Riya
The café felt quieter the next day. Too quiet.
She tried to focus — cleaning tables, taking orders, smiling like everything was fine. But every few minutes, she found her eyes flicking toward the door, waiting. Hoping.
He didn't come.
She knew he wouldn't. Something in his voice yesterday had already told her that.That sad, half-broken tone — the way he said "You're a good person, Riya" like a goodbye wrapped in politeness.
It stung more than it should have.
She tried to laugh it off when her coworker asked if she was okay, saying she was just tired. But the truth was heavier. She wasn't tired. She was hurt.
And the worst part?She didn't even know why she cared so much.
That evening, after her shift, she stood by the streetlight outside the café, staring at the empty road.
"Damn it, Dhruve," she muttered, hugging her arms around herself. "You think you're the only one who's broken?"
She thought about calling him. She even typed his number twice. But every time she tried, she deleted it again.
He wanted distance. Maybe she should respect that.
But the silence… the silence was unbearable.
Dhruve
He hadn't eaten all day. The glass beside him was half-empty, and the room smelled faintly of whiskey and regret.
Every word he'd said to her echoed in his head like a cruel replay:"Don't waste it trying to fix people like me."
He'd said it to protect her. At least, that's what he told himself. But deep down, he knew it wasn't that noble.
It was fear.Fear of needing her.Fear of being seen again.
The way she looked at him — with those eyes that seemed to reach straight through his armor — scared the hell out of him.
Because if she saw too much, she might start to care.And if she cared, he'd have to admit he cared too.
And Dhruve wasn't sure he could survive that again.
He leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The apartment felt colder than usual.
For the first time in years, he realized he didn't want to be alone. But he also didn't know how to be with someone anymore.
He picked up his phone, scrolled to her contact — Riya (Café) — and hovered over the message bar.
He typed:"I'm sorry."
Then stared at it for a long time.
He deleted it. Typed again:"You were right. I'm pretending."
Deleted that too.
He threw the phone onto the table and ran both hands through his hair. "Fuck…"
Riya
Back in her room, Riya sat by the window, staring out at the rain.
She thought about his quiet eyes, his tired smile. There was something in him she couldn't walk away from, even if he wanted her to.
It wasn't pity — it was understanding.That rare kind of empathy that comes from recognizing someone else's pain because you've lived your own.
She whispered to the glass,"If you think I'm going to just forget you, you're wrong."
Dhruve
Outside, thunder rolled.He stood by his window, watching the same rain, breathing the same air, unaware that only a few blocks away, she was thinking the same damn thing.
And though neither of them said a word, they both felt it — that invisible pull that still connected them, even in silence.
That night, neither of them slept.