Dhruve hadn't been sleeping much lately.
Every time he closed his eyes, the past came clawing back — flashes of laughter that turned into lies, hands that once felt like home but ended up stabbing him in the back.
He'd thought time would dull it, but grief doesn't fade. It just learns to hide behind small smiles and half-hearted jokes.
And now, Riya's voice — her laughter, her softness — had started scraping against those half-healed wounds.
It terrified him.
That morning, he woke up to her text.Riya: "You didn't come by today. Everything okay?"
He stared at it for minutes, thumbs hovering over the screen.
He typed Yeah, just busy — then deleted it.Typed I'm fine — deleted again.
He finally just locked the phone and leaned back on the couch, running his hand down his face. "Fuck…" he muttered under his breath. "You're losing your damn mind."
He wanted to see her. God, he did. But what if it turned into something he couldn't handle again? What if she saw through him — saw the bitterness, the anger, the rot that betrayal had left behind?
He didn't want to hurt her.But he also didn't trust himself not to.
By noon, he found himself walking toward the café anyway. Not because he decided to — but because his legs just carried him there.
When he stepped inside, Riya's eyes flicked up immediately. That small spark of joy in her face — it hit him harder than it should've.
"You're alive," she teased softly, handing him a cup without asking.
"Barely," he said.
"You look like shit."
"Thanks."
She laughed — that quiet, familiar laugh that somehow made the world feel softer. "Rough week?"
"Something like that."
"Want to talk about it?"
He hesitated. "You ever have a part of your life that still feels like it owns you?"
She blinked, her smile fading. "Yeah. I think everyone does."
Dhruve nodded slowly. "I guess I'm still paying rent to mine."
They sat in silence for a while — her across from him, stirring her coffee without drinking it, him staring into his cup like it might give him answers.
When he finally looked up, she was already watching him. There was something in her eyes — not pity, not curiosity, but recognition. Like she knew.
That scared him more than anything.
He stood abruptly. "I should go."
"Dhruve—"
He cut her off gently. "You're a good person, Riya. Don't waste it trying to fix people like me."
She frowned, standing too. "I'm not trying to fix you. I just—"
"You just care," he finished for her, his tone soft but sharp. "That's what good people do. But good people bleed when they get too close to broken ones."
And before she could say anything, he walked out — fast, almost like he was afraid she'd call him back.
That night, the rain came again — the same kind that fell the night he found his world falling apart years ago.
He sat by the window, whiskey in hand, watching droplets race down the glass.
Every instinct screamed at him to stay away from her. To keep her safe from whatever storm still lived inside him.
But the cruel truth was — she was the first person in years who made him feel human again.
He laughed bitterly under his breath, muttering,"Damn it, Riya… why does kindness hurt worse than betrayal?"