Chapter 1 – Interview

Jayant

“Boss you have an important meeting with Khanna, right? We need to go.” Said Vijay, My Assistant. He’s a genuinely kind hearted person and, over time, has become more than just an assistant – he’s a friend I can rely on whenever I need.

The day had been going well so far. I was immersed in my work when suddenly, my pen stopped working. That’s when I realized it was raining outside. I don’t particularly like the rain, but my best friend does. Watching the raindrop slide down the windowpane, I couldn’t help but think of her.

Shaking off the memories, I reminded myself to focus on work. I got up and start walking toward the conference room, my gaze still lingering on the rain outside. Just then my phone rang. I instinctively stopped in my tracks, my eyes widening at the screen.

“Oh God.. The one I was just thinking about is calling me now.” said in my mind.

Without wasting a second, I answered without even greeting, began speaking. “Finally, you remembered me. Huh? Stop Making these once-a-month formal calls just for sake of it. I’ve already forgotten you. I don’t even remembered if you were ever my friend.” I Said, venting my frustration without pause. She interrupted with a single word – “Bhalu, Stop”

I froze. It had been months since I last heard that name from her, from my Aalu After a brief pause, take a deep breathe, I finally asked her “Are you coming to the friend’s reunion party?” Her voice lit up with excitement. “Of course! Mere jigri yaar ki shadi hone wali hai. Last reunion to banta hai!” (Of course! My friend ias getting married. We deserve a last reunion.)

I frowned. “And don’t forget – he was your ex too”, I remind her, my voice laced with irritation. How could she be this excited? I had assumed sha was calling to say she wouldn’t come, but here she was bubbling with enthusiasm.

For a moment, my anger faded, replaced by concern. “Are you okay… Aalu” I asked, my tone softer this time.

“Obviously, I’m fine. Totally completely fit and fine!” I wasn’t convinced. Is she okay? I wondered. Before I could say anything else, vijay’s voice snapped me back to reality. “boss, we are getting late.”

This call felt more important than any meeting “Give me a minute” I told him. From the other end, she heard that and quickly interjected, “Am I disturbing you?” “No” I responded instantly.

But before I could say anything else, she launched into rapid speech, “I just had one more thing to say – today, I have a live interview please join and increase my view a bit. I know you don’t read my books, and I’m not even asking you to watch whole thing. Just play the video on your phone and leave it running. okay? Good, you can go now!”

The way she spoke so quickly, as if rushing through her words before I could refuse, brought an involuntary smile on my face. I sighed, shaking my head “fine. I won’t watch the video.” But I knew myself – I would watch it every second of it.

It’s true I never read her books. But I always like to listen her, the story directly from her mouth.  She writes tragic love stories, and I could never bring myself to finish even one. Reading has never been my strong suit, and on top of that, her stories are always drenched in heartbreak. Even since she broke up with Dip, she’s turned her pain into ink, filling pages with sorrow and longing.

I exhaled deeply, hanging up the call, shoving my phone into my pocket, I straightened my posture and headed toward conference room, pushing all thought of her aside – at least now.

At evening

I'm standing outside of my flat, I pressed the doorbell and within seconds, Shreya opened the door, greeting me with a kiss. She looked radiant—excited about something. As I stepped inside, she started pacing around the flat, her energy filling the space.

"Thank God you came early! I was just about to call you," she said, her voice full of urgency. "Go freshen up quickly; we have to leave in a little while."

I pulled her into my arms, stopping her mid-step. "Why?" I asked.

She instantly pulled away, giving me a sharp look. "I knew it! You forgot, didn’t you?" she accused, crossing her arms. "You forgot that we have dinner with my parents at 8 PM, right?"

Shreya was now glaring at me, frustration clear on her face. "You always forget whenever it’s about my parents," she huffed.

She wasn’t wrong. She was my fiancée—we had gotten engaged four months ago after dating for three years. We now lived together, a decision driven by both love and work. She was everything to me—the love of my life.

But when it came to her parents, I always hesitated. They never talked about anything except when we were getting married. And the truth was… even after loving Shreya so much, I had never truly felt ready to marry her. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t something I could explain. And I never told her about this lingering doubt because I knew it would hurt her. For Shreya, I was her entire world—if it were up to her, she would marry me right now. But deep down, she understood me, which was probably why she never forced the topic. Her parents, though… they never stopped pressing the issue.

"Go get ready!" her sharp voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

Her face was priceless—anger, frustration, and irritation all mixed together. And just to tease her, I smirked and said, “I don’t think I can go today. I have some work.”

That was it. She exploded. She started ranting, her voice rising with every second, listing every time I had ever done something wrong. It was like she had been storing every complaint for this exact moment. Of course, Shreya was still a woman at heart—emotional, expressive, and impossible to ignore when she was mad.

But I knew exactly how to handle my girl.
As she continued venting, I suddenly pulled her back into my arms and kissed her—cutting off her words in the most effective way I knew.

As expected, she melted instantly. Her hands moved up, wrapping around my neck as she surrendered to the kiss. I could feel her heartbeat slow, her frustration fading into something softer.

I pulled away, letting her catch her breath, though I knew she wouldn’t have minded losing herself completely.

Her face was calm now, her eyes closed.
With a soft smile, I whispered, "I'll go with you."

Her eyes fluttered open, lighting up with happiness. And before I could say anything else, she kissed me again—this time, not out of frustration, but pure joy.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

We are at restro. It was already 8:15, and Shreya’s parents still hadn’t arrived. Watching the main door, I sighed. If only they had come earlier, they could have left earlier too. Just as I was about to turn towards Shreya and tell her, "Call your parents; they haven’t arrived yet," I noticed her—completely lost in her own world, sipping her drink through a straw, making little noises like a child.

She always seemed like a child to me. Carefree. Unbothered. Innocent.

She looked effortlessly beautiful in a white chikankari kurti paired with black palazzo pants. Her open hair framed her face perfectly, and her wide earrings added just the right touch. She looked... perfect.

"They’ll be here. Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked, curiosity evident in her voice.

"No reason," I shrugged, avoiding the real answer.

The truth was, she had a live interview at 9 PM, and I wanted to watch it. I had been wondering—what is it that keeps her so busy? So much so that in the midst of everything, she barely has time for a friend like me, a friend of 17 years.

Before I could spiral deeper into my thoughts, her parents finally arrived. I greeted them, and Shreya welcomed them with a warm hug. We ordered the starters and settled into casual conversations about our daily lives.

And then, the inevitable question came. The one I had been dreading.

"Beta, when are you getting married?" I almost choked on my food.

Sensing my discomfort, Shreya quickly handed me a glass of water. Then, she turned to her mother and said in her usual playful manner, "He will, Mama. Soon enough!"

But Auntie wasn’t satisfied. She smiled and asked directly, "That’s what you always say, Shreya. But tell me, beta, what do you think?"

I was at a complete loss for words, fumbling for an answer that wouldn't come. Just then, as if on cue, the waiter arrived with our food—saving me from the awkward moment. I exhaled, silently thanking him.

Everyone was enjoying their meal, chatting and laughing, but my mind was elsewhere. I glanced at my watch—it was almost 9 o’clock. My heart started racing. Alisha’s interview was about to begin.

I looked around the table. No matter how much I wished for them to wrap up quickly, it was clear—this dinner was far from over. I knew there was no way I could openly pull out my phone and start watching. So, I did the only thing I could.

"Excuse me, I’ll just be back. Need to use the restroom," I announced casually. No one questioned it.

As soon as I reached the restroom, I locked the door, sat down on the toilet seat (lid closed, of course), and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up, and there she was.

Alisha. Dusky complexion, rosy lip and a radiant face. Wearing a simple white kurti paired with straight-cut jeans, her open hair cascading down her shoulders, and wide earrings swaying gently as she moved. She looked ethereal—an effortless blend of elegance and beauty. But something felt off.

She looked… thinner. Much thinner than I remembered."Itni to patli nahi thi…" (She wasn’t that thin) I murmured to myself. Ye toh meri aloo thi… Gol-mol si, thodi moti, bilkul perfect. Yeh kab itni patli ho gayi?

(this was my patato… round, a little plump, just perfect. When did it become so this?)

Before I could dwell on it any longer, the interviewer, Ravi, began the session.

"Aaj hamare saath hain ek author jinhone ek tarfa pyaar mein PhD kar rakhi hai. Inki ab tak do kitaabein aa chuki hain, jo ek tarfa pyaar par based hain. Please welcome, Alisha Parmar!"

(“today we have with us an author who has done PhD in one sided love. Please welcome, Alisha Parmar!”)

Alisha smiled warmly, folding her hands together in greeting. She looked genuinely happy.

(A Love Hidden in Time) Titled 

Ravi continued asking Alisha about her books—her inspirations, her upcoming projects, and whether the characters in her stories were based on real people. She answered everything with a calm, happy confidence. Watching her like this, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride.

She had come so far. But then, the conversation took a turn.

Ravi shifted gears, moving towards her personal life. And to be honest, this was the part I had been waiting for. Because for the past five years, she had been a little distant from me. Not completely gone, but not the same either. I missed my best friend—the girl who once knew me better than I knew myself. But no matter what, she was still my closest friend, and nothing could ever change the love I had for her.

Alisha began speaking about her life—her family, her education, her friends. She answered everything with ease until Ravi asked a question that made my heart race.

"Have you ever been in love?"

I knew she had. At least once. And then she said it.

"Yeah… once."

Ravi, sensing an interesting thread, fired another question, rapid-fire style.

"Do you still love him?"

"Yes."

A strange feeling settled in my chest. Before I could process it, Ravi asked again.

"Since when?"

She hesitated for the briefest moment before answering.

"Seventeen years."

And just like that, everything shifted.

Her expression changed instantly—her usual confidence faltered, replaced by nervousness and something that looked like regret. I noticed it immediately. And so did Ravi.

"Seventeen years?" he repeated, intrigued.

Then he asked the next question—the one that made the entire room feel heavier.

"You’re single, right, Alisha?" But this time, she didn’t answer.

She just sat there, lost in thought.

Ravi chuckled, trying to lighten the moment. "Looks like this one-sided love story is unfolding right before us!" But I wasn’t laughing.

I was too stunned to react.

Seventeen years?

I had known her since childhood. I had been by her side through everything. But I had never noticed. She had loved someone for seventeen years…

And I had no idea. How?

I was supposed to be her best friend. The one who knew everything about her—her dreams, her fears, her favourite songs, the way she secretly loved the smell of old books, and how she always bit her lower lip when she was nervous.

Then how did I miss this?

A whirlwind of questions stormed through my mind, each one louder than the last.

Before Ravi could push further, Alisha forced a smile—a strange, almost unnatural one—and quickly said, "Enough personal questions, Ravi. Can we talk about something else?"

But that smile… It wasn’t real.

I had known her for years, and I had seen her smile in a thousand different ways—when she was truly happy, when she was excited, when she was trying to annoy me. But this… this was different.

It was fake. A mask.

And in that moment, as every second passed, a chilling realization settled in.

Do I really know her?

Or have I only known the parts of her she wanted me to see?

I saw her eyes—Alisha’s eyes—filled with unshed tears, struggling to hold them back.

And then—knock, knock, knock.

The sound pulled me out of the moment. I removed my earbuds and listened. It was Shreya.

I opened the door, and there she was—standing right in front of me, in the men’s restroom, with eyes burning in fury.

And behind her, silence. Everyone was staring.

"What exactly are you doing in here for the last forty minutes?" Her voice was sharp, edged with something more than just anger. "Is she really more important than us?"

Her words hit me hard, but before I could even respond, her expression shifted. Her eyes welled up, and her voice trembled.

"Why do you always do this? Why do you always disappoint my parents?"

A lump formed in my throat.

"Do you really love me?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Sometimes, I doubt myself."

And just like that, my heart shattered. Without thinking, I reached for her hand, gripping it firmly.

I didn’t care who was watching.

I didn’t care what they thought.

I just needed to take her away from there.

Away from the stares. Away from the weight of words unspoken. So, I did. I led her out of the restroom, stepping into a storm far greater than the one inside my mind.

Chapter 2 – Challenge

Jayant

 I was still holding her hand. Even when I helped her out of the car. Even when we reached the apartment. Even when I unlocked the door and stepped inside with her.

But the moment we were in, she pulled her hand away—snatching it from my grip, as if my touch burned her.
She was quiet. Too quiet.

Shreya was never like this. She was always expressive, always vocal about what she felt. But tonight, her silence was louder than any argument we’d ever had.

And somewhere inside me, I knew—I wasn’t in the mood to talk either.

Then, in a voice so low I barely heard it, she asked, “Is she really more important than us?”
Her eyes stayed downcast, fixed on the floor. I knew exactly who she was talking about. I knew what she meant. But I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to face the truth hiding behind her question.

So, instead, I asked, just as softly, “Who?”
And that was it. In a flash, she grabbed my collar, yanking me forward, her eyes now blazing with frustration and pain.
"You know who! Alisha. She’s important to you, isn’t she? More important than me!"

She shoved me away, but her words didn’t stop. They came rushing out, one after another, raw and unfiltered.

"You always say I overthink, right? That I create problems in my head. But you give me reasons to! You make me feel this way!" Her voice cracked, but she kept going.

"I know she’s your childhood friend, Jayant. But you’re not a child anymore! You have a life. And in that life, I exist. I am here!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I told you before… I want all of you. Not half, not a part, not whatever is left after you’ve given the rest away. I want all of you, Jayant. This… this half-hearted version of you—I can’t do this anymore."

And the strange thing? Nothing she said hurt me. Not the accusations. Not the anger. Not the way she looked at me like I was slipping away from her. Because the truth was—I was slipping away.

I could have stopped this fight. I could have calmed her down. I knew exactly how.
One kiss. One apology.

That’s all it would take. She would forgive me, forget this ever happened, and everything would go back to normal. But I couldn’t do it.

Something inside me wouldn’t let me.
Because even in this moment—standing in front of the woman I was supposed to love, watching her break right in front of me—my mind was somewhere else.

Still stuck in Alisha’s interview.

Shreya dropped to her knees, defeated.
Something in me broke at the sight. Slowly, I stepped closer and pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly.

In the softest, calmest voice, she whispered, “Go. Call Alisha. That’s what you’re waiting for, right? For all of this to be over so you can talk to her?”

Her words sent a sharp ache through my chest. She knew me too well.
And yet, instead of leaving, I stayed. Because at that moment, staying felt like the right thing to do. I kissed her forehead gently.
She exhaled, her breath shaky, then murmured against my skin, “Not on the lips?”

 I froze. Because I couldn’t. I didn’t know why. I just… couldn’t. So instead, I lifted her into my arms, carried her to the bedroom, and laid her down on the bed. Carefully, I slipped off her sandals, placed them neatly beside the bed, and removed her earrings.
Then, I ran my fingers gently through her hair, hoping it would help her fall asleep.
She did. But I didn’t.

Even as she breathed evenly beside me, my mind was elsewhere.
On Alisha.

The moment I was sure Shreya was asleep, I slipped out of the room. My hands moved instinctively, dialling Alisha’s number.
But she didn’t pick up.
I called again. And again. Each time, the call rang out, unanswered. Frustration built inside me, twisting into something uncontrollable. And before I even realized what I was doing, my hand tightened around my phone—then threw it against the wall.
A loud crack echoed through the silence.
And in that instant, reality hit me.

What the hell did I just do?
If Alisha called now… how would I even answer?

I started the car, gripping the wheel tightly, but my mind was somewhere else.
Somewhere in the past. Somewhere in the memories of Alisha and me.

I could still remember the day it all began—the first time our paths truly crossed.
We were in Class Seven.

Alisha was from Section A—where all the toppers were, the best of the best. And she? She was the topper of the toppers. I, on the other hand, was from Section C—where the so-called losers and below-average students ended up. I was the “topper” of that section.

A little more effort, and I probably could have made it to Section B, maybe even A. But I never really cared.

School was simple for me—study enough to get by, have fun with friends, and go home.
Then came that one ordinary morning. Prayer time. By pure chance, I ended up standing right behind Alisha in the long queue of students.

I wasn’t really in the mood to pray, so—out of boredom—I started playing with her hair, twisting the silky strands around my fingers absentmindedly.
I had no idea when the prayer ended.
The next thing I knew, Alisha took a step forward—only to yelp in pain as her hair got yanked back. She turned around sharply, her face a mix of shock and fury.
"Chiiiii!"

The sound of pure disgust left her lips. The entire crowd fell silent.

And then—whispers. Snickers. A slow wave of laughter spread through Section A.
People assumed I had tried to flirt with Alisha.
A loser from Section C trying his luck with the star of Section A?
It became a joke. A big joke.
"Alisha is out of your league.”
"A topper will never give a loser any attention!"
The words stung, but instead of backing down, they sparked something inside me.
A challenge.

Right then and there, I decided—I was going to become friends with this topper.
So, without thinking twice, I extended my hand to her and said, "Be my friend."
I don’t remember exactly how I said it. But I remember what she said.
A single sentence that stayed with me for years.
"I don’t befriend losers."
Her words stung.
"I don’t befriend losers."

It wasn’t just a rejection. It was a public humiliation.

Laughter erupted around me. Whispers, sneers, taunts—it all blurred into background noise, but my ego? That took a direct hit.

And if there’s one thing a seventh-grade boy’s ego can’t handle, it’s being called a loser—especially in front of the entire school. That’s when I made up my mind.
This topper would be my friend. She had to be.
Something about her—her confidence, her sharp tongue, her complete indifference toward me—made it impossible for me to just let this go. So, with a casual shrug, masking my bruised pride, I said loud enough for everyone to hear:

"If I make it to Section A, will you be my friend then?"

The laughter around me only grew louder.
"You? In Section A?" someone snorted.

And then, from behind Alisha, a voice I instantly hated spoke up.
Navin. Section A’s golden boy.
"First get into Section A, then think about making friends with toppers."

He walked up to me, standing close, as if daring me to say something back.
Alisha remained behind him, uninterested. Dismissive.
But I wasn’t looking at Navin.
I was looking straight at her.
And with a smirk—half challenge, half arrogance—I stepped aside, locking eyes with her and said,
"Class 8, Section A. I’ll sit beside you. Keep a seat ready for me."

Then, with a mock salute and an evil smirk, I turned on my heel and walked off, leaving behind a crowd of stunned faces. For the first time in my life, all eyes were on me.
Like I was some kind of hero.
Like I had just declared war.

I stormed over to my friends, declaring war against Section A like some battlefield commander. "I just challenged Alisha Parmar!" I announced dramatically, expecting at least a little admiration.
Instead, Rishi—my cousin and best friend—burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Loud. Annoying. Never-ending. It irritated the hell out of me. I smacked him on the head. "Help me, idiot! Don’t just laugh!"
Still chuckling, he made a face. "You’re asking us to help you… in studies?!" He shook his head. "Bro, if you needed help with literally anything else, we might’ve considered it. But studies? No chance."

Rahim, always the realist, chimed in, "Forget whatever nonsense you just said to Section A. It's impossible."

Meanwhile, near the classroom window, Dip stood quietly, his lips curled into an amused smirk.
I knew he was laughing at me. That guy.
Tall, unbelievably good-looking, and completely disinterested in the world. Girls worshipped him, but he ignored them all. Even the boys didn’t know how to befriend him. A walking mystery.

I clenched my fists. "Forget Dip. I need a plan. I have to befriend Miss Alisha Parmar!"
Rishi interrupted my deep thoughts with a disgusted expression.
"You want to be friends with that chubby girl?!" He scoffed. "If it were some beautiful girl, we’d at least consider helping you. But her? I think she’ll agree to be your friend without you even trying."

I whacked him again. "Where the hell do you see her as chubby?! Her cheeks are just a little full, that’s it! She’s healthy." Short height, a perfectly curved figure, and a long, sleek ponytail.
No makeup. No accessories. Yet, she still looked better than half the girls in school.
And this idiot had the audacity to call her fat?

Some things really pissed me off.
After school, my mind was racing with one thought—how the hell am I going to pull this off?
Befriending Alisha Parmar wasn’t going to be easy. Just as I was lost in my plans, I felt something strange—a presence behind me.
I turned my head slightly.
Alisha.
She was walking right behind me, eyes fixed on the ground, lost in her own world.
A smirk formed on my lips. Perfect. I stopped abruptly, blocking her way. Let’s see if she talks to me now.

But instead of stopping, she smoothly sidestepped to the left.
I moved left too.
She tried right.
I followed right.
Still, her eyes remained downward, calm and collected, as if completely unfazed by my childish antics.
Then, in a swift move, she grabbed both of my shoulders, catching me off guard. Before I could react, she forcefully pulled me to the left and slipped past me from the right. I stood there, stunned.
What the—
Oh no, she’s not getting away that easily.
With a quick step, I reached out, grabbed her bag strap, and yanked her back.
She stumbled backward, crashing straight into my chest.

For a second, she froze.
Then, she turned sharply, glaring at me.
"What the hell is this?!" she snapped.
I raised an eyebrow. "And what about your move? Trying to push me aside like that?"
Her brows furrowed. "You were standing in my way!"

I took a step closer, a slow, wicked smirk playing on my lips. "Your way? Funny. This road doesn’t lead to your house. So how exactly is it ‘your way’?"

I stepped closer. "Or maybe… you were following me?" Her eyes widened—caught.
She took a step backward. I took another step forward.

With every step I took, she moved back, eyes locked onto mine, her nervous gaze betraying her lie.
Then, suddenly—she ran. A full-speed escape, like she had just seen a ghost.
I chuckled, watching her. But she kept looking back at me while running—big mistake.
Her foot caught on a loose stone, and—
THUD.
She hit the ground.

I rushed toward her, extending my hand to help. But the second she saw me, she scrambled to her feet and ran off again—like I was out to kill her. I stood there, laughing, watching her disappear into the distance.
This girl… was something else.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>
"Maa, I'm home! Get me something to eat!"
As soon as I stepped inside, I threw myself onto the sofa like I had just returned from a hard day’s work—which, of course, I hadn’t.
From the kitchen, my mother’s voice rang out. "Freshen up first, you messy boy. Then you can rest."
"Kya Maa," I groaned, dragging myself up with an exaggerated sigh.

After a quick wash, I came back to the living room and saw a plate full of hot baingan ke pakode waiting for me. My mom sat there, smiling, her eyes shining as if she had been waiting just for me. She looked adorable in her yellow saree, her hair neatly braided, and a red bindi on her forehead.
Meri Maa. The cutest.
And when she looked at me with that affectionate gaze? Even cuter.

I sat beside her, stuffing my mouth with pakode while she gently ran her fingers through my hair.

Dad wasn’t home yet—probably working late—so I turned to Mom. "Maa, enroll me in tuition classes."

She gave me a confused look.
"Didn’t you say you didn’t want tuition? What changed all of a sudden?"
I smirked. "I made a bet with a girl. I have to become a topper."
Mom raised an eyebrow, her sarcasm ready to strike.
"Ohh, so now you’re studying for a girl?"
I glared at her.
"It’s a challenge, Maa. And you know I never back down from a challenge."

Mom chuckled, shaking her head. She knew everything about me—my dreams, my mischief, and now, my new battle against Alisha. "Alright, alright. I’ll talk to someone."
And just like that, the game was on.
Sitting at my study table, I tapped my pen against the notebook, deep in thought. How do I win this challenge? And then it hit me—I needed a plan.

Not just one, but two.
Plan A: Study hard. Become a topper.
Plan B: Exams are two months away, so in the meantime, I would try talking to Alisha and somehow befriend her.

If I failed to become a topper, who knows? Maybe she’d be impressed by my charm and agree to be my friend anyway. "Starting tomorrow, I’ll talk to her every day at school."
I leaned back in my chair, feeling quite proud of myself. "Wow, what a plan! I mean, who wouldn’t want to be friends with a charming, good-looking guy like me? She definitely will."
With that confidence, I smirked to myself. The game had officially begun.

With a sudden jerk, I slammed the brakes and brought the car to a halt. Without wasting a second, I jumped out—rain had already started pouring. The shop was about to close.

I rushed inside, breathless. “I need a phone. Now.”

The shopkeeper barely glanced at me, too busy locking up. Damn it.

Frustrated, I pulled out my wallet. “I’ll pay extra. Just give me one.”

That got his attention. Within seconds, I had a phone in my hands. Finally.

I inserted my SIM, fingers trembling with urgency. Come on, turn on fast! But every second felt like a lifetime, and my patience was wearing thin. My jaw clenched as I watched the loading screen.

As soon as the phone powered up, I dialed her number. Ring… ring… ring… No answer.

Again.

Nothing.

It was like she had put her phone away somewhere, completely unaware.

Standing there in the rain, drenched from head to toe, I felt a strange sense of restlessness creeping in. Why wasn’t she answering?

With that unsettling feeling, I drove back home. My wet clothes clung to my skin, but all I could think about was her silence.

I sat in the drawing room, still calling her again and again. This time, though, I didn’t throw my phone—I just gritted my teeth and let the anger boil inside. Until it exploded.

With one hard swing, I sent a vase crashing onto the floor. Shattering into pieces.

I knew Shreya must’ve heard the noise, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

Still waiting for a callback.

Still hoping for a reply.

Still drowning in thoughts of her.

At some point, exhaustion took over. I collapsed onto the sofa, phone clutched in my hand. Sleep came unwillingly.

Sometime later, I felt something warm draped over me—a blanket. A soft touch on my forehead made my eyelids flutter open.

Shreya.

She was sitting beside me, drying my wet hair gently, concern etched on her face.

I wanted to say something. Maybe apologize. Maybe explain.

But before I could, her rhythmic thapki lulled me into a deep sleep again.

End