Shreya

It was almost midnight when my phone buzzed. The screen lit up with "Di" flashing on it. I was at Jayant’s place, chatting with him, trying to calm my restless mind, but the call pulled me back into the storm.

“Where are you?” Her voice was sharp, tinged with worry. “You could’ve at least told me…”
“I’m fine,” I assured her before she could ask anything more. “Rishabh left?” I forced a calmness I didn’t feel.

A part of me hoped she’d say the words herself, that Rishabh left, and nothing more. But then she sighed and said, “I tried sending him back, Shreya. I really did. But while waiting for you… it got too late. So he stayed here tonight.”

My stomach twisted. My breath caught in my throat.

“What the hell does that bastard want from me?” I snapped, anger bubbling to the surface.

“You know what he wants, Shreya,” Di said sharply, as if trying to shake sense into me.

And then… I heard another voice. A voice I hadn't expected. A voice I never wanted to hear again.

Maya.

My whole body froze. My eyes widened, heart pounding in my chest, anger starting to boil beneath my skin.

“Maya’s here too… with Rishabh?” I asked in disbelief, my voice shaking, “Say it, Di. Say it.”

“Shreya, just calm down,” she tried to soothe me.

“You lied to me,” I accused her, my voice hollow.
“I didn’t lie to you,” she replied, defensive but soft. “I just didn’t mention her name because I know how much you hate hearing it.”
But just a moment later, before I could process her words, I heard it again—her voice. Soft, familiar, and now unbearable.

“Hello, Shreya…”

I didn’t speak. I didn’t even breathe.

“You won’t talk to me?” she said, and I could almost imagine her trying to sound patient, kind. “Fine.  Just listen. I know when someone hurts you, you know how to hurt them back. But this—this revenge... it’s hurting you more than anyone else. I still consider you my friend, Shreya. Let’s sit and talk. Stop running.” Maya’s voice pleaded.

“Me? Running?” I laughed bitterly. “Or are you both the ones chasing me all the way to Delhi?”

My voice dripped sarcasm as I mocked them, pretending their presence didn’t tear open old wounds.

“We’re not guilty,” she shot back. “We’re just… worried about you. Stop thinking of yourself as victim. What happened to you wasn't as dramatic as you think it is. And Rishabh—he didn’t even do anything wrong.”

I almost laughed again—this time in disbelief. “Then why are you both here? At my door? Apologizing?”

“We’ve already apologized, Shreya,” she said, her voice almost pleading now. “We’re just trying to get our friend back.”

Friend. That word stung more than I expected.
A lump formed in my throat. My vision blurred with unshed tears. Despite everything, she had once been my best friend. A part of me still remembered those good days — even if I wanted to forget.

“Stop torturing yourself like this,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll find a way to live without you. But how will you live with so much bitterness in your heart? How will you ever be happy?...”

Before she could say another word, I cut her off.

“I am happy here,” I said, firm and cold.

And with that, I ended the call.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears streamed down my face like broken promises. My insides felt hollow, my heart brittle. It was as if something inside me had shattered.

I hated Maya.

But once… just once, I had loved her too.

I stared out of the window as if the darkness outside had answers.

Answers to why I always end up ruining the only good things that come my way.

The streets below were still, bathed in amber lamplight, indifferent to the storm twisting inside me. My reflection in the glass looked foreign—eyes too tired, soul too loud. I wasn’t looking at the world. I was searching for silence—anything to quiet this ache in my chest.

And then, I heard him.

The door opened softly. I didn’t turn. I couldn’t.

“Let’s talk… over coffee,” he said, voice gentle. “You tell me about you, I’ll tell you about me.”

I wanted to scream Don’t be so kind, Jayant.

Because kindness feels worse than anger when you’re breaking. Because kindness makes you want to fall.

"Don't" i whispered. “Don’t talk to me right now. Please… if you say anything, I’ll destroy whatever little beautiful this night had. I’ll ruin it.”

Moments I wanted to keep safe in a box somewhere inside my memory. Moments where I almost forgot how broken I am.

He didn’t move. He just said gently, “You can’t ruin this. Not for me. And I won’t let you ruin it for yourself either.”

he didn’t leave.

I turned around, and there he was—standing with two mugs, coffee gently steaming like warmth waiting for permission.

I walked to him, fast—drawn by something I couldn’t name. Threw my arms around him and held him like the world was ending. His chest was solid, his warmth immediate. For the first time in days, I felt the storm inside me slow. I could hear his heartbeat, steady and calm, while mine was begging not to fall apart.
His warmth flooded her like sunlight in winter. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the quiet shock in his body.

I looked up.

And his eyes… oh, his eyes. They weren’t just seeing me. They were reading me.

I stood on my toes and kissed him.

It happened in a blink.

Why i did it, what i was thinking—I had no idea. It wasn’t calculated, it wasn’t planned. It just was.

I didn’t think.
I just needed to feel something other than this dull ache.
Needed to be reminded that I was still here.
That I could still want, even if I couldn’t be loved.
It wasn’t a perfect kiss.
It was messy. Uninvited. Full of pain.
But it was real.

And yet... he didn’t kiss me back.
Not really.

But Jayant, with all the gentleness in the world, slowly pulled away.

His hands stayed on my arms, gently. not with rejection, but with clarity. “You’re not yourself right now,” he said quietly. “So don’t… You'll regret it.”

I wanted to scream I won’t. I wanted to tell him this wasn’t confusion, it wasn’t weakness—it was real. But i couldn’t speak.
He wasn’t judging me. He wasn’t rejecting me. He was protecting me.

Even from myself.

And somehow, that hurt even more.

I wanted to say I won’t regret this. I wanted to say Please just stay and don’t ask questions. But shame sat like a stone in my throat.

So I stepped back.

he stepped away from me, walked to the door, pausing before left.

“If you need me, I’m here,” I said, voice heavy. “But not for this. Not when your heart is hurting.”

And he walked out.

The room suddenly felt colder. Empty. Echoing.

I stood there, alone, the taste of him still on my lips, and pain swelling in my chest like a storm.

The warmth of his body still lingered in my arms, but now it only emphasized the hollow echo of everything i couldn’t say.
__________________

Lying on the bed, I couldn’t stop the loop in my head.
“I ruined it,” I whispered to the ceiling, to myself, to the guilt coiling inside my chest.
I shouldn’t have kissed him.
Not like that.
Not without knowing what he truly felt.

Maybe he didn’t want it.
Maybe I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.
Maybe I broke something that was never going to be whole again.

Part of me wanted to hold on to that kiss, even if it was clumsy, even if it was wrong.
Because in those few seconds, I felt something real—like my pain had finally found a place to breathe. In him.

I heard footsteps in the corridor. Soft, slow.
They came closer. Then stopped. Then faded away again.

I knew it was him. Jayant.
He was outside my door, struggling, probably thinking if he should talk to me or let it be.
He didn’t knock.
And I didn’t open.

Maybe we both were afraid—of what we’d say, or worse, what we wouldn’t.
_________________

By morning, my body was heavy with unrest. I hadn’t really slept.

Still dazed, I wandered toward his room. The door was open. Dim light filtered in from the gaps in the curtains. His room was draped in shadow, quiet and still. I stepped in hesitantly, I moved to the window and gently pulled the curtain aside. Morning spilled in, painting gold across his sleeping form.

Jayant looked peaceful, too peaceful for someone I'd pushed away the night before.

I leaned closer, wanting to wake him, to say something—anything— I walked toward him, slowly, carefully. My heart beating faster with every step.

I just wanted to see him. Maybe apologize. but words abandoned me. I just stood there… watching him breathe, memorizing the curve of his brow, the stillness of his lashes, the quiet strength in his chest rising and falling.

Then he stirred.

And somehow—clumsily, awkwardly—I slipped. I fell right onto him.

A startled yelp escaped him, sharp and loud. I immediately reached up and clamped my hand over his mouth, eyes wide with panic.

He stared at me.
Stunned.
Confused.

And definitely awake now.

Before he could speak, we both froze.

Footsteps.

Someone was coming.

I scrambled off him and darted into the bathroom just before the door opened.

My heart was pounding so loud I was sure the whole room could hear it.

“Jayant?” It was his mom.“What happened?” she asked, sensing the strange energy.

“Nothing,” Jayant said, voice casual, too casual. “Just… had a weird dream.”

She nodded, brushing it off, and turned to leave. “I’ll go wake Shreya for breakfast.”
“No—” he cut in quickly. “It’s okay. I’ll bring her.”

She paused. Then smiled and left.

Only when the door clicked shut did I exhale.

Minutes later, I stepped out, trying to seem composed.

He looked at me with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
“What were you doing in my room so early?” he asked gently.

I avoided his gaze. “Nothing. Just… wandering.”

But I needed distraction—something to steer my mind away from last night, from the weight of our almost-moment.

So I looked around his room.
And then I saw them. Photos.

So many of them. Laughter frozen in time. Groups of friends, grins wide, hands thrown around shoulders. Life in motion.

“These are your friends?” I asked, gesturing toward the wall.

He came closer. “Yeah. College, school, some from work too.”

He began telling stories—little memories attached to each face.

Then my eyes landed on one picture. My finger stopped on it.

A girl. Smiling. Bright. Too close to him.

“And… who’s this?” I asked, already dreading the answer. “That?” he smiled fondly. “That’s Alisha. My best friend.”

My breath caught.
Alisha.

That name. It rang too loud in my mind. But louder than her name was the word that followed.

Best friend. A girl. His best friend.
Something in me twisted.

He kept talking about her—how they met, some silly story—but I couldn’t hear it anymore.
The sound faded. The room felt smaller. My throat tight.

I excused myself and walked out, fast.

Under the shower, I let the water fall over me like it could drown the thoughts, the ache.

Why does this always happen?
Why do I find people who feel like home, only to realize I’m just a visitor?
Why do I always end up second?
The water didn’t answer.
It just kept falling.

Yes, I know, best friends can be just that—friends. But I’ve seen enough to know it’s not always that simple.

Sometimes people hide behind that label to protect something deeper.
Something secret.

And what if she already owns the part of him I was beginning to want?

What if I don’t belong in his story at all?
I stood there, letting the water hide the tears I couldn’t admit to shedding.

When I stepped out of the shower, my eyes fell on a yellow kurti lying neatly on the edge of the bed. It was soft, warm in shade, embroidered with white thread like tiny secrets stitched into the fabric. I knew instantly—it had been left there for me.

By him.

I ran my fingers along the fabric and murmured under my breath, “Why are you making it harder, Jayant?”

When I came for breakfast, he was already seated—dressed and pretending not to be waiting. His eyes met mine, wide, unreadable. But I turned away. Whatever happened between us last night… I didn’t want to take it further. Not when I wasn’t sure what it even meant.

Throughout the meal, I ignored him. He tried starting a conversation, his tone soft, unsure—but I didn’t give in. Aunty filled the silence instead, her words cheerful.

“You know, that kurti— it’s mine,” she said with a fond smile. “Jayant picked it out himself from my wardrobe. Said it would look lovely on you.”

I nodded, offering nothing.

Jayant added, “I wanted to buy you something new. But I’ve always loved this kurti… Mom doesn’t fit on this anymore, and I thought… maybe it would suit you.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t.
My silence said enough—and not nearly all of it.

I wanted to believe his intentions were pure. Maybe they were.
But belief had become a dangerous thing for me.

Before I could spiral into another silent thought, I stood. My voice cold, decisive. “Aunty, I should go. My cab must be here.”

Jayant stiffened.
Aunty blinked. “Jayant will drop you, beta.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s fine. I have to go see Di before office anyway. No need to trouble him.”

I saw it clearly then—in Jayant’s face. The way disappointment colored every inch of it.
But he said nothing.

As I reached the guest room to grab my bag, I didn’t hear him coming.

Suddenly—his hand caught my wrist, pushing me gently yet firmly against the wall. My heart skipped a beat as I looked up into his stormy eyes.

“Do you have some kind of memory issue?” he asked, voice low and frustrated. “Do you just forget everything that happened the day before?”

I pulled back. “What happened… it shouldn’t have. Forget it.”
He didn’t. His grip tightened, not painful, but enough to make me pause.

“Let go of me,” I whispered, trying to break free.

“So that’s it?” he whispered. “You really don’t care about my emotions? Not even a little?”

I lowered my eyes, breathing hard. “What emotions are you talking about? Do you… do you love me, Mr. Patil?”

His grip loosened.

He stood still for a long second, as if my words had stunned him into silence.
“I don’t know if what I feel is love,” he said softly, “But I’ve never felt this… whatever this is… for anyone before.”

“Not even for Alisha?”
His eyes widened slightly. “Where is this coming from?”

“You tell me,” I snapped. “She’s always been there, right? In every picture, in every story. How do I know there’s nothing more?”

He stepped back, arms crossed, a bitter smile rising to his lips.

“You’re jealous of Alisha?” he asked softly, almost incredulously.

“I’m not jealous,” I bit out. “I’m just not stupid.”

“You were asking Vijay about her the other day,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Stop smiling like this is funny!” I yelled.

“It’s not funny,” he said through a half-laugh. “It’s… cute. You're burning with insecurity and you won't even admit it.”

“I’m not insecure. I’m… I just know how this goes. Girl best friend, lifelong friendship, and eventually everyone falls for each other. I’ve seen it.”

His voice hardened. “We’ve been best friends for forteen years, Shreya. And that’s all we’ve ever been. Plutonic.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know my heart. And it’s never raced for her the way it does when I look at you.”

His words stopped me.
Just for a moment. I felt my resolve faltering.

But I couldn’t let it.

“I can’t… be with someone whose best friend is a girl,” I said, more to myself than him.

“What?” His voice cracked. “You can’t be serious. That’s your condition?”
I stepped away from him, bending to grab my bag.

“Yes. It is. Maybe it’s silly. Maybe it’s irrational. But it’s mine. I’ve been broken before, Jayant. I can’t walk into another story where I’m just a side note to someone else’s forever.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, almost in a whisper. “That’s not love, Shreya. That’s fear.”

I stared at him, chest heaving. “Call it what you want. But that’s my boundary.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there, as if he was trying to decide whether to fight or let me go.

Then finally, he stepped aside, and I grabbed my bag without another word.

Behind me, I heard his voice break in the silence.

“You know what hurts the most?”
I stopped, not turning.

"You’re afraid of losing me... not because I’ll leave, but because deep down, you don’t trust yourself to hold on to me."

I didn’t answer.

Because deep down, I knew he was right.
But sometimes… love isn’t about what’s right.
Sometimes it’s about what you can’t risk again.

“You’re afraid of losing me... not because I’ll leave, but because deep down, you don’t trust yourself to hold on to me.”

Those words.

His voice still echoed in my mind like a soft thunder. It didn’t scream—but it rumbled, it stayed. And it hurt. Not because he said something cruel… but because he was right.

God, he was right.
His words stayed.
Long after I left. Long after the gate was behind me. Long after the cab had pulled away from the house where I had almost let myself feel safe.

The truth tasted bitter.

I always claimed I’d love fiercely, forever—until someone stopped loving me back. The moment I felt someone’s love slipping, even an inch… I’d withdraw. Strike first. Hurt harder. Not because I didn’t care—
But because I didn’t know how to survive otherwise.

I’d rather ruin it myself than watch it fade away.

And maybe… maybe I looked for reasons to justify that.

Little things. Stupid things.
Like Alisha.

I told myself I didn’t need him. I told myself I was doing the right thing—walking away before it could go wrong.

My chest clenched at the thought. I blinked, trying to hold back tears. But they came anyway—silent, stubborn, and warm.

I didn’t want to lose him.

The air turned too heavy. My throat ached from holding back.

“Stop the cab,” I choked.

“What?”

“Just stop!”

The driver pulled over with a jolt. I threw the door open and ran—past the confusion, past the noise, past my pride. My heart pounded against my ribs like it was trying to escape my body and run to him first.

And there he was.

Outside. Still there. Like he had waited. He stood near the gate—shoulders tense, jaw tight, like someone trying hard not to fall apart.

I didn’t wait.

I ran to him, flung myself into his arms and hugged him as if I could stitch everything back together with just the force of my hold. I broke into sobs. No words, no apology—just my entire being trembling against his.

And in that one moment… he didn’t ask me anything.

He simply wrapped his arms around me, lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing, and held me.

Tight. So tight that I forgot where the pain had lived. So tight that even air couldn’t pass between us.

We stayed like that. Timeless. Breathless.

Then both of us whispered, almost in sync, like it had been rehearsed in another lifetime:

“We need to talk.”

And for the first time… I wasn’t scared to.
Because maybe this wasn’t just a love story.
Maybe it was a love that had already survived our fears, our flaws, and our silence.

Maybe… we still had a chance.

After that moment—after I’d finally stopped running from myself—he didn’t say much. He just looked at me with those steady eyes and said softly, “Come with me.”

He led me to his bike. I blinked, surprised.

“I haven’t used it in a long time,” he said, brushing the seat gently. “But I want to today. Will you come?”

There was something nostalgic in the way he touched the handle, like this machine carried a piece of him I hadn't met yet. I nodded.
We both called our workplaces and took the day off—no excuses, no explanations. We needed time. We needed to talk. We needed to remember why we were worth fighting for.

The ride wasn’t just a ride.

It was a breath of life.

As the wind rushed past us, it felt like time was stretching, softening, making space for us. I sat behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, letting go of everything that had felt too heavy. For the first time in days, I closed my eyes—not in fear, but in comfort.

And then…
I felt his hand.

He reached back and placed his palm gently on my back, offering balance, offering presence. He didn’t say a word, but that touch said everything.
My lips curved into a smile that he couldn’t see, but I think he felt it.

We rode for hours. The road twisted into the hills, through forests and open skies. When we finally stopped, I didn’t even ask where we were. I just stared in awe. We stood at the edge of a quiet hill, overlooking a valley bathed in gold and green. The world looked like it had paused for us.

We sat down on a stone ledge, silence thick and soft between us. Then he broke it, turning slightly toward me with a gentle smile.

“Let’s talk.”

And so we did.

“I’ve got three friends,” he began, “Alisha, Rishi, and Rahim. Alisha’s been in Mumbai for over a year now. Rishi’s buried under his family’s business, and Rahim… he’s still figuring life out. But we’ve always had each other.”

I listened, watching how his eyes softened at their names. It was clear he loved them—not with drama, not with noise—but with a quiet loyalty that said everything.

He looked out into the distance, the wind playing with his hair.

“You know my family. You’ve met them.” He smiled. “But I want to know you.”

I tilted my head. “You sure? I can be complicated.”

He chuckled. “I’m already in.”

There was something so sincere in his voice, it made my heart flutter.

So I started, a little shy at first.  “I’m MG Shreya Murty. I bet you don’t even know what MG stands for.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Meenakshi Ganesha Shreya Murty. Named after your parents. I know.”

I stared at him—half surprised, half speechless. “That’s… impressive.”

He shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I listen when it’s about you.”

“Okay,” I breathed. “Let’s keep going, then.”

“I love the beach,” I admitted.

“I love the mountains,” he countered with a soft grin.

I chuckled. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“My favorite color is yellow.”

“Mine’s white.”

I raised an eyebrow. “White? Seriously?”

“Hey, don’t laugh!” he said, mock-defensive. “White is peace, clarity—”

“It’s laundry stress,” I teased.

We both laughed. And God, it felt so easy with him. So safe.

I sighed, “I can be selfish sometimes,” I confessed, my voice dipping.

“You’re human,” he replied without hesitation. “And sometimes, you need to be your own priority.”

He wasn’t saying it to make me feel better.

He meant it.

He didn’t rush my words. He didn’t try to fix me. He just… listened. Every word I said, every small piece of who I was, he welcomed it with patience and care.

In that moment, I realized: he wasn’t just hearing me.
He was seeing me.
In the golden silence that followed, I leaned my head on his shoulder.

And he didn’t move.
He just stayed.

Like I could lean on him forever.

After sitting quietly for a while, wrapped in the comfort of shared silences and a beautiful view, he finally asked, “I understood why you ignored me today... but why did you ignore me yesterday?”

There was no edge in his tone, no demand. Just quiet curiosity. Like he was asking because it mattered. Because I mattered.

I didn’t want to lie. Not in this moment. So, I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what would come once I said the words out loud.

“I’m only in Delhi for a few months,” I said quietly. “Once she delivers the baby, I’ll be heading back to Bangalore.”

His reaction came quicker than I expected, playful yet disarming. “So to keep you here, I’d have to stop the baby from being born?”

I let out a surprised laugh and pushed him gently. “Jayant!”

He grinned, clearly proud of his ridiculous logic. But then, he turned serious again.

“And what happened yesterday evening?” he asked, watching me carefully.

I hadn’t expected him to bring it up. Not now, not here, in the middle of this gentle moment we’d created. I hesitated.

“It’s not the right time... I’ll tell you some other day,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light.

“You’ll tell me, or should I just figure it out myself?” he said, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “You’ve already given me the right to ask.”

I scoffed, half laughing, half flustered. “When did I give you that right?”

“You did. Somewhere in the middle of yelling at me, hugging me, and coming back.” He winked. He smiled softly. “Maybe not officially. But emotionally? Yeah... I think I do.”

That shut me up.
But then he grew serious again. “Please tell me. I need to know. I need to find a permanent solution to it. Yesterday it was me... but what if it had been someone else? You can’t keep going through things alone.”

There it was again. The way he spoke—with care, not control. It tugged at something deep inside me.

“Jayant,” I said softly.

And I began.
I let the memories rise.
“You don’t get to say anything,” I warned before starting. “No advice. No sympathy. Just... listen.”

I exhaled—dramatically. The kind of deep sigh you take right before confessing something scandalous… or pretending you’re about to.

Jayant leaned in slightly, like he was preparing to witness a major revelation.

I kept a straight face, borderline serious, like I was about to unload the darkest truth of my past. Then, with the most theatrical pause, I said, “It’s just... an old fight between me and my friends. Complicated stuff. Let it go.”

Jayant blinked, taken aback by my tone shift. His brows lifted for half a second—then he chuckled. Slowly. The way people do when they realize you're not going to tell them what they expected, but they’re somehow still amused.

Seeing him laugh made me laugh too. I tried to hold it in—really, I did—but my façade cracked faster than I’d like to admit.

“What?” I asked between snickers.

“Nothing,” he said, still laughing. “I was just mentally preparing for a villain origin story.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please, if I ever turn into a villain, it’ll be for something cooler. Like world domination. Or stealing puppies.... also stealing expensive clothes.”

“That tracks,” he nodded solemnly. “Cute villain with a yellow cape, fighting for abandoned dogs and cloths.”

We kept talking. Nonsense mostly. But the kind of nonsense that stitches little rips in your heart you didn’t even know were there.

We didn’t talk about the heartbreaks, the betrayals, the late-night ugly cries.

Not yet.

He stood, brushing the dust from his jeans. “Come on,” he added, smiling as he held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

I took it.

Because somehow, even without saying the right things, he always made me feel heard.

After wandering the city with no clear destination, he finally dropped me home. I stepped off the bike slowly, stealing one last glance at him. I didn’t want to go inside, not yet, not after a day that felt like a pause from everything else in my life. But I forced a smile and said, “Bye,” even though my heart wasn’t ready to part.

Di was waiting.

“Where were you?” she scolded, her voice sharp with concern. “Not even a call? Do you know how worried I was?”

JJ was trying to calm her down, gently holding her arm as if reminding her—this wasn’t the time for anger. I took a breath and replied softly, “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d tell Maya.”

That silenced her.

“You don’t trust me now?” she asked, wounded.

“I do… that’s exactly why I didn’t say anything. Because I know you,” I replied quietly.

She said nothing. JJ still had his hand on her arm, grounding her.

As I walked past, toward my room, I added, “And I also know it wasn’t Maya who grabbed your phone last night—you gave it to her.”

With that, I left them behind.

I freshened up and sat on my bed, staring blankly at the wall. The past forty-eight hours had been a whirlwind. A storm. So much had happened—too much to process all at once.

Just then, Di barged in, her voice loud and accusing. “Why won’t you patch things up with Maya and Rishabh? They’re getting married!”

Married.

That word echoed in my ears. For a second, everything went still. And then—
“So let them,” I said coolly. “They’re made for each other—traitors always find their match.”

I meant it to sting.

But Di didn’t flinch.

“They betrayed you,” she said, “and in return, you betrayed them too.”

That shut me up. My tongue faltered. But my pride didn’t.

“They got what they deserved,” I muttered, avoiding her eyes.

Di didn’t let go. “You are the one who doesn't deserve their friendship.”

I turned sharply to her.

“Do you know what the difference is between you and them?” she asked. “They apologized. You never even tried.” di said.

“I don’t owe them an apology!” I snapped.

She looked at me—exhausted, disappointed, and a little heartbroken.

“They forgave you a long time ago, Shreya,” she said. “They came back only because they still wanted their friend back.”

She turned to leave, and with one final breath said, “They’re in Delhi for a few days. Talk to them... or don’t. It’s your choice.”

Then she was gone.

I know Maya must have told her side of the story to Nandini Di.

My breathing grew shallow. A weight settled on my chest. Not because Maya had “di took Maya's side,” not because Rishabh was getting married—but because, for the first time, I felt something I didn’t want to admit.

Maybe… I was wrong.

They still wanted to be my friends, even after everything I had done. Even after all the lies I spread, the distance I forced, the silence I maintained—they still wanted to come back.

Why? Why would anyone come back after I’d hurt them so badly?

But maybe I already knew the answer.

I always do this. I push people away before they get the chance to leave me. If someone might hurt me, I make sure I hurt them first. It’s my defense mechanism. My escape route.

But this time, all it gave me was an empty room, a tight chest, and a silence too loud to ignore.

The night passed slowly, soaked in a flood of tangled thoughts—some sharp, some soft, and most of them exhausting. I didn’t sleep much. Maybe I didn’t want to. Morning came anyway, dragging me along with it.

I sat at the breakfast table. Di was next to me, quiet. Too quiet. She didn’t say a word, not even to complain about how little I’d eaten. JJ was equally silent, but the air between us carried weight, like everyone was tiptoeing around an invisible crack.

I got up to leave for work.

Just as I reached for the door, JJ called from behind, “Shreya…”

Before I could turn, Di chimed in flatly, “You shouldn’t stop someone from behind when they’re about to leave. Give her water.”

Even in anger, she couldn’t stop caring. That’s the kind of person she was.

JJ handed me a glass. His voice was low, serious. “Sort it out, Shreya. Nandu stressing—it’s not good for the baby.”

I nodded without a word.

I knew Di had watched me and Maya grow up. Our friendship wasn’t just ours—it belonged to her too, somehow. And now, they were caught in the crossfire of a friendship that had gone from warm to war.

A while later, I reached the office. I was waiting for Mr. Patil to arrive, expecting his usual cheerful nod or that curious glance he sometimes gave me when I wasn’t paying attention. But instead of him, I got a mail—work-related, something about handling the interiors for a VIP client.

There were no client details, so I walked into Jayant’s cabin, keeping my tone strictly professional.

“Sir, I need to know who the client is. Their preferences, style—anything that can help with the design.”

Without even looking up, he said, “You’ll get the details soon,” and waved me off with a short, almost dismissive gesture.

That was odd.

He had never brushed me off like that. But just seeing his face—even for a few seconds—lightened something inside me. A calm. A spark. Or maybe something more confusing.

I didn’t know what I was feeling.
Was it a fling?
Just harmless attraction?
Or… was it something dangerously close to love?

I blushed for no reason all afternoon. Stupid smile. Heart in my mouth. zoning out during client calls. Pathetic. And worse—I started noticing he hadn’t been around the office since morning. And suddenly, I missed him. Not in the way you miss a colleague or a friend. This was different. More personal. More… inconvenient.

But I pushed it aside. There was work to finish—yesterday’s leave had left me with enough backlog to drown in.

Then, just as the day was about to wind down, I got a message from Jayant’s assistant: “Please come to the cabin. Sir wants to see you.”

I walked back into his cabin. This time, he met my eyes.

“There are a tasks. Be ready. We’re going out.”

“Now?” I asked, confused.

“Yes. Now.”

“But the office hours are over…”

He raised an eyebrow, then said with an irritating amount of calm, “Then consider it personal.”

Oh. That word hit different.

I felt my cheeks betray me before I could say anything. So instead, I nodded and followed.

He walked past me toward the elevator.

And I… smiled like a complete idiot.

By the time I was seated beside him in the car, I was still smiling—like someone had slipped sunlight inside my chest and it refused to fade.

___________________
🫶🫶