When the Blabber found No Listener

Tikli was a blabber. Everyone knew it. When she was happy, she blabbered. When she was nervous, she blabbered. When she was angry, she blabbered the loudest.

Adi was the opposite. When he was happy, he was silent with a warm smiley. When he was nervous, he was silent. And when he was angry, he became a wall. A full Undertaker wall.

It happened on a Thursday. At 11:47 pm. On call.

They were on their favourite timepass - bitching about office. Who said what, who took credit, who was being fake. Their secret team.

Tikli said, "And you always take their side. You always do that, Adi. Whenever I say something, you go 'arey it's okay, don't worry'. Why do you always have to be so neutral? Why can't you just say - yes Tikli, you are right, they are wrong?"

Adi, who was tired after gym, said in his low voice, "Tikli, not everything is about right and wrong. Sometimes you overthink."

Overthink. That word.

Tikli's blabber mode switched to hurt mode.

"Overthink? I overthink? Wow. So when I tell you what bothers me, I am overthinking. When you tell me about your diet and protein, that's important. But my things are overthinking. Great."

Adi sighed. "I didn't mean that."

"You meant exactly that. You always do this. You listen, but you don't _listen_ listen. You just wait for me to finish and then say 'all good?' No, it's not all good, Adi!"

"Okay then what do you want me to say?" His voice was a little raised now. For Adi, that was shouting.

"I want you to say you care! Not just 'hey' and 'all good'! Say it like you mean it!"

And then she said it - the sentence that broke everything.

"Leave it, you will never understand. You are just like everyone else. Formal."

Silence.

That Hyderabadi Gujarati formal silence.

Adi said quietly, "Okay. If that's what you think, then okay."

And he cut the call.

Tikli stared at the phone. He had never cut her call. Ever. Even when his mom called, he used to say "one minute, Tikli is on line". But today he cut.

She called back. No answer.

She texted - "Adi?"

No blue tick. He had put on topi DP. The one he puts when he doesn't want to talk to anyone.

Day 1 went.

Day 3 went.

Day 10 went.

Office was torture. They were in the same floor, same team. He would come, in his black t-shirt, neck looking more like Undertaker because he had increased weights. He would say formal "good morning everyone" in that UP style, not even looking at her.

Tikli would wear her short-hair animated look, her cute earring, hoping he would say "arey pagal, what is this new look". But he would just say "hey" to the group and go to his desk.

Their late-night call slot - 11 pm to 1 am - became the loneliest slot. Tikli would hold her phone, type "come on, give me a hug?" and delete it. Because she was angry too.

One month. No personal talks.

Two months. Tikli wrote three stories on StoryMirror. All about a reserved guy who stops talking. All got 100 hearts. No comment from him. But she saw - his account had seen it. The anonymous view.

Third month. The big news came. Adi's family had fixed his marriage. A girl from Hyderabad. Everyone in office was congratulating. Tikli also said "congratulations" in the group lunch. Formal. With a smile that was breaking inside.

Adi looked at her for a second. His eyes said "Tikli..." but his mouth said "thank you".

That night Tikli cried like a kid. She deleted that huge voice note folder where he said "I love it, I love it" about her blabber. She thought, now it will really be over.

Fourth month. A Tuesday.

Tikli had fever. 102. She didn't come to office. At 2 am, her phone rang.

Adi.

No topi DP. His real DP. Gym selfie.

She picked up, voice broken - "Hello?"

Silence for 5 seconds. Then that soft voice she had missed for 122 days.

"Hey."

Not formal hey. That _her_ hey. Affectionate hey.

Tikli started crying instantly. No blabber. Just crying.

Adi panicked. "Are? What happened? Why are you crying? Are you okay? Fever? Someone told you are on leave."

Tikli between cries - "You... you didn't talk to me for 122 days. You counted? You left me."

Adi - "You said I am like everyone else. Formal. That hurt, Tikli. I... I don't know how to say big big things like you. I just listen. I thought if I talk, I will hurt you more. So I stopped."

Tikli - "I missed your 'don't worry' so much. I missed your pagal so much. I missed your blabber-listening."

Adi let out a small laugh, that warm smiley laugh. "I missed your scolding. No one scolds me properly now. Everyone is formal with me. I hate formal."

122 days of silence broke in one call.

They talked for 2 hours. About nothing and everything. About his marriage fixing and how he was scared. About her stories and how he reads every single one secretly. About how stupid that fight was.

Then Tikli, back to full Tikli mode, said - "So?"

"So what?" Adi said.

"So many days no hug? Come on, give me a hug?"

Adi smiled. She could hear the smile.

"Hug is too less for 122 days, Tikli."

"Then?"

"Then... can I get a kiss?"

Silence. Tikli's heart stopped. This was the first time reserved Adi had asked.

She whispered, "You finally asked?"

Adi, in that huge, soft, affectionate voice he reserves only for her - "I love it, Tikli. I love it when you blabber. I love it when you fight. I missed it way too much. Please... don't ever say I am formal again. I am only Adi for you. Only yours."

Tikli closed her eyes. She didn't need a real hug. His voice note _was_ the hug. His "I love it" _was_ the kiss.

She said, "Aadi... hamesha?"

And he, with no hesitation this time, said -

"Haan, hamesha."

Not "hey". Not "all good". 

"Haan, hamesha."

And Tikli knew, even if he gets married, even if life takes them to different cities, this 5D will always be there. Where she blabbers and he listens. Where they fight for 122 days and then make up with one "hey" at 2 am.

Where hug is too less, so they give each other a place in their stories forever.