For a long moment, the room was silent except for the quiet hum of the fan overhead. Dhruve kept his eyes on the diary page, reading the same line again and again until the words stopped being words and turned into needles. Across from him, Rhea sat on the edge of the bed, her hands tangled together like she didn't know what to do with them. The distance between them felt like a wall.
He finally looked up."Why didn't you tell me before?" His voice wasn't angry—it was tired, almost fragile.
Rhea's throat bobbed. "Because… because I thought you would look at me differently." Her eyes glistened. "And I couldn't handle that."
Dhruve closed the diary slowly. "Instead, I found out like this."
"I know," she whispered. "I know I messed up."
A faint wind blew through the half-open window, lifting the curtain like a ghost passing by. Dhruve breathed it in—cool, sharp, grounding. He needed grounding. He could feel old memories rising like smoke—every promise he made to her, every fight he fought for her, every night he stayed awake imagining a future that now felt uncertain.
"Rhea," he said quietly, "I've never hated honesty. Lies hurt more than truths ever could."
She looked down, her shoulders curling inward as if she wanted to disappear. "I was scared."
He walked toward her, stopping right in front of her knees. For a second she didn't move, like she didn't dare hope he'd come closer. Then she looked up.
Her eyes were a storm—fear, regret, longing, and something deeper… something that still belonged to him.
"Look at me," Dhruve said gently.
She lifted her chin.
He didn't say anything for a few seconds. He wanted to see her—not the mistake, not the fear—her. The woman he had loved with a stubborn kind of devotion.
"You made a mistake," he finally said. "But that doesn't erase everything."
Rhea blinked rapidly, tears slipping free. "I don't deserve your kindness."
"Maybe not," he said softly. "But we don't throw people away because they're flawed."
A tiny sob left her, too small to be dramatic, too real to be ignored. Instinctively, Dhruve reached out and brushed the tear at the corner of her eye. Her breath caught—not because of the touch, but because it was the first moment of tenderness he had shown since reading the diary.
"Dhruve… I thought you wouldn't want me anymore."
"I'm angry," he said. "I'm hurt. But I'm still here, aren't I?"
She nodded, and in that simple motion, her defenses cracked. She leaned forward—not grabbing him, not collapsing onto him, just resting her forehead lightly against his stomach. A silent plea. A vulnerable surrender.
Dhruve's hand hovered for a moment before finally resting on her head. Her hair felt warm under his palm, trembling.
After a long, stretched moment, she whispered, "Can… can I hug you?"
Dhruve exhaled slowly."You can."
She rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around him—not tightly, not desperately—just enough to say I'm still here, and I still love you. Dhruve stood still, his arms hanging for a moment before he slowly lifted them and hugged her back. They stayed like that, absorbing each other's warmth as the curtain swayed and the outside world kept moving, unaware of their little storm.
When they finally separated, Rhea didn't step far. She looked up at him, eyes swollen but softened. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. "I'll tell you everything. No more hiding. No more fear. Just… truth."
Dhruve nodded. "That's all I want."
A tentative silence settled. Then, almost shyly, Rhea brushed her fingers against his wrist. "Can I… kiss you?"
Dhruve looked into her eyes—still shaken, still guilty, but completely honest. That honesty was the thing that reached him.
"Yes," he said.
She leaned in slowly, as if giving him time to pull away. When her lips touched his, the kiss wasn't fiery or hungry. It was gentle—soft, searching, filled with apology and longing. A kiss that said: Don't leave. I still choose you. I always will. Even if I faltered once.
Dhruve kissed her back, a quiet reassurance. A connection. A reminder that love wasn't a straight line—it was a journey filled with bruises and healing.
When they parted, her breath lingered near his lips. "Thank you," she murmured.
"We're not perfect, Rhea," he said. "But we can still try."
She nodded, wiping her cheeks. "I'll accept whatever anger you have. Whatever questions. Just… don't shut me out."
"I won't," Dhruve said. "But I need time to understand everything."
"You'll have it," she promised.
They sat together on the bed, the distance between them gone, replaced by something delicate but real—a fragile peace, held together by the decision to try again. The night outside deepened, but the darkness inside the room softened.
Rhea leaned her head lightly on his shoulder. "Stay with me tonight? Just… stay."
Dhruve hesitated, then sighed. "I'll stay."
No more words were needed.
They lay side by side, not touching much, just the quiet comfort of presence. Occasionally, her fingers brushed his. Once, he lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.
The moonlight painted them silver.
Not perfect.
Not broken.
Just two people trying to find their way back to each other.