It had only been a few weeks since Priyal's return, and yet, it felt like the air around Isha and Karan had changed. Not heavy, not broken. Just… uncertain. Like something delicate was being held between them, waiting to crack.
Karan stood in the kitchen one evening, stirring his tea mindlessly as the steam curled up and caught the light. Isha leaned against the doorway, arms folded.
"You're quiet," she said, not accusatory, just observant.
He glanced up, surprised, as if caught in a memory. "Yeah. Just tired."
Isha walked in and stood beside him. "You've been tired a lot lately. Or lost. I can't tell which."
Karan didn't reply right away. He took a sip, then finally said, "I saw her again. Just outside. She waved."
Isha didn't flinch. She took the mug from his hands and placed it on the counter. "And what did you feel?"
He looked at her, honestly. "A little confusion. Some guilt. And then, I felt this deep need to come home and see you."
She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just a bit. "That's all I need to hear. Just... don't make me guess next time."
Across the street, Priyal sat on her balcony, sipping coffee and watching the lights go out in Isha and Karan's home, one by one. Not in malice, not even in strategy, just with quiet observation. She wasn't here to break things. She told herself that. She was just... here.
Earlier that day, she had run into Reem at the grocery store. It was brief, polite, but there was something sharp under Reem's smile.
"You look good, Priyal," Reem had said, loading a bag of oranges. "Delhi's been kind to you, I guess."
Priyal laughed softly. "It's not Delhi. Some old memories just start to feel like home."
Reem met her gaze. "Yeah. But memories aren't homes. People outgrow them."
That stuck with Priyal longer than she expected.
At the same time, Karan was with Arun, his old friend who always knew how to read between his silences. They were sitting on the terrace of Arun's place, beer bottles between them, city lights far off.
"You ever think about what would've happened if you stayed with her?" Arun asked, no judgment in his voice.
"All the time," Karan admitted. "But not because I want it. More because I wonder who I'd have become."
"And who are you now?"
Karan looked down at the condensation forming on the bottle. "Someone steadier. Someone Isha makes me want to be."
Arun smiled. "Then stop acting like you owe Priyal something. You don't owe your past explanations. You owe your present honesty."
That night, Isha sat at the edge of the bed, flipping through a book but not reading a word. Her phone buzzed, a message from Reem.
Reem:She's playing soft. Like she's just around. But you and I both know she's not here without a reason.
Isha stared at the message for a long time before typing, her fingers hesitating not from heartbreak, but from exhaustion, not with Karan, but with everything around them. She wasn't tired of love; she was just tired of proving it. If he wanted to leave, she would let him. Not because she didn't care, but because holding on too tightly never felt like love to her.
Isha:Maybe. But I'm not going to fight. If he wants to go, I won't stop him. But if he stays, I want it to be because he chose me — not because I begged.
The next morning, Karan walked into the kitchen to find Isha making sweets for the temple, which was a rare sight, given her love for clean eating.
"Wow," he said, surprised. "Did I forget an anniversary?"
She laughed, making ladoos (indian sweet). "No. Just thought today should start warm."
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "You make every day warm, Isha."
She leaned into him. "Then promise me something?"
"Anything."
"When you see her again, and I know you will, don't lie. Don't hide. Just... don't let her confuse you into forgetting me."
Karan turned her gently to face him. "I might remember a lot of things, Isha. But loving you? That's not something I ever forget. Even when I'm scared. Even when I'm lost. You're the part I come home to."
She smiled, soft and tired, and kissed him on the cheek. "Then keep coming home."
Outside, across the street, Priyal stepped out with her coffee again, as if the day had to start with watching someone else's life.
But this time, Isha didn't look away. She met her gaze, calm, not cold. And for a moment, Priyal looked like she might wave again.
But she didn't.
And Isha turned, walked back into her kitchen, where Karan was setting the table with a kind of sincerity that couldn't be faked.
The war hadn't ended. It might never. But not all wars are loud. Some are just choices made quietly, day after day, to love the person right in front of you, without letting the shadows pull you back.
And Isha had made her choice. Now it was Karan's move.