Too much traffic between us

Silent Distance

The days following the latest fire stretched on like an eternity, filled with more questions than answers. Vidisha had thrown herself back into work, staying longer at the firehouse, taking on more shifts, anything to keep herself busy. It wasn’t just about catching the arsonist anymore—it was about avoiding Raunak.

Ever since that night on the rooftop, a wall had grown between them. The tension that had once simmered just beneath the surface had now turned into an icy distance, an unspoken agreement that whatever had been happening between them needed to stop. They were too distracted, too emotionally compromised to be effective at their jobs. And that was unacceptable, especially with lives on the line.

But even as she kept her distance, the silence between them was unbearable. Every time they were in the same room, the air seemed to thicken, weighed down by all the things left unsaid. Raunak hadn’t pushed her since that night. He hadn’t even tried to talk to her about their relationship again, but that was almost worse. The absence of his presence, the lack of his words, gnawed at her.

Vidisha stood outside the firehouse, staring at the night sky. The stars twinkled above, unaffected by the chaos below. She envied them—their ability to shine, so far removed from the struggles of human life. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a text from one of her team members about the upcoming briefing. Another fire had been reported, though this one had been put out before causing major damage. Still, it was a clear sign the arsonist wasn’t done.

Her mind raced back to Raunak. He had been instrumental in analyzing the burn patterns, helping them narrow down potential locations for the next attack. His expertise had saved lives, and yet, it was getting harder to separate the doctor from the man she had feelings for.

As she walked back into the firehouse, Vidisha found herself glancing toward the makeshift medical station Raunak had set up for emergencies. He wasn’t there. In fact, she hadn’t seen him in days, aside from quick glimpses during briefings or while he worked with patients. He had retreated into his world, just as she had into hers.

It was for the best, she told herself. They needed to stay focused, to keep their distance. But the silence was deafening.

---

Raunak sat at his desk, staring at the report in front of him but not really seeing it. His mind was elsewhere—on Vidisha, on the conversation they had never finished. He had tried to keep his distance, just like she had wanted. He knew they couldn’t afford to get distracted, not with everything at stake, but staying away from her was torture.

He had watched her during the last fire, watched her throw herself into the chaos with the same reckless determination that had always defined her. But something was different this time. She wasn’t just fighting the fire—she was fighting something inside herself, something he couldn’t reach.

Raunak had tried to focus on his work, on the investigation, but the silence between them was eating away at him. They had shared something in that moment on the rooftop, something raw and real. But now, it was as if that moment had never happened.

He sighed, rubbing a hand across his tired face. He hadn’t been sleeping much lately, the weight of the investigation and his feelings for Vidisha keeping him up at night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—sometimes filled with determination, sometimes with fear, but always there, haunting him.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was a message from Vidisha’s station, a reminder about the latest briefing. He stared at the message for a long time, debating whether he should go. He knew she would be there, and he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing her again, not when things were still so unresolved between them.

But he had a job to do. No matter how complicated things had gotten between them, they still had to work together. For the sake of the city, for the people depending on them, he couldn’t let his personal feelings get in the way.

With a resigned sigh, Raunak grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

---

The briefing room was packed, the tension palpable as the team gathered to discuss the latest developments in the arson case. Vidisha stood near the front, her arms crossed over her chest, trying to focus on the chief’s words but failing miserably. She could feel Raunak’s presence before she even saw him. He had entered the room quietly, taking a seat near the back, as far away from her as possible.

It was like they were strangers again, after everything they had been through. The thought made her chest ache, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. The fires were growing more frequent, and the arsonist was becoming more unpredictable. They couldn’t afford any more distractions, and that included whatever was—or wasn’t—happening between her and Raunak.

The meeting dragged on, each new piece of evidence only adding to the growing sense of urgency. As the briefing came to a close, the chief assigned tasks to different members of the team. Vidisha was to lead the next search, investigating potential sites for the next fire.

As the team began to disperse, Vidisha caught Raunak’s eye from across the room. For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

Then, without a word, Raunak turned and walked out of the room.

Vidisha stood frozen, her heart pounding. She had thought she could handle the distance, thought that silence would be better than confronting the mess between them. But watching him walk away again, it felt like she was losing something important, something she wasn’t sure she could get back.

She wanted to chase after him, to finally talk about everything they had been avoiding. But she stayed rooted to the spot, trapped by her own fear and guilt. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe the distance would protect them both.

But as the door closed behind him, Vidisha wasn’t so sure anymore.