The rain lashed against the windows, matching the unrest brewing in Aarush's chest.
He stood unmoving, staring out into the cold darkness, fists clenched, breath uneven. The paper on his desk still sat there—mocking him.
Transfer of all property assets to Sanya Malhotra.
The daughter of the man who destroyed everything.
And she had hidden it from him.
His jaw tensed. She lied. She pretended. Just like her father.
He had thrown the truth at her, and she had just… stood there. No defense. No outrage. No tears. Just whispered:
> "I'm sorry. Save me."
Save her?
From what?
That single whisper clung to him, like a stubborn echo in his ears. Something about the way her voice had broken… it wouldn't leave him.
He turned away from the window, running a hand through his damp hair. She was gone now. Out in the rain. Alone.
Good. She deserved it.
…Did she?
His throat tightened for a moment — just a second — and he pushed the feeling away. She had betrayed him. Lied to him. Played him for a fool.
But why did it feel so wrong?
The image of her flashed in his mind—small, trembling, soaked to the skin, walking away in silence. No umbrella. No shoes. No coat. Just bare vulnerability.
Aarush cursed under his breath and turned back to the window. His chest was too tight. His thoughts too loud.
She wasn't answering her phone.
Where the hell was she?
The rain didn't stop.
Neither did the ache in her chest.
Sanya walked barefoot down the empty street, each step heavier than the last. The wind lashed at her soaked clothes, her drenched hair clinging to her skin like chains.
She didn't flinch. She didn't care.
Her arms wrapped around herself—not for warmth, but to hold together the pieces. Her heart felt like glass shattering in slow motion. And no one came to pick them up.
Not even him.
Aarush's voice still rang in her ears—cold, cutting.
> "You lied. Just like your father."
She whispered something back that he didn't understand.
Not that he ever tried to.
"I'm sorry… save me."
But she wasn't worth saving, was she?
She had thought… maybe, just maybe… she had found a home in him. A sliver of safety. But he'd thrown her out like she was nothing.
Now she was nothing again.
---
Meanwhile, inside Aarush's apartment…
He paced.
The lights were off, only the lightning from outside illuminating his face every few seconds — a face twisted in rage, and something far more dangerous: confusion.
She hadn't denied it.
She hadn't defended herself.
She just… looked at him with those hollow eyes and walked away.
She didn't fight.
Didn't beg.
Why?
Why didn't she say anything?
He grabbed the glass from the table and hurled it against the wall. It shattered, just like his thoughts.
> "What was she playing at?"
"Is this revenge?"
"Was she just waiting for the right time to strike back?"
But… then why did her voice sound so broken?
Why did she look like someone who didn't even want the damn property?
Why did her eyes scream for help… not power?
The storm outside wasn't louder than the one in his chest.
He opened his phone again.
Still no calls. No messages.
No sign of her.
His throat burned.
What if she was still out there?
Cold. Alone.
Crying.
And he was the one who threw her out.
Aarush's eyes snapped shut, jaw grinding as guilt clawed at the base of his spine.
He didn't forgive her.
He still held her guilty.
But…
Was this how he wanted to win?
Sanya dropped to her knees in the middle of the road, the rain drenching her entirely now, turning her dupatta into dead weight and her breath into fog. The cold sank into her bones.
The street was empty.
The world had turned its back, just like he did.
She knelt there, unmoving. A discarded soul with no home, no voice, no place. Her lips trembled as she stared at the blurry puddle in front of her.
Her reflection—barely there.
Just like her existence.
A weak sob left her throat, muffled by the thunder. Her hands clutched at her stomach, not in pain, but in an effort to feel something. Anything. Even the ache of being unwanted.
Her head drooped.
Eyes fluttering shut.
And then—darkness.
---
At the same time —
Aarush grabbed his keys, shoved open the door, and rushed out.
He didn't know where she would go.
Hell, he didn't even know if she had anywhere to go.
But he couldn't sit still anymore.
The rain hit him the moment he stepped out, but he didn't slow down. His shirt clung to his chest, his hair soaked within seconds, yet he kept moving—down the stairs, across the lot, into the road.
His mind screamed at him.
Why did you say those words?
Why didn't you just ask once—just once—if she did it for herself or for you?
Why didn't you stop her when she turned to leave?
A car drove past.
Another.
No sign of her.
Then—his eyes caught something in the distance.
A figure. Slumped. Motionless.
In the middle of the road.
His heart stopped.
"Sanya."
He ran. Faster than he had in years.
Her body lay crumpled, her clothes soaked through, skin pale from cold and exhaustion. She looked like a child. So small. So fragile.
"Sanya—" He fell to his knees beside her. "Sanya, hey! Wake up. Look at me!"
Her lips moved. A faint breath.
Relief and panic slammed together inside him.
He scooped her up into his arms, not caring how drenched she was, not caring who saw.
"I've got you," he whispered, holding her close to his chest.
"You hear me? You're not alone. I'm here."
The rain poured harder.
But this time… he didn't let go.