Sisters

The first time Nikhil met the Sharma sisters, he was instantly drawn to Meera. Meera, with her radiant smile and firecracker spirit, was impossible to resist. She was all warmth and mischief, a burst of colour and chaos in his otherwise structured world. In contrast, her sister, Aisha, was quiet, watchful—an old soul almost…with eyes that seemed to understand everything without a single word spoken.

It was Meera who loved him, Meera who chased him, Meera who stole his breath away with her laughter. 

And yet, it was Aisha who knew him.

Nikhil never quite understood how it happened. How a simple, unspoken bond with Aisha had formed, how it deepened into something beyond friendship, beyond family—something that went beyond definition. There were no stolen kisses, no flirtatious glances. Just an inexplicable understanding, an unshakable trust. She was the one he turned to when he was lost, when the weight of the world felt too heavy on his shoulders. She never asked for anything, never demanded. She just was.

And Meera? She saw it.

She saw the way Nikhil’s shoulders relaxed in Aisha’s presence, how their silences were comfortable in a way Meera’s chatter could never be. She saw the ease, the wordless conversations, the knowing smiles.

She tried not to be jealous.

But the ache inside of her grew with every passing day.

One evening, Meera sat with Nikhil on the terrace, their fingers intertwined. The city lights stretched out before them, but her mind was elsewhere.

“She leaves first, you know,” she said softly, watching his face. “When we’re together, Aisha always walks away first.”

Nikhil frowned. “What do you mean?”

Meera turned to him, searching his face. “I mean she’s always the one to step back. Always the one to disappear when we’re around each other. She does it so we don’t feel it, but I do. And it kills me.”

Nikhil sighed, rubbing his temple. “Meera, you’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Her voice was bitter. “Then tell me, Nikhil… if you had met her first, would you still have been with me?”

He had no answer.

The breaking point came on a rainy night, thunder rumbling low in the distance.

Aisha stood at the doorway, a small bag at her feet. Meera stood before her, arms crossed tightly, while Nikhil hovered between them, torn and helpless.

“You don’t have to do this,” Nikhil said, his voice firm but almost a whisper.

Aisha smiled, but it was a sad, tired thing. “I do.”

Meera shook her head, her voice shaking. “I don’t understand, Aisha. Why do you always have to be the one who gives up?”

Aisha’s gaze softened. “Because I love you more than I want to stay.”

Meera let out a soft cry, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” Aisha reached out, brushing a tear away. “You and I… we’re written in blood. But some bonds demand distance to survive.”

Nikhil clenched his jaw, stepping forward. “Aisha—”

But she was already gone.

Meera and Nikhil tried.

They tried to piece together what remained after Aisha left. They travelled, they laughed, they made love under the stars. But the ghost of her absence lingered between them, an unspoken emptiness which neither of them could fill.

Some nights, Nikhil would turn in his sleep, instinctively reaching for a presence that was never meant to be his. And Meera, wide awake beside him, would close her eyes and pretend not to notice.

Years later, when they finally parted ways, they did so with quiet acceptance. There were no grand fights, no bitter words—only the soft realisation that sometimes love can never truly be enough.

And somewhere, in a distant city, Aisha sat by a window, watching the rain fall, wondering if some loves were only meant to be felt, never held or realised. 

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2025. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used