When the Temple Bell Rang Twice: A Story of Unspoken Feelings

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The temple bell rang softly, not loud enough to demand attention, but just enough to be felt.

Moni stopped near the stone steps and adjusted her dupatta, pulling it gently over her shoulder. The fabric slipped a little, as if unsure where it belonged—much like her thoughts. The evening air carried the faint scent of incense and marigold flowers. Somewhere inside, a priest murmured prayers in a voice worn smooth by years of repetition.

Amar stood beside her.

His hands were folded, his head slightly bowed, eyes lowered—not entirely in prayer, not entirely in thought. He looked calm from the outside, but inside, something restless shifted every time Moni moved.

“How are you?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Good,” he replied.

Just one word. Nothing more.

They stood quietly for a moment longer. The smoke from the incense curled between them, rising and disappearing into the dimming sky. It felt like something unsaid—something that had been hovering between them for years.

Moni bent down to tie her shoelace.

She wasn’t in a hurry. She already knew the knot was fine. Still, she took her time, pretending to fix it again, then again. Amar waited patiently, kicking a small pebble with the tip of his shoe, watching it roll and stop, roll and stop.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

When she stood up, they began walking away from the temple.

The narrow path was lined with old trees, their leaves whispering softly in the evening breeze. A few devotees passed by, hands folded, eyes full of faith. The world around them moved easily, but between Moni and Amar, time felt stretched—slow and careful.

Amar glanced at her once.

Just once.

Then he looked away, as if caught doing something he wasn’t allowed to do anymore.

Moni noticed.

She smiled briefly, instinctively, then pressed her lips together as if to stop herself from smiling too much. Some smiles reveal more than words ever could.

They reached the prasad counter.

The old man behind it scooped laddoos with steady hands, placing them gently on leaf plates. Moni took one and turned toward Amar.

She handed it to him.

Their fingers touched—just for a second.

Not long enough to be obvious.
Not short enough to be meaningless.

Amar didn’t pull his hand back immediately.

Something about that moment—warm skin, shared stillness—made it harder to let go. Moni felt it too. She looked down at the ground, suddenly very interested in the pattern of the stones beneath her feet.

“Shall we go?” Amar asked quietly.

She nodded.

They walked on, side by side, saying nothing.

Behind them, the temple bell rang again.

The Weight of Silence

They had known each other for years.

Once, they used to talk easily—about small dreams, daily complaints, and things that felt important back then. College corridors, shared tea breaks, late evenings filled with laughter that didn’t need explanation.

But time has a way of rearranging relationships.

Life happened.

Responsibilities grew heavier. Expectations from families tightened around them like invisible ropes. Conversations became careful. Meetings became rare. And feelings—those were folded neatly and locked away, never fully addressed, never fully forgotten.

Today’s meeting wasn’t planned.

They had simply run into each other at the temple, both seeking something neither could name—peace, maybe. Or answers.

Or courage.

As they walked, Moni could hear her own thoughts louder than the sounds around her.

She wondered if Amar still remembered the way she used to laugh without covering her mouth. If he remembered how nervous she got before exams. If he ever thought about the version of her that existed before life taught her to be cautious.

Amar, meanwhile, wondered how someone could feel so familiar and so distant at the same time.

He wanted to ask her so many things.

Are you happy?
Do you ever think about us?
Was I too late?

But words can be dangerous. Once spoken, they cannot be taken back.

So he stayed quiet.

A Walk That Meant Everything

They reached the end of the path where the road split into two directions.

This was it.

The moment every unspoken story eventually reaches—the point where you either say something or let it remain a memory forever.

Moni slowed her steps.

“So…” she began, then stopped.

Amar turned toward her, waiting.

She took a breath. “It was nice seeing you.”

“Yes,” he said. “It was.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“I should go,” she said softly.

He nodded.

“Take care,” he added.

“You too.”

She turned and walked away, her dupatta fluttering lightly behind her. Amar stood there until she disappeared into the crowd.

Only then did he exhale.

The temple bell rang once more, distant now, almost echoing inside him.

Some meetings are not meant to change your life.
They are meant to remind you of the parts of yourself you once felt deeply.

And sometimes, that is enough.

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