The next morning felt strangely calm.
Not peaceful — Dhruve wasn't that lucky — but the storm inside him had quieted enough that waking up didn't feel like dragging himself out of a grave. He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
It still amazed him how one conversation… one quiet moment in a café… had shifted something inside him that months of isolation and anger couldn't.
He sat up slowly.
There was still an ache.There would always be an ache.
But it didn't own him anymore.
The office lobby buzzed with Monday energy — people tapping cards at the entrance gate, someone laughing too loudly, someone cursing under their breath because they spilled coffee on their shirt.
Dhruve walked in, hands in his pockets, expression neutral.
For months, he'd come into this building like a ghost — no emotion, no presence, just a body occupying space. But today, he felt… aware.
A few colleagues glanced his way, did a double take.
He wasn't smiling.He wasn't cheerful.
He was just present.
And somehow, that alone shocked people who'd gotten used to the hollow version of him.
At his desk, he booted up his computer.Sagar from accounting walked over casually, leaning against the cubicle wall.
"Bro, you look less dead today. Slept or what?"
Dhruve snorted. "Something like that."
"Good-good," Sagar grinned. "We thought you'd turn into paperwork ghost any day now."
Normally, Dhruve would've given a dry nod and returned to his screen, shutting the world out. But today, he replied:
"You're not wrong. I've been a zombie for too long."
Sagar blinked, surprised Dhruve was actually making conversation.Then he laughed. "Finally, man. Welcome back to humanity."
Dhruve didn't say anything, but something warm flickered in his chest.
Human.Funny how he hadn't felt like one in so long.
During lunch, instead of eating alone at his desk like he usually did, he found himself walking to the cafeteria. Just to see. Just to breathe somewhere that didn't smell like spreadsheets.
Voices echoed around him — gossip, complaints, jokes. He took a seat by the window with his usual simple meal.
He didn't join anyone.
But he didn't hide either.
For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel like shrinking behind invisible walls. If someone sat down beside him, he wouldn't mind.
Today… he existed without hurting.That was enough.
Across the city, Riya's day was not so smooth.
She kept drifting off during meetings, losing track of numbers and notes. Several times, she had to force herself to focus. She didn't want anyone noticing the tremble in her voice or the way she kept touching her bracelet absentmindedly.
When she closed her eyes, she saw him sitting across the table.Calm.Steady.At peace.
It rattled her more than anger ever did.
She hated that she still cared.She hated that she missed him.She hated that he looked happier now… without her.
But most of all — she hated that she was the reason he had to learn how to rebuild everything he ever was.
The guilt tasted old, but it still stung.
During a break, she leaned against the bathroom sink, staring into the mirror. Her reflection looked exhausted, eyes shadowed with emotions she didn't want to name.
"Get it together," she whispered.
But her heart wasn't listening.
Meanwhile, Dhruve stood by the office window, watching cars move lazily through the afternoon traffic.
Not thinking of revenge.Not thinking of sorrow.
Just… observing life.
A soft ease stretched through his chest — fragile, but real. Like he was finally stepping out of a fog that had smothered him for years.
He remembered last night — the way he whispered "Goodnight, Riya," to the empty room.
Funny how closure didn't always come with slamming doors or dramatic speeches.Sometimes, closure came with rain, quiet voices, and two people letting go gently instead of violently.
He wasn't ready for a "new beginning" yet.He wasn't suddenly healed.He wasn't magically reborn.
Healing didn't happen in a single chapter.
But he wasn't drowning anymore.
That was enough for now.
Later that evening, as he walked home, his phone buzzed. A message from a colleague inviting him to a small team dinner later in the week.
Before yesterday, he would've said no without thinking.
But tonight, staring at the message…he hesitated.
Not because of fear.Not because of resentment.
But because something inside him whispered:
Maybe it's time to live again.
He typed a simple reply.
"Sure, I'll join."
It wasn't a dramatic step.Not a grand change.Just one small choice.
But sometimes, the smallest choices carry the most meaning.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued walking beneath the streetlights, the cool air brushing against his skin.
For the first time in a long time…the night didn't feel lonely.
It felt open.Waiting.Patient.
A quiet place where someone who survived hell could finally start learning how to live again.