Her POV – One Week Later
I read his "Relationship Rollercoaster."
I didn't know stories could make someone feel this way.
Not the kind you read in books — the kind that come out slow, almost hesitantly, like the person telling it is peeling off a layer of themselves, hoping you won't flinch at what's underneath.
That's how Ayan tells stories.
Like it still hurts… but he's learned how to smile through it.
Maybe not for the reasons he expected.I wasn't angry on his behalf. I wasn't judging the girls.I was… curious.
Not about others.About him.
About how someone so guarded, so quietly withdrawn from the world, could fall so silently — and still carry that heartbreak with such dignity.
He never played the victim.
That struck me more than anything else.
I remember the look on his face when he said, "I didn't need a fence. Just a signboard would've been enough."
That wasn't a punchline.
It was truth, masked as humor.
I replayed that line more than I should've. Even while brushing my teeth. Even while reading other manuscripts. Even while lying in bed, staring at my phone, wondering if I should message him something — anything.
But I didn't.
Because I knew the rule.
This wasn't about texting between stories.
This was about the moment he decided to tell me another one.
And so I waited.
It was Saturday night when I saw him online.I hovered over his name. Then stopped.Let him make the move.
And he did — Sunday, 9:23 AM.
Ayan:"Coffee? Or have you lost interest in plot twists?"
I smiled.
Me:"Only if this chapter has snacks."
We met at the same café.
He sat at the same corner table — hoodie half-pulled over his sleeves, as if even his forearms were shy and I don't know if he noticed, but I was different today.
Hair down. A little eyeliner. I even wore that light pink shade I rarely use.
Not because I was trying to impress him.
But because something about being near him made me want to… feel prettier.
And that scared me. While he stirred his coffee, I asked, "Do you regret falling for Khushi?"
He didn't answer right away.
Just looked out the window, like memories were written in the clouds.
"No," he said finally. "I regret expecting something from someone who never promised anything."
That sentence sank inside me like a stone in water.
Because I've been that girl once — the one who accepted attention she never earned.
And I wondered…
Would I ever hurt Ayan that way?
No. I wouldn't.
Because I already knew — he wasn't someone I wanted to just talk to.
He was someone I wanted to understand.
When he walked me back to the metro, we didn't talk about his next story.
We talked about books, and how both of us hated Math, and how he once submitted a blank exam sheet just to avoid failing in style.
I laughed so loud I almost choked on my biscuit.
But that was the thing.
He wasn't performing.
He was just… being himself.
And somehow, without trying, he made me want to be myself too.
Before parting, I asked, "Do you tell these stories to everyone?"
He looked at me, a little confused. "No. Just you."
I smiled.
Not because of the answer.
But because of the way he said it — casually, honestly, like it wasn't a big deal.
But to me?
It was everything.