Dhruve couldn't get Riya's face out of his head that night.
That small smile by the gate — the way she said "Good night, Dhruve" like it meant something more than just words. He'd replayed it in his mind too many times, more than he cared to admit.
"Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he sat by the window. The city below looked tired — just like him.
It had been years since he'd felt this pull — that gentle, dangerous warmth that crept into your bones before you realized it. He thought he'd buried that part of himself. The part that wanted connection. The part that still believed in it.
But she was pulling it back out, one look at a time.
The next morning, Riya texted him for the first time.
Riya: "You forgot your umbrella at the café yesterday."Dhruve: "Maybe it wanted to stay there."Riya: "Haha, or maybe it likes me better."Dhruve: "It has good taste then."
He stared at the screen for a long moment after sending that. What the hell was that? Flirting? Joking? He didn't even know anymore.
She replied with a laughing emoji, but he could imagine the way her lips would curve — playful, slightly shy.
It messed with his head.
That evening, he went to the café again. She spotted him the moment he walked in, waving slightly. He waved back, trying to look casual, but his chest tightened.
When she handed him his drink, her fingers brushed his — just for a second.Too short to mean anything.Too long to mean nothing.
"How's your day?" she asked.
"Quiet," he said. "Until now."
She rolled her eyes. "Smooth."
He smirked. "Did it work?"
Riya froze for half a second, then laughed nervously. "You're getting better at this."
"Practice," he said, eyes holding hers.
And in that brief silence, both of them felt it — that spark. That strange gravity pulling two broken pieces toward each other, even when logic screamed don't.
But that night, back home, guilt hit him like a wave.He poured a glass of whiskey and sat in the dark, staring at nothing.
What the hell are you doing, Dhruve?
He could still hear his ex-wife's voice in his head — her laughter, her betrayal, the sound that had once defined his nights. And now here he was, on the edge of something new. Something real.
But he didn't trust himself to touch it.
People like him didn't get second chances. They just learned to live with the wreckage.
He took another sip and whispered to no one, "Don't fall for me, Riya. You'll regret it."
But deep down, he already knew — it was too late for both of them.