pain, forgiveness, return.
He stands. And we begin walking again.
The road ahead is long. But this time? We are walking it together. Not chasing, not pulling — just side by side.
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