Tonight, she knew how much he had missed her during the months of separation. She knew how much he had endured in that marriage built on revenge. She understood how deeply he regretted hurting her. Even while he was hurting her, he had been hurting himself too, carrying it all in silence, never letting it show.
Unable to control her tears even now, Mishti moved toward her bag and pulled out the white shirt.
Karan’s white shirt.
When she had left Mumbai and flown to London, it was the only thing she had taken from his closet, from that house, from a life that had once been hers.
Something intimate. Something that smelled like him.
That single white shirt had been her companion through all eleven months of separation. Whenever the ache became unbearable, whenever she missed him more than she could admit to herself, she would wear it and fall asleep in it, wanting to feel close to him. It gave her comfort, the reassurance that a part of Karan, the husband she could never truly unlove, was still with her.
And tonight, she needed that comfort more than ever.
She never stopped loving him, but she stopped allowing love to erase her self-worth. After Karan’s confession and apology today, she knew her heart was softening, but forgiveness was still a road he had not finished walking.
***************
An hour later
Karan returned much earlier than he had planned to. The laughter from the bachelor party still echoed faintly in his ears, but none of it had reached him. He had sat there, present only in name, his mind was far away. It kept circling back to Mishti, again and again. Just two more nights, and then everyone would fly back to Mumbai, while she would return to London.
He had already decided he would not chase her. He would let her be happy where she wanted to be. He would allow her the freedom to work, to build a life away from him, even if it meant living without her by his side. But now, standing on that decision, he had no idea how he was supposed to honour it. How was he meant to survive without her? And until when?
Of course, even if she left for London, he knew he would never truly stop watching over her. He would keep track, stay informed, and make sure she was safe. But even that felt painfully insufficient. He felt it deep in his bones that the days ahead were going to be difficult, critical, and heartbreaking. And for the first time in a long while, he knew there was nothing he could do to change any of it.
So, he informed Abhimanyu and Rajat that he was heading back to his room, calling it a night and asking them to continue the party. They didn’t insist on him either, knowing he was carrying too much in his head and heard today, and that it was better he be with Mishti than force himself to enjoy a boys’ night.
Karan now paused for a second outside the suite door, his hand tightening around the key card without him realising it. He did not know why his chest felt so heavy. Perhaps it was thethings he had said earlier. Perhaps it was the way she had looked at him while he said them. Or perhaps it was the simple fear that tonight, after everything, Mishti would still not accept his change towards her.
Exhaling deeply, he swiped the card and stepped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp left deliberately low. The curtains were drawn, the fairy lights from the garden outside filtering in faintly through the sheer fabric. The first thing he noticed was the stillness. The second washer.
Mishti was seated in the single-seat recliner, turned slightly away from the door, her back curved inward as if she had folded into herself. She was awake. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, knees tucked close, bare feet resting against the edge of the cushion.
Her hair fell freely down her back, still faintly damp, telling him she had showered not too long ago. One arm was wrapped around her middle, the other held onto the fabric she was wearing, fingers clutching it absentmindedly, almost protectively.
It took him a second longer to understand what she was wearing.
Only a loose white shirt.
His white shirt.
The one he had not seen in a long time. The one he knew, without doubt, had never been packed for Jaipur. Which meant only one thing. She had taken it with her when she left for London. All this time, all these months, she had carried this piece of him with her, and he had never known.
It did not look borrowed. It looked claimed.
The shirt was very loose on her. The fabric fell loosely on her frame, the hem brushing mid-thigh, the collar slipping off one shoulder without effort. And the way she had curled into herself,revealed the smooth length of her bare legs. The sleeves were unbuttoned, and the cuffs open. She held it the way someone held onto comfort, hugging it close to her body, as if she were holding herself together.Or holding him.
Karan stopped walking. For a brief moment, his mind refused to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Confusion hit first, followed by disbelief and then a deeper understanding.
She was not trying to seduce him. There was nothing performative about the way she sat there. She was not waiting for him. She was not even aware of him yet.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, she turned. Her reaction was instant, as if she had seen a ghost standing inside her room. She startled visibly, rising from the recliner at once and standing beside it, staring at him in open shock. She clearly had not expected him to return so soon. Or perhaps she had not expected to be seen like this. Wearinghisshirt.
He stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him without a sound. His gaze never left her even for a second. Karan moved slowly, as if any sudden movement might make her disappear.
“What are you wearing?” he asked, taking another step closer.
