The night had been merciless. Ren had fallen asleep on the guest bed at his uncle's house only when exhaustion pinned him down, and even then, his dreams had been strange. Tulip's voice floated in and out of them, sometimes warm, sometimes clipped and cold, leaving him twisting in his sheets until dawn cracked the horizon.
When he woke, the air smelled faintly of fresh parathas and ginger tea drifting from the kitchen. His uncle's city home was nothing like his own larger, louder, filled with laughter and cousins barging into each other's rooms. They had already planned a day out: the mall, a movie, maybe even bowling. His youngest cousin, Rishi, had already burst into his room, tugging his arm and chirping, "Come on, bhaiya, you promised you'd come with us today!"
Ren forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Just give me a minute."
But once Rishi skipped away, Ren sank back down, phone in hand. His chest tightened. The unread messages stared at him his own long, desperate texts from last night, and Tulip's replies, short, bare, lifeless. "I don't feel the same anymore." Words sharper than any knife.
He scrolled again and again, rereading them, trying to stitch together the cracks, trying to find a loophole in the syllables that would make sense. His mind throbbed with questions. Why? How? Was it really over?
A buzzing sound pulled him out of the loop. His screen lit up with Harvey's name.
Harvey: "Bro. U awake?"
Ren exhaled, thumb hovering. Then he typed back:
Ren: "Yeah."
Seconds later, Harvey was calling. Ren pressed the phone to his ear, voice hoarse.
"Hey."
"You sound dead," Harvey said softly. "You didn't sleep, did you?"
"Not much."
There was a pause, as though Harvey was choosing his words carefully. "Listen. I know it feels like your world just flipped. I've been there. But you're not alone, okay?"
Ren swallowed. His throat ached from holding everything in. "I don't know what to do, Harv. One day she's there, laughing with me, telling me I make her happy. And now she's just… gone. Like she doesn't care."
"I'll talk to her," Harvey said firmly. "Maybe she just needs space. Maybe she's confused. Don't spiral yet."
Ren's chest ached with a fragile kind of hope. "You'd do that?"
"Of course. You're my brother. I'll message her right now."
Harvey's hands hovered over his keyboard longer than usual. He wasn't sure what to expect from Tulip. He knew her energy bright, bubbly, sometimes reckless. She had been a firecracker around Ren, lifting him out of his shell, bringing him into new light. He couldn't imagine her just switching off like that.
Finally, he typed:
Harvey: "Hey Tulip. Sorry for barging in, but I just spoke to Ren. He's… not doing well. What's going on?"
For a long time, there was no reply. Harvey was about to put his phone away when the typing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then reappeared. Finally, her message landed.
Tulip: "I don't know how to explain it, Harv. He's amazing. He really is. But I just… don't feel the same anymore. I don't want to leave him, I don't want to hurt him, but what's the point if my heart isn't in it?"
Harvey leaned back, staring at the words. They weren't cruel if anything, they sounded heavy, conflicted but they were still a blow. He sighed and typed back:
Harvey: "So it's not something he did wrong?"
Tulip: "No. He's the sweetest guy I've met. But my feelings… they've changed. I can't force it."
Harvey ran a hand through his hair. He wished he could shake sense into both of them tell Tulip that love wasn't always about "feeling sparks" every day, and tell Ren that not everything could be controlled. But for now, all he could do was carry the truth back.
Ren's uncle's house had a wide balcony overlooking the city. At night, the skyline glittered like a field of stars trapped in glass towers. The cousins often gathered there with chips and soda, pointing out landmarks, gossiping, laughing. But Ren sat apart, a ghost among the living, phone clutched in his hand.
His uncle called out once: "Ren, beta, come with us tomorrow. We'll take you to the river, it's beautiful this time of year."
Ren nodded politely, but when the family left the balcony, he stayed, staring into the night like it held answers.
His phone buzzed Harvey again.
Harvey: "I spoke to her."
Ren's heart jolted. His thumbs flew.
Ren: "What did she say?"
The reply came slower this time.
Harvey: "She doesn't want to leave you. She said you're amazing. But she doesn't feel the same anymore."
Ren's chest hollowed. He gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. The city stretched endlessly before him, but it felt suffocating.
The next morning, while his cousins prepared for their trip to the amusement park, Ren sat alone on his bed, typing furiously. His heart refused to quit.
Ren: "Tulip, listen. Feelings come and go. But what we have is rare. We make each other better. You push me to be more, and I've never felt this safe with anyone. Please, don't throw it away because of a phase."
Minutes later, a reply blinked in.
Tulip: "bleh."
Ren blinked. His stomach twisted. Was that it?
He tried again.
Ren: "I'm serious. Don't you remember the nights we stayed up laughing about nothing? The way you encouraged me when I doubted myself? That doesn't just vanish. Not if it's real."
Her reply was worse.
Tulip: "aaaaa."
The screen blurred as tears pressed against his eyes. Was she mocking him? Was this how it ended letters without meaning, like their bond was a joke?
Harvey couldn't sit back and watch. He messaged Tulip once more:
Harvey: "Why are you being like this with him? Just tell me straight."
This time, Tulip's answer was cold, flat, like an executioner's sentence.
Tulip: "I don't want him now."
No metaphors, no apologies just finality. Harvey stared at the words, anger simmering. He didn't reply. Instead, he called Ren.
Ren picked up immediately, voice strained. "Did she say anything?"
Harvey hesitated, then exhaled. "Yeah. She said she doesn't want you now. I'm sorry, bro. I know it hurts like hell, but you can't keep doing this to yourself. Don't text her again. Ever."
The silence on the line was deafening. Finally, Ren muttered, "I can't just… stop."
"You have to. She made her choice. If you keep chasing, you'll only bleed more."
Ren's voice cracked. "But I love her, Harv. Doesn't that count for anything?"
"It should. But sometimes it doesn't." Harvey's tone softened. "You're worth more than begging for scraps. Please. For your own sake. Let her go."
Ren's hand trembled around the phone. His chest felt crushed under a weight he couldn't name. The fight in him wanted to argue, to insist, to try again. But Harvey's voice anchored him.
"Promise me, Ren," Harvey said quietly. "No more messages."
For a long time, Ren didn't answer. Then, brokenly, he whispered, "Fine. I promise."
That night, while his cousins laughed over a card game, Ren sat by the balcony again. The city glimmered, but it all looked dim. His phone was silent in his palm. For the first time since Tulip's coldness began, he didn't type. He just sat, staring into the dark, trying to remember how to breathe.