For a brief, stupid period of my life, I thought I was happy. Or something close to it. Two years. Two whole years where I let myself believe that maybe this time would be different. That maybe someone would stay.
And then he vanished.
No fight. No explanation. No goodbye.
Just…gone.
Like the relationship never existed.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s even alive. Sometimes I wonder if he died and I just moved on because there was no proof either way. If it weren’t for the photos on my old phone, I might’ve convinced myself I imagined him entirely. Krishna Rai. A name that feels like fiction now.
“You seem in deep thoughts,” Aryan says gently, his voice pulling me back—out of my past, someplace I shouldn't let myself visit but old habits die hard.
He clears his throat. I blink and realize I’ve been staring at the same stretch of road for too long.
“It’s just that…” I trail off, then sigh. “I never thought I’d sit in a car again.”
I feel his eyes on me, not intrusive, not demanding—just present.
I shrug quickly, defensive instinct kicking in. “It doesn’t matter. I like being in fresh air anyway.”
It’s a lie.
No one likes breathing pollution while their hair turns into a mess. I don’t like it. But I also can’t afford a car in a million years, so it’s easier to pretend I enjoy the alternative. He doesn’t call me out on it. He just nods once and turns the music down a notch.
We drive in comfortable silence after that. I give directions occasionally—turn here, slow down there—and he follows without question. The city narrows as we move away from the main roads, buildings getting closer, streets less polished. When we finally stop outside my place, I unbuckle quickly, suddenly eager to be on solid ground again.
“This is fine,” I say. “Thank you.”
He parks properly, turns off the engine, and looks at me. “Anytime, Sunshine.”
I groan. “You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?”
“Nope.”
I open the door, step out, and then pause.
“Thanks,” I say again, softer this time.
There’s some banter—me telling him he should invest in better playlists, him telling me I have no joy—but when I finally smile, it’s real. Small, but real. I walk toward my building, keys in hand.
Halfway there, I turn around.
He’s still there. Sitting in the car. Watching. Realization draws on me. He is not leaving. Something warm stirs in my chest, quiet and unwanted. He won’t leave until I go inside. Until he knows I’m safe.
It shouldn’t matter.
But it does.
And that’s what scares me most.
CHAPTER 15
ISHIKA
The site is already loud—machines humming, metal clanging, men shouting instructions over each other, when I step onto the floor, ready to give today’s briefing. I adjust my file under my arm and walk straight into it, because that’s what I do. I don’t have the right to hesitate and I absolutely cannot shrink. I don’t let noise overpower me.
“Shift the partition two inches back,” I tell the laborers, pointing at the chalk line. “It won’t align with the beam otherwise. And the lighting grid will look crooked.”
