Page 67 of The Ruin I Chose

Sahil trailed behind, charming and efficient, trying to make me laugh.

I’d talked about my ‘situation’—Vihaan, Marcello, the emotional wreckage—during our flight to China. I’d filled him in, occasionally haltingly, honestly. He hadn’t judged. Didn’t offer advice, just listened.

“Oh Roxy,” he said. “You’re in love, aren’t you? Don’t deny yourself happiness?”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. He already knew.

Then he smiled, almost shy. “I’m in love too. Planning to tie the knot.”

“Priya?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, grinning.

“But she’s our client,” I pressed.

“So what? We’re into each other. And it’ll be good for Studio Rasa.”

I laughed. “Well, if she knows you’re a serial flirt and still wants you, either she’s blindly in love with you… or the sex is really good.”

“Bit of both,” he said.

We burst out laughing. For the first time in days, the weight on my chest eased.

Flying to China was not just a joint decision. It was strategic. He handled logistics. I made the aesthetic calls.

The Milan trip had barely ended when the offer came in—pristine office space in one of Mumbai’s most coveted towers.

Luxury. Scale. Furniture sourced from China—with a budget that made our pulse quicken.

The client was Mr. Gulati, CEO of a global financial services provider headquartered in Europe. He was short—no more than 5’5”—with a balding head, a slight belly, and a wardrobe that never included a blazer. Always in tailored trousers and crisp shirts, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest he was always halfway between a meeting and a crisis. Quiet, sharp. The kind of man who didn’t speak unless it was to close a deal or end a conversation.

Taking on this project meant Studio Rasa would enter the commercial space. It meant versatility. Visibility. It meant stepping into a world where design wasn’t just emotional; it was strategic.

Soon after we arrived, we did a quick recce. Took a day to survey the space, absorb its scale, and decide how to proceed. The next day, we headed to the Louvre Furniture Mall in Foshan—six floors of curated design, custom lighting, and stylised showrooms. I moved with purpose, my mind focused on specs and finishes.

I was trying to stay busy. Trying to stay numb. But I wasn’t myself. Not entirely. I moved through it like a shadow.

We were walking through a showroom when Sahil nudged me playfully. I laughed, gently patted his arm—and that’s when I saw it. A shadow. Tall. Still. Watching. My breath caught, my heart stuttered. A part of me recognised the feeling before my eyes did. I instinctively pulled my hand away from Sahil’s arm.

Even though Marcello and I were never a real thing, I still felt like I was his. Like some invisible thread still tethered me to him. I turned. But the shadow was gone.

“Are you ok?” Sahil asked.

I shook my head and brushed it off.

“I thought I saw someone.”

Marcello and I—we hadn’t spoken in months. I had no idea where he was. All I knew was that I’d fractured something sacred. I broke his trust. He was upset. Angry. Maybe he was done. Done with me. But the ache hadn’t left me. Not once.

Later that evening, Sahil insisted we unwind. The whole Marcello-Vihaan situation had left me frayed. A drink and dancing away the stress were exactly what I needed. I needed to numb my thoughts. Needed silence.

We walked into The Velvet Room—a high-end nightclub tucked inside the Sofitel complex. The music was low, the lighting moody. We sat near the glass façade, overlooking the Guangzhou skyline.

My arm was looped through Sahil’s, my head resting on his shoulder. I felt safe. Or tried to.

“What am I going to do?” I whispered.

He didn’t hesitate.