Dhruve
Rain had slowed to a mist when Dhruve stepped out of the café. The streetlamps glowed in the puddles, blurring light into silver shapes. He didn't open his umbrella. The rain didn't bother him; it felt honest — something that touched without pretending.
He walked without knowing where to go, his reflection rippling beneath his feet.Riya's voice still echoed in his head — soft, trembling, like she had rehearsed saying goodbye a thousand times and still wasn't ready.
"Maybe it means we're ready to stop pretending we don't exist."
That line wouldn't leave him.
For months, he'd built his life on silence — convincing himself that moving on meant forgetting. But after today, forgetting felt impossible. She was still there — not in his life, but in the quiet between breaths.
He took out his phone, scrolled through their old messages — and laughed softly at himself. Damn, he thought. You're pathetic.Then again, maybe being human was pathetic sometimes.
He stopped by a closed bookstore, his reflection staring back through the glass. He looked tired — not just from the rain, but from years of carrying too much.
For the first time in a long while, though, it didn't feel like pain. It felt like… release. Like a wound that had finally stopped bleeding.
At home, he dropped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. The faint smell of coffee clung to his hands.
When he closed his eyes, he saw her smile again — the small, real one, not the polite one she'd worn in public.
He remembered the way she used to run her fingers through his hair when he was half-asleep, the quiet hum she made when she was content. It wasn't desire that ached now — it was memory, simple and cruel.
"Shit," he whispered, smiling bitterly. "Still got you in here, huh?"
He pressed his palm to his chest, as if he could calm his own heartbeat. But the truth was — he didn't want to forget her anymore.He just wanted the memories to stop hurting.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew — this time, they might.
Riya
The rain hadn't stopped when she got home. It beat softly against her windows, the sound steady and low.
She changed out of her damp clothes, made tea she didn't drink, and sat on the edge of her bed. The city outside was alive — horns, sirens, faint music — but inside, her apartment felt too quiet.
She hadn't expected to see him again. Not like that.
The moment she'd seen him sitting there, looking out the window, part of her heart had clenched — like time itself forgot to move.And when he smiled… God, it was the same smile that once made her feel safe.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Don't go there, she told herself. You ended that. You had to.
But it was no use.
The memory of his eyes — calm, but full of something deep — replayed again and again. She could still hear the way he said her name, quiet and careful, like it still meant something sacred.
She picked up her phone more than once, typing messages she never sent.It was nice seeing you.Take care.You looked… good.
Each time, she deleted the words before hitting send.
Because what was the point? They'd already said goodbye once, and the world didn't owe them another chance.
Still, her chest hurt.Not like the old days — not the desperate, painful ache of a fresh wound.This was different — slower, deeper. Like an echo that refused to fade.
She traced the rim of her teacup absentmindedly.Her fingers brushed against the silver bracelet he'd once given her — she still wore it, though she told herself it was just habit.
"Damn it, Dhruve," she whispered, her voice barely above a sigh.
She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes stinging. Somewhere in her chest, regret and longing tangled together — not enough to make her want to go back, but enough to make her wish things had ended differently.
Dhruve
He didn't sleep easily that night.Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her — not the woman who betrayed him, but the woman who laughed in the sunlight, who made his world feel less cold.
He sat up, staring out the window. The city looked washed clean.
Maybe that was what this was — not a reunion, not forgiveness, but cleansing. A slow, messy kind of healing.
He smiled faintly. "We'll be okay," he murmured to the night. "In our own ways."
And for the first time in years, he believed it.
Riya
Before falling asleep, she whispered into the dark — not expecting anyone to hear.
"Goodnight, Dhruve."
And somewhere else in the city, he whispered back, though he didn't know why.
"Goodnight, Riya."
Between them, the distance remained — but it didn't feel like a wall anymore.It felt like a horizon.And both finally knew: they could walk away without losing the parts of themselves that still remembered love.