After the uproar caused by Ravi’s story, Waidasei found herself at the center of whispers and sideways glances. Though Ravi had taken down the post after a few days, the words had left a lasting impression.
Waidasei, proud and headstrong, had initially been furious. But as the days passed, she couldn’t shake the lingering ache from Ravi’s parting words: "You don’t get to erase the part of yourself that inspired me." They stayed with her, softening the anger and replacing it with curiosity.
One evening, as the sun dipped low over the city, Waidasei found herself standing outside Ravi’s apartment. She hesitated, her heart thudding in her chest, before finally knocking.
Ravi opened the door, surprised but calm. “Waidasei,” he said, stepping aside. “Come in.”
The room was modest, books and papers scattered everywhere, but it was warm and inviting. She perched awkwardly on the edge of a chair.
“I wanted to apologize,” she began, her voice quieter than he’d ever heard it. “I shouldn’t have blocked you or dismissed you like that. I didn’t realize how much that story meant to you—or to others. I’ve read it again... and it’s beautiful.”
Ravi leaned back, studying her. “Why the change of heart?”
She sighed. “Because I see now that you weren’t trying to mock me or use me. You were... admiring me in a way I didn’t understand. It scared me, I think.”
Ravi’s lips curved into a small smile. “It wasn’t just about you, Waidasei. It was about what you represented to me—confidence, grace, and something I couldn’t quite reach. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Waidasei met his gaze, and for the first time, there was no wall between them. “You didn’t hurt me. You made me see myself differently.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know where this goes, Ravi, but I’d like to start over. As friends. Maybe more.”
Ravi’s heart raced, but he kept his composure. “Starting over sounds good,” he said.
They spent the evening talking, laughing, and peeling back layers of misunderstandings. By the time Waidasei left, the stars were out, and something unspoken lingered between them—a spark, a promise of something new.
And as Ravi watched her walk away, he realized that this story, unlike the last, was still being written.
