Monty stood quietly, holding out his phone to Preety. His eyes were heavy, but his smile tried to hide everything he felt.
"Take it," he said gently. "It's yours now. Romy will call this number."
Preety hesitated, then slowly took the phone. It felt heavier than it should have. Maybe it was the guilt. Maybe it was the silence between her and Monty that spoke louder than any goodbye.
Monty watched her walk away, her steps hesitant, almost unwilling. As she left with Romy, Monty's heart shattered into a thousand pieces. The moment the door shut behind them, he rushed to his room and collapsed onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow.
His voice trembled in the silence.
"Why does it hurt so much when I knew it was never mine?"
Tears soaked the pillow as the room echoed with quiet sobs. His phone was gone. His connection to Romy—gone. Everything he thought he had with Romy… now belonged to someone else.
Meanwhile, Romy was driving back with Preety. He smiled as he glanced at her from the driver's seat.
"It feels nice," he said, gently reaching for her hand. "Having you here beside me... like this."
But as soon as his fingers touched hers, she slowly pulled her hand away. Not roughly, but enough to leave a chill in the air.
Romy looked at her, puzzled.
"Did I do something wrong?"
Preety didn't say anything. She turned her face to the window, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Preety," Romy whispered, this time softer, "why are you so quiet?"
She turned to him slowly, her eyes now filled with pain—deep, silent pain. The kind that didn't need words.
He stared into those eyes, and suddenly, the warmth he had felt in Switzerland vanished. The playful laughs, the secret touches, the innocent stares—they all felt like dreams now.
"Say something…" he said.
Preety shook her head and looked away again, whispering just one sentence:
"I wish things were different."
The rest of the car ride passed in silence.
Back in Monty's room, he was curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow like a child seeking comfort.
"Romy..." he whispered. "Why did you make me feel special…?"
His thoughts wandered back to Switzerland—the night it rained, when Romy danced with him in the streets, laughed with him under the stars, kissed him like no one else existed.
"Those moments… were they only for me? Or would you have done the same with Preety if she were there?"
He got up and walked to the mirror. His reflection looked tired, broken, and unsure.
"You were never supposed to fall for him," he told himself. "He was never yours to keep."
In Romy's home, Preety was silent as she unpacked her things. Romy stood at the door, watching her. He finally walked in and sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
"You don't look happy," he said.
Preety forced a small smile. "It's nothing."
"Don't lie to me. I know something's bothering you."
She sighed, setting aside the scarf she was folding. Then she turned toward him and asked softly,
"Romy…" she said softly, "what is it about me that you like?"
Romy tilted his head, slightly surprised. There was something different in her voice—lower, less musical. A shadow of curiosity passed through his eyes.
"Your voice," he said slowly. "It sounds… different."
Preety offered a rehearsed smile. "I had a sore throat," she lied smoothly. "It stayed for a while. But I'm better now."
Romy, as trusting as ever, nodded. "I see… well, I kinda got used to that husky version," he chuckled, stepping closer.
He reached for her lips with a gentleness that trembled with affection. His fingertips brushed against her mouth, and his voice dropped into a whisper.
"I like everything about you," he murmured. "The way you dance, even though it's… a bit weird," he laughed softly. "The way you blush like you're trying not to. The way you eat like the world disappears. And… those candy lips."
He leaned in and kissed her.
For a moment, time stopped.
But not for Preety.
Her mind spun into chaos. She could see her father Prem's cold eyes, hear his warning like a curse echoing in her head:
"If Romy ever finds out the truth and this marriage doesn't last—your girlfriend will pay the price."
She froze—but didn't stop him. She allowed the kiss. Because she had to. Because Romy couldn't know. Because the truth was too dangerous.
But Romy… he suddenly paused.
He pulled away.
Not abruptly, but with confusion painted across his face. Something was off. Something inside him had stirred—not with passion, but with doubt.
He rose from the bed and walked toward the balcony, the cool night breeze brushing against his face as if trying to wake him up from a dream.
He leaned on the railing, lost in thought.
Why… why didn't I feel it? he wondered. Why did that kiss feel empty? In Switzerland, just a brush of her hand had me going crazy. Just her smile made my mind race. I couldn't wait to touch her, to be close, to… to make love.
His brows furrowed.
But now… she was right next to me. Her lips were mine. And I felt… nothing. Not desire. Not heat. Not even that same magnetic pull.
He closed his eyes, frustration building in his chest.
What's wrong with me? Or… is something different about her?
Back in the room, Preety sat still, lips trembling from the taste of guilt. She glanced toward the balcony, where Romy stood silently. Her heart ached, torn between the fear of losing him and the duty of keeping her promise.
She whispered to herself, "Forgive me, Romy… "