Jayant

"Yaar yeh ladkiyan aisa kyu krti hai, ek baar puchne pe sach kyu nhi batati, baar baar kyu puchna pdta hai, 10 baar puchna padta hai, 6 baar mein hi gussa hone lgegi, uske bad usko manao then or 4 baar pucho, fir wolog decide kregi ki btana hai ya nhi, fir please please bolo uske bad batana start kregi but, fir thoda bata ke chhod degi"

"Why does she do this?" I muttered into the phone, pacing my room like a man on the verge of losing his sanity. "Why can't she just tell the truth when I ask the first time? No, she waits-makes me ask again. And again. By the sixth time, she starts getting irritated. Then I have to calm her down, coax her, apologize for things I didn't even do-just to ask four more times."

I paused, took a breath. "Then finally, when she decides that maybe, just maybe, I deserve an answer, she starts telling me-only to stop halfway, provide little information and leave. Who does that?"

I heard a dramatic sigh from the other side of the call. Probably Rishi rubbing his temple, regretting picking up my call at night.

"Who the hell are you talking about?" he asked, sleep and suspicion thick in his voice.

I dodged the question with a shrug he couldn't see. "Just... someone. Doesn't matter."

"Wait a second," he said sharply. "It's not Alisha, right? You're not talking about her?"

There was a beat of silence.

"No," I said. "It's not Alisha."

"Then who?"

I gave in. "Shreya. She works in my office."

Rishi didn't waste a second. "And you like her?"

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, suddenly feeling fifteen. "I think I do. Maybe... more than like."

"Don't say it, JP," he warned in a half-joking, half-serious voice. "Don't tell me you're falling in love."

"I'm not saying that," I said quickly. "Love doesn't happen like this. It takes time, layers, I know."

"Then maybe stay away from her," he said. Stern. Protective. Like the older brother he never got to be.

"Why?" I frowned.

"Does Alisha know about this little office fling of yours?" he asked.

That hit a nerve. "It's not a fling," I snapped. "And no, she doesn't know yet. But I'll tell her. Don't worry."

"JP..." he started, but I'd already tuned out.

I bristled "It's not a crush. It's not some random office flirtation, okay? Shreya isn't like that. She's... different. Complicated.

The line went quiet.

"Wow," Rishi said finally. "That's... pathetic. And terrifying."

"I'm serious, man," I said quietly. "Shreya makes me feel things I didn't expect to feel. And yeah, I'll tell Alisha. She deserves to hear it from me."

Our call dropped after that. Maybe it was the signal. Maybe it was fate.

Shreya wasn't some random girl I was crushing on. She wasn't some distraction. There was something about her-about the way she looked at the world like she was constantly figuring it out, about how she pushed people away just far enough to see who'd still stay. And God, I wanted to stay.

But now all I could think about was Alisha.

She and I had been friends for nearly fifteen years. That kind of friendship doesn't come with easy conversations. It comes with complicated history.

Telling her felt like stepping on a landmine I didn't plant but was still responsible for.

But better she heard it from me than someone else.

Because whatever this was with Shreya-this fluttering, frustrating, thrilling thing-it wasn't going away. And it sure as hell wasn't meaningless.

I opened my wardrobe just like any other day- looking for a fresh T-shirt. But something felt... off. The one I'd worn last night wasn't there.

A tiny panic sparked.

My black T-shirt with the white stripes-the one I'd worn the night she kissed me.

I dropped to my knees and began digging through the lower shelves, pulling out clothes like a lunatic. Nothing.

I checked under my pillow, behind my study chair, even under the bed-because, why not? Desperation has no logic. But it was gone.

My heart beat faster-not because it was expensive, but because it was hers. Her scent. Her touch. That night.

Now slightly breathless and definitely annoyed, I stormed out of my room and yelled down the hallway, "Maa! Where's my black T-shirt with the white stripes? I can't find it anywhere!"

From the kitchen came her casual reply, "I put it with the laundry!"

My heart dropped. I dashed straight to the bathroom, where the laundry pile sat, still dry-thank God. I dug through the pile like I was searching for gold, and there it was-folded somewhere in between socks and old pajamas.
It still smelled like her.

Like Shreya.

The faint perfume, the shampoo she uses, something citrusy, something soft-her.

A memory hit me like a slap and a hug at the same time: that spontaneous kiss. Her trembling hands. The way her breath hitched when she backed off. The silence that followed.

The kiss that wasn't perfect-not by timing, not by mood-but somehow, to me, it was whole. Complete. Unshakable.

And now, standing barefoot in my bathroom, holding that T-shirt like it was something sacred, I realized-I didn't want to wash that moment away.

I didn't want to let it go.

Of course, Maa walked in at the exact moment I was standing there, staring at a shirt like I was trying to summon spirits from it.

She gave me a look only Indian mothers have perfected-the one that hovers between amusement and concern.

"Looks like my son's fallen in love for the first time," she said, raising an eyebrow.

I quickly straightened up, trying to mask my obvious blush. "It's not love, Maa. Just... a little liking-type situation."

She narrowed her eyes at me. Then, more seriously, she said, "Liking, huh? Beta, if you like someone's smell this much, imagine how much you must like the person."

That shut me up.

Because... yeah.

She smiled softly and turned to leave but paused again at the door. "When you love someone, Jayant... you end up liking everything that comes with them. Even their smells."
(Jab pyaar hota hai to hame us inshan ke sath uski har chij pansd aane lagti hai, uski khushboo bhi.)

She patted my cheek and left the room, as if she hadn't just delivered a dialogue that deserved background music.

I looked down at the shirt again. I didn't know what to do. Hold it? Fold it? Wear it? Frame it?

All I knew was-I didn't want to forget last night. Or her.
And maybe... maybe I didn't want to lie to myself anymore either.
___________

It was past midnight, and I was still pacing my room like a lunatic.

My phone sat on the table, mocking me with its silence. I picked it up. Kept it down. Picked it up again. I wanted to call her. I had to. But the weight of what I needed to say was choking me.

Before I could dial, her name flashed on the screen.

Alisha Calling.

I froze for a second, then picked up the call after a pause that was just long enough to irritate her.

Hello..." I said quietly.

"Hello, you idiot! What took you so long to answer?" she barked on the other end, her irritation evident.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I was... doing something."

"You weren't doing shit," she snapped. "Anyway, listen-crazy stuff's been happening here."

I tensed. "Crazy, how? What happened? Are you okay?"

Her voice softened just a little. "Relax, Bhalu. I'm fine."

I didn't breathe until she said that.

"You won't believe it," she continued. "A publishing house approached me. Can you believe that? Me! They said they want to meet."

My eyes widened. "Wait-seriously? That's amazing!"

She exhaled excitedly. "And it's because of you."

"Me?" I frowned. "How is this because of me?"

"You remember that thank-you note and gift you sent to Ramya Choudhary on my behalf? Well, she was impressed. She did stalked me on social media, She read some of my writing... and now she wants to publish me."

I smirked. "So... girls do fall for gifts after all."

She laughed too. "She didn't care about the gift, Jayant. It was the gesture that mattered."

We kept talking after that-longer than usual. About writing, about her dreams, about everything and nothing. But beneath my calm tone, my nerves were fraying. I could feel the truth in my chest, rising like bile.

How do I tell her about Shreya?
And I knew it was now or never.

"Alisha," I began, my voice suddenly heavier than I'd intended. "Have you ever... thought about your love life lately? Like... dating? Relationships?"

There was a pause on the other end. An eerie one.

I cleared my throat. "I mean-we're both almost 28. Don't your parents bring up marriage and stuff?"

Her voice came after a beat, a bit too light. "Why? Are your parents pressuring you already?"

I laughed nervously. "Not really. But let's be honest-if we don't find someone soon, we might end up in arranged marriages. Scary thought, right?"

"Maybe," she said. Her laugh followed mine, but it felt different. Hollow, maybe.

Then I half-joked, "So, no one special in your life? Not even... anyone you might consider?"

"If I don't find someone, I'll just marry you."

I stopped breathing.

The words hung between us-half a joke, half a confession, maybe neither. Maybe everything.

I laughed softly, nervously. But it didn't reach my eyes. "And what if I told you... someone did come into my life?"

There was silence again. But this time, it wasn't empty.

It was loaded.

I could feel her holding her breath, on the other end of the line.

"Alisha..." I said.

"Huh?" she replied faintly.

"I've started liking someone," I confessed.

"You've... started liking someone?" she repeated, as if she was trying to process a foreign language.

"Yeah."

Silence again.

"Do you love her?" she asked sharply.

I hesitated. "No. I don't think so. Not yet."

"Then you just... like her?"

I nodded to myself. "Yeah. But it's... more than just liking."

"How do you know that?" she pressed.

I exhaled. "Because I'm addicted to her fragrance. I acted weirdly tod...."

Her next words were slow. Dagger-sharp.
"You mean... her body smell?"

Her tone wasn't amused. It wasn't curious.

It was accusatory.

I opened my mouth to explain. Maybe say yes. Maybe say no. I didn't know.

But before I could, she said flatly, "Rishi's calling. I'll talk to you later."

The call disconnected.

Just like that.

She didn't wait for my answer. She didn't ask what the girl's name was. She didn't even fake a goodbye.

She left me there-holding a phone that now felt like it weighed a hundred bricks.

She could've added me to the conference call. She didn't.

She could've asked for a name. She didn't.

Instead, she vanished.

And I just stood there, every breath tighter than the last, wondering whether I had just opened a door... or shattered something that had been standing for fifteen years.
wondering if the confession I'd been too scared to make... just broke something I can't fix.

I had tried calling her again. And again. But every time, the response was the same.

"Call you later."

Cold. Mechanical. Distant.

There was a time when her voice used to light up the dullest part of my day. Now, even her texts felt like polite strangers knocking at the door of a house we both once lived in.

I tossed my phone onto the side table and sank deeper into my bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep didn't come. Not even close. My thoughts were too loud, too sharp to ignore.

Shouldn't she be happy for me?

Shouldn't she-of all people-understand?

After all, Alisha was my best friend. Fifteen years of friendship, laughter, secrets... everything. And now that I had finally met someone, someone who made my world feel just a little more beautiful, all she did was retreat behind silence and half-hearted replies.

She should've been happy for me. She should've.
Instead, she walked away with silence-like none of it mattered. Like I didn't matter.

And maybe, just maybe... that silence hurt more than I expected it to.

I sighed, frustrated and aching, and swung my legs off the bed. I couldn't lie there anymore. The sheets felt cold, the air heavy.

I wandered down the hallway, feet moving on instinct-until they stopped in front of the guest room.

Her room.

Shreya had stayed here just last night. The memory of her being here still lingered like a whisper in the air.

I pushed the door open.

Everything was still. Untouched. The pillow was slightly indented, the blanket casually folded back. And the faint scent of her-subtle, warm, familiar-still clung to the room like it hadn't yet accepted that she'd left.

Drawn by something I couldn't name, I walked to the bed and sat down. Then slowly... I laid back, resting my head where hers had probably been.

And there it was again.

Her fragrance.

It wrapped around me like an invisible thread, pulling me under. The same scent I'd felt last night... when she had kissed me.

It wasn't a perfect moment.
It wasn't even right, maybe.
But it felt real.

And in a night filled with confusion and half-truths, that one moment-hers-had felt like the only honest thing.

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of her take over every corner of my restless mind.

I didn't know what the hell I was doing.
But somehow, for the first time in hours... I felt calm.
___________________________

Next day
---
We had come to visit a client that day—Shreya and I. Honestly, the work wasn’t so urgent that I needed to be there personally, but I chose to come anyway. The truth? I just wanted to bring Shreya out for a bit. I’d been swamped in my own work since morning and hadn’t spent a single moment with her. This felt like the right excuse—to steal a few minutes together.

The client owned a jewellery showroom located right next to the main office building. He was planning to get his cabin's interior redesigned, and that’s why we were here. As we stepped inside the sparkling showroom, I noticed a mild crowd already present, couples mostly, browsing through rings and necklaces under golden lights that made everything shimmer.

That’s when I felt it—Shreya stopped walking beside me. I turned to her, confused.

Her eyes were fixed on a couple at the far end of the store. They were laughing over a ring tray, holding hands—utterly lost in each other’s world. I followed her gaze and then looked back at her. Something in her eyes wasn’t right. A flicker of something sharp and cold.

For a moment, I thought maybe she was imagining us like that—together someday, in a place like this. Hopeful. Dreaming. I tried to break the silence and gently called her name. She blinked, her trance breaking, and quietly nodded as we walked towards the inner office.

The discussion inside didn’t last more than ten minutes. But when we came back out, that couple was still there—still smiling, still radiant with the kind of joy that doesn’t need to be spoken.

That’s when I noticed Shreya again.

Her breathing was shallow, uneven. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, and her gaze—her gaze was like glass. Unmoving. Piercing. A look so filled with pain that it made the air around us feel heavy. Like she was suffocating in plain sight.

"Do you know them?" I asked gently.

She didn’t look at me. Her eyes remained on them, but her voice had turned to ice.

"Yes. They’re my friends," she said flatly.

I felt a slight warmth of relief. "Then let’s go say hi," I offered, already stepping forward.

But her words stopped me cold.

"Correction," she said, turning to face me for the first time, her eyes unreadable. "My ex-boyfriend… and my best friend."

And then she added, with a fragile strength, "I don’t want to talk to them. Let’s go."

Her words hit me like a slap in slow motion.

I was stunned—trying to wrap my head around it. That man… and her best friend?

"Let’s make him regret losing you."

I reached out, instinctively. "I can pretend to be your boyfriend. Just for now. Let’s make him regret losing you. Use me."

Her eyes met mine, not with gratitude, but with quiet sadness.

"And then what?" she said softly. "What difference would there be between him and me? He used me. And if I use you... I become like him. I can’t do that. I hate people who treat others like tools—like moments to take revenge."

Her voice didn’t shake. But I felt the tremor in my chest.

I had just wanted to help. Just wanted to erase that pain from her eyes. But her words… her clarity… made me freeze.

I couldn’t tell if she was thinking about them even now—if their betrayal still stung her this deeply—or if she was thinking of me, not wanting to hurt me in the process of healing herself.

In that moment, I didn’t know what made me ache more.

Suddenly, Shreya grabbed my hand.

Without a word, she pulled me out of the showroom, her grip firm, almost desperate. I didn’t resist—I couldn’t. My eyes stayed fixed on her the entire time, reading the tension in her shoulders, the silent storm beneath her skin.

But even as I followed her out, my mind stayed behind—with them.

The couple.

The ones still laughing inside, completely unaware of the chaos they’d left behind in someone else’s heart.

He had cheated on Shreya—with her best friend. The kind of betrayal that doesn’t just break trust—it shatters a part of who you are. And yet, here she was, walking away without a single word to them. No confrontation. No breakdown. Just silence. Just pain.

As we stepped into the open air, I kept staring at her profile—how tightly she held my hand, how hard she was trying to breathe normally.

And then, somewhere between the guilt and the ache, a thought hit me like a quiet whisper:

If he hadn’t cheated… if he had stayed… Shreya would’ve never come into my life.

That realization rooted me in two emotions—equal and opposite.

For myself, I felt… grateful. Maybe even a little selfishly happy. Because in some twisted way, his betrayal opened a door for me—for us. She was here, beside me, holding my hand, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

But for her—my heart broke.

She didn’t deserve this kind of pain just so I could find something beautiful.

And that’s the thing no one tells you about love born from someone else’s wreckage—
You're always torn between feeling lucky... and feeling sorry.

And in that moment, I was both. Completely.

But at the same time… I hated that it had to come at this cost.

Shreya didn’t deserve to be dragged through that kind of betrayal just so she could end up in my story.

And yet, here we were.

We stood outside the showroom, the silence between us thick with everything unsaid.

But something inside me… wouldn’t settle.

I couldn’t just walk away—not like this. Not without some kind of response. They couldn’t get to smile, laugh, and go home without even knowing what they had thrown away.

I turned to Shreya. "Wait for me in the car," I said casually, trying not to show what was burning beneath the surface.

Shreya looked at me, eyebrows raised, sensing something behind my words.

"Why?"

"I just forgot something. I’ll be right back," I lied.

She studied me for a moment but didn’t question it. She turned and walked away toward the car, her footsteps slow and distracted.

I went back in—heart pounding, anger and something else tangled in my chest.

I went back inside.

My footsteps felt heavier than they should have. My jaw tight. Heart pounding for reasons I didn’t fully understand—was it anger? Was it hurt for her? Or just something primal, protective?

I approached the counter and said in the calmest voice I could manage, "I want to see your most expensive diamond pendant."

The staff perked up, excited. They laid out options, polished and glowing under the spotlights. But I didn’t care about the price, or the cut, or clarity.

I was buying a statement. Not jewellery.

I pointed to one that looked fierce and delicate at once—just like her. "This one."

At the billing counter, they were already there. That couple.

Still smiling. Still comfortable. Like guilt wasn’t something they’d ever heard of.

The man behind the counter asked politely, "Name for the invoice, sir?"

"Jayant Patil," I said clearly. Then, without lowering my voice, I added,
"But write MG Shreya Murty on the box. It’s a gift."

I made sure to say her name loud enough for them to hear.

And I saw it—how their laughter stopped. The woman stiffened. The man’s eyes flickered. They heard me. They knew.

I just said her name like it meant something. Because it did.

I took the box and turned to leave, but just before I could walk out, she—Shreya’s ex-best friend—stepped in front of me.

Her voice was soft, almost afraid. " You must be her boss?"

I didn’t answer. I'm confused..how does she know about me.

"Please. Can you just get her to talk to us? Once? Just once?"

Her eyes weren’t cruel. Not proud. Not even defensive. Just… full of pleading. Of regret.

And suddenly, the hate I felt moments ago cracked a little. Because now I saw it—they were carrying their guilt like weight in their bones. They knew what they had done.

But none of that mattered anymore.

For a split second, I hesitated.

But then I remembered what Shreya looked like just minutes ago—how tightly she held herself together, how she walked away from her past without a word.

She didn’t need this.

So I said nothing. Just walked past them, out the door.

Shreya was waiting in the car, staring ahead blankly. The moment I opened the door, her eyes shifted to the bag in my hand.

"What did you buy?" she asked, eyeing it.

Before I could respond, she reached over, grabbed the bag, and opened it.

Her fingers froze.

"This has my name on it," she whispered.

"Yeah. It’s for you," I said, watching her reaction.

She blinked fast. "Wow...This looks expensive."

"It is."

"Then I can’t take it."

"Okay. Don’t."

Her face fell.

I saw it—the way her lips parted slightly, the way she glanced down at the box again, unsure.
Her face shifted, almost like I slapped her. She looked at me, unsure. A trace of hurt flashed across her eyes.

I let the silence linger a moment before I said, softly this time, "Just take it, Shreya. Not because you owe me anything. Just because I wanted you to have something… that reminds you of your worth. And this has nothing to do with them. This is about you."

She didn’t say anything.

But she didn’t give it back either.

She looked down at the box again. Her name written in perfect letters across the lid. A gift meant to be claimed.

And then, with a quiet breath, she placed it gently on her lap—like it mattered.

Of course she kept it.

Because no matter how strong, how hurt, how guarded a girl is—every girl loves to be gifted. Whether it’s a necklace worth lakhs or a flower picked from the sidewalk—it’s the gesture that leaves its mark.

Because no matter how broken a girl is, no matter how much she tries to push the world away, a piece of her will always remember what it feels like… to be chosen.

Not as a replacement. Not as a second choice.

But as herself.

And in that small, silent moment—we weren’t talking about pendants anymore.

We were talking about healing.

I was driving quietly, lost in thought. Shreya sat beside me, her eyes fixed out the window, her fingers tracing slow circles on her palm—an anxious habit I’d come to recognize.

But something inside me twisted tighter with every passing second.

And then—without warning—I slammed the brakes.

The tires screeched softly against the empty road. Shreya gasped, jolting in her seat. "What happened?" she asked, startled.

I didn’t answer. I stepped out, walked to her side, opened her door.

"Come out," I said.

She blinked. "Why? What is it?"

"Just come out, Shreya."

Still unsure, she stepped out of the car. The night air wrapped around us. The road was quiet, the world still. And then—I did something I hadn’t planned.

I pulled her into a hug. Hard.

No warning. No buildup.

I just held her like I couldn’t breathe without it.

She froze for a moment. And then… slowly, she hugged me back. Not loosely. Not politely. She held me.

And maybe that’s what I needed more than I realized.

"I'm okay," she whispered after a long pause.

But mine cracked when I replied, “But I’m not.”

Her arms tightened around me.

I didn’t know who was comforting whom anymore.
All I knew was—I didn’t want to let go.

Not of her.
Not of this fragile moment where we didn’t have to pretend.

Then, my phone buzzed.

I ignored it.

It buzzed again—this time with a message that made my chest go hollow.

Text from Maa

And just like that… the warmth vanished.

Reality slammed back in like a crashing wave.

I loosened my grip and stepped back, the moment between us breaking apart like cracked glass.

"I have to go," I said quickly, trying not to look her in the eye.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"I’m booking you a cab. It’ll be here in five minutes. Just wait here."

"Jayant—what’s going on?"

But I was already backing away. I didn’t want to leave her like that—God, I hated leaving her like that—but I had to go.

For of Alisha.

I reached the airport burning with questions, with anger, with a storm bottled up inside me.

And then—I saw her.

Alisha.

Dragging her suitcase, walking toward the gates like she hadn’t just set fire to my world.

"Alisha!" I shouted, storming toward her.

She turned, startled.

I didn’t stop. "What the hell is going on with you?" I demanded. "You’re flying back to Mumbai? Without even meeting me? Without telling me you were even in town?"

I stood inches from her, breath ragged, my hands curled into fists. "We talked yesterday, and you said nothing. How could you just—"

"It was a sudden plan," she said, barely above a whisper.

“I told you—it was sudden.”

“No. That’s not good enough. You always told me your sudden plans before. You always told me first. What happened, Alisha? What the hell changed?”

She stared at me, her face unreadable.

“You changed,” she said at last. “Not me.”

Her jaw clenched as she pulled her shoulder out from under my hand. "You’re asking me what’s changed? You think I changed? Or maybe it's you, Jayant. Maybe you’re not even looking in the mirror anymore."

Her eyes burned, but her tone stayed even. “My flight’s boarding. Let me go.”

“No,” I snapped. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t get to decide that anymore,” she said sharply, pushing past me.
And she turned, starting to walk away.

I grabbed her wrist—reflex, instinct, desperation.

She jerked away hard, losing balance. The next second, we both stumbled, and she crashed to the ground.

There was a pause. Everyone start watching us.

And then—something I never expected.

Alisha hit me.

A slap.

Then another.

“Awch… You just slapped me,” I said, my voice low—half shocked, half hurt, as I touched my cheek.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“Yes,” she replied coldly. “I did.”

I looked at her, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of the sudden sting on my skin—and the deeper one inside my chest. “It hurt, Alisha.”

Her eyes flickered with something—not guilt, not regret. Just pain. Raw. Untamed.

“And what about me?” she shot back, her voice shaking now. “What about my pain?”

And she slapped me again.

“And Don’t you dare to stop me like this,” she hissed. “I’m not the girl who waits for you to choose.”

I stood there, stunned, her words slicing deeper than any blow.
And in that moment, I realized—she hadn’t hit me out of rage.
She had hit me out of helplessness.

"And you think I'm not hurt" I said.

And then, like two absolute fools—we started fighting.

Not quietly. Not maturely.

Like children. Loud. Dramatic. Exhausted.

We weren’t even making sense anymore. Our words crashed into each other, overlapping, cutting, defending, blaming—because when love hurts, it doesn't always bleed, sometimes it just yells.

"You don’t even know how hard things are for me!" she shouted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, frustration leaking out in every breath.

"And you don’t get how much it hurts when you do things without telling me!" I shot back, voice rising, hands flying with my words. "You just decide and disappear—like my feelings don’t matter!"

She crossed her arms, pacing now. "You don’t understand me, Jayant!"

"Then make me understand!" I snapped. "Tell me. Don’t just expect me to read your silence like a damn script!"

We were both breathless. Not from rage—but from holding it all in for too long.

We hurled complaints at each other like punches. Every sentence heavier than the last. Her voice cracked, mine trembled. And yet, neither of us stopped.

Because deep down, this wasn’t about who was right.

It was about two people desperately trying to be heard. To be seen.

"You never try to see what’s going on inside me," she said, her voice trembling now.

"And you never let me!" I replied, the words bursting from my throat.

We kept going—back and forth, back and forth—like kids too stubborn to drop the fight, too scared to admit how much they cared.

Because under all that shouting, all that bitterness…

Was love.
Bruised.
Starving.
But still standing.

And that’s the tragedy, isn’t it?

When two people fight not because they’ve stopped loving each other—
But because they love each other too much… and don’t know how to show it without breaking things along the way.

"Tumhe pata hai na yaar, main tumse kitna pyaar krta hu"  I said.

"Yahi to baat hai, tu jo pyaar krta hai wo pyaar nhi chahiye... Or mujhe Jo chahiye wo tu de nhi skta." She said.

"You know how much I love you, right?" I said, my voice cracking just enough to be heard.

She looked at me, and in that moment, I knew—she’d already made up her mind.

“That’s exactly the problem, Jayant,” she said, her words cutting through the space between us like a blade dressed in velvet. “The way you love… it’s not what I want.”

I swallowed, hard. But she didn’t stop.

“And what I want—you can’t give. You never could.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

She wasn’t shouting. She wasn’t angry. And somehow, that made it worse. She meant every word. No hesitation. No doubt.

I stood there, frozen.

Then, slowly, I walked up to her. Wrapped my arms around her—gently, carefully, like I was afraid she might break. Or worse, disappear.

"Then just tell me," I whispered into her shoulder. burying my face near her shoulder, "Tell me what it is you want. Please."

She hugged me back.

And for a brief moment, everything felt still again.

Then she pulled back slightly—just enough to look at me—and said in the softest voice,
“Just this… just you, like this. Close. But also a little apart. I want space, Jayant. Space for both of us. So we can create our own worlds. So I don’t lose myself. So you don’t lose yourself.”

Her voice wavered, but her gaze didn’t.

“So stop expecting me to explain things. And I’ll stop expecting them from you. Maybe that’s how we’ll survive each other....”

She wasn’t done speaking when I cut her off—half-angry, half-laughing, fully broken.
“Why are you talking like we’re breaking up?” I asked, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Friends don’t have breakups, Alisha. This isn’t some goddamn relationship status... we can undo....we can't."

She gave me a look I’ll never forget—like she wanted to smile, but her heart wouldn’t let her.

People around us had begun to stare. They were probably wondering why a girl with tears in her eyes and a boy with too many words were falling apart in the middle of a crowded airport.

The final boarding call echoed through the hall.

She turned to leave.

“Alisha, wait—please,” I called out. “Don’t go. Not like this.”

But she shook her head, already backing away.

"Nhi ruk paungi main ab" (“I can’t stay anymore,” ) she said, her voice barely holding.

She turned and started walking—fast, like she needed to get away before her courage broke.

Then… just as she reached the gate, she stopped. Spun around. Ran back.

And hugged me.

Tight. Fast. Desperate.

Just a few seconds. Just enough to wreck me.

And then she was gone.
Gone from my arms. Gone from the terminal.
Gone… from me.

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