Siri's POV
It had been a long day at work.
Not the kind of long that you could measure with clock hands, but the kind that seeps into your bones, making even the air feel heavier.
Numbers blurred into meetings. Spreadsheets into noise.
Voices rose and fell in the background like waves I couldn't hear clearly, just the dull crash of deadlines and polite laughter. My pen moved. My mouth smiled when it was supposed to. I was the perfect machine in a neatly pressed kurta, nodding on cue.
On the outside, I was fine.
On the inside, my pulse tripped over itself.
Because Bhargav hadn't texted. Not once.
He'd told me yesterday he'd be busy with class schedules, lab orientation, and catching up with friends. And I had believed him. But I'd still expected… something.
A meme, an emoji, even one of his stupid typos that I secretly found endearing.
Instead, silence.
And silence, when it's from someone you're used to hearing from, is not empty—it's loud.
By the time the office clock blinked 6:47 PM, my temples were pulsing. I packed up slowly, telling myself it was fine. Maybe he was tired too. Maybe tomorrow would be different.
The sun had already dipped behind the jagged line of buildings when I stepped into the parking lot. The air was thick with the mingled smells of hot asphalt, faint petrol fumes, and the sharper tang of engine oil. My sandals clicked against the concrete, each echo bouncing off the tall, bare walls around me.
I reached my bike, the silver paint dulled by the dust of the week. The metal of the handlebar was warm when I unlocked it. I was sliding my helmet strap through the buckle when—
Something shifted.
It wasn't the wind.
It wasn't a sound.
It was the air.
That strange, invisible tightening you feel when someone is watching you—when the molecules themselves seem to rearrange.
My skin prickled. My neck felt suddenly too exposed.
And I didn't need to turn around to know.
But I did.
Abhi.
For a second, my body forgot how to breathe.
He didn't look like the man I had once loved. He looked like a photograph that had been left in the sun too long—edges curling, colors faded, a shadow of what used to be. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair matted as if he'd slept on it wrong and never fixed it. The beard he used to trim obsessively now looked patchy, uneven. But it was his eyes—dark, familiar—that made my stomach twist. There was something in them I couldn't name.
"Siri…" His voice was cracked, like dry leaves snapping underfoot. "Please… just listen once. That's all I ask."
The helmet strap slipped from my fingers. The key bit into my palm.
I took a small step back.
"Don't," I said. My voice came out flat, cold.
He swallowed, tried to force a smile, and failed. "I know I look pathetic. I probably am. But I needed to see you. Needed to say what I should've said months ago."
"Which is?" I asked. The ice in my tone surprised even me. My hands, however, trembled.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice collapsing around the words. "I messed up. I… I don't even know how I let it happen."
A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. "You let it happen? Like it was a small accident? You cheated, Abhi. You told me you loved me—looked me in the eye—and hours later you…" My throat locked. "Don't make me finish that sentence."
Shame flickered across his face, but it was thin. "I was drunk. She came onto me. I didn't mean—"
"Don't." The word sliced the air. "Don't you dare tell me you didn't mean it. I heard everything. Every word. Every… sound. You weren't confused, you weren't resisting—you were eager. I sat downstairs waiting for you while you—" I bit back the image, but it flashed in my head anyway, sharp enough to hurt.
He flinched.
"I lost everything that night," I said quietly. "It felt like someone had set my heart on fire and just… watched it burn."
"I know," he said hoarsely. "I regret it every second. Siri… I love you."
"No," I said firmly. "You loved the attention. You loved the fact that I trusted you enough to be open. But you never valued it. You threw it away for a cheap thrill. For a few moans behind a locked door."
His shoulders hunched. "Please. One more chance."
"I'm not that girl anymore," I said, stepping back again. "I don't wait for apologies to feel whole."
That's when his tone changed—like a knife being unsheathed.
"I won't leave," he said, sharper now. "You think you're better than me? That guy… what's his name—Bhargav? Is that who you're seeing?"
My chest tightened.
"Don't say his name."
He stepped forward, ignoring me. "So that's it? You're throwing away years for some loser who probably doesn't even—"
"Stop talking," I cut in. "You don't get to insult someone who never hurt me."
He reached out—too fast, too close.
I yanked my hand away. "Don't touch me."
And then—
The sound.
Low, steady, familiar—the hum of a Yamaha engine weaving through the quiet lot. My breath caught.
I turned.
Bhargav.
Helmet half-off, hair wind-tossed, his brow furrowing the second he took in the scene—me frozen, Abhi too close. In a blink, he killed the ignition, let the bike rest on its stand, and strode toward us.
"Bhargav," I breathed, my voice cracking.
He didn't ask questions. His gaze locked on Abhi's like a predator sizing up prey.
He stepped in front of me, a solid wall of warmth and fury.
"Step away from her," he said.
Abhi smirked. "This is between me and her."
"It stopped being about you the moment you betrayed her," Bhargav replied.
Abhi scoffed. "Look at you. Mr. Silent Hero. Always hovering, waiting for scraps."
I gasped.
Bhargav didn't flinch. "You're lucky I'm not already breaking your jaw."
And then—he did.
One hand in Abhi's collar, the other shoving him hard into the side of a nearby car. The thud of metal and flesh echoed, sharp and final.
"Don't talk to her again," Bhargav said, each word dipped in steel.
Abhi staggered, still defiant. "You think she's yours now?"
"She's not anyone's," Bhargav said. "And definitely not yours."
Then Abhi smirked—stupidly. "You always had a thing for her, didn't you? Even when you were helping me text her. You knew her favorite authors. Her chai habit. You told me she liked open terraces. You gave me the playbook."
My heartbeat stopped mid-beat.
I turned to Bhargav.
He didn't deny it. Didn't explain.
His eyes stayed locked on Abhi, jaw tight, breath sharp.
"What is he talking about?" I asked, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.
"Not now, Siri," he said.
Something inside me twisted.
That tiny seed of suspicion lodged itself in my chest—not enough to uproot trust, but enough to hurt.
Abhi grinned. "Tell her how you made me look perfect in her eyes."
That's when Bhargav's patience snapped. He drove his foot into Abhi's stomach, sending him to the ground. "Leave," he said, voice like a growl. "Next time, I won't stop."
Abhi lay there groaning, then scrambled up and limped away into the shadows.
Silence settled heavy and slow.
Bhargav's breathing was rough. His fists still curled. I stepped toward him. I wanted to ask again, to demand the truth, but right now… I needed him more than answers.
I wrapped my arms around him. He hesitated only a second before holding me back—tight, protective, grounding.
"You okay?" he murmured, his voice softer now.
I nodded into his shoulder. "Because you're here."
We left without another word, his bike weaving through the evening traffic, the city's neon and headlamps blurring past.
At the café, he didn't sit across from me—he sat beside me, close enough that our arms brushed. Without looking, he slid a chocolate milkshake in front of me.
I stared at it. Then at him.
"Why do you always know exactly what I need?"
His eyes flickered away. "Maybe because I've been noticing you for a long time."
My heart thudded once, loud.
"Even before you knew I existed."
I searched his face.
The words I wanted to ask sat heavy on my tongue.
"I didn't mean to help him," Bhargav said quietly. "I didn't know he'd use what I said to get close to you. I thought it was casual. Dumb, even. I didn't know he'd hurt you."
"Did you… love me then?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
Not yes. Not no.
That silence felt heavier than the noise Abhi had filled my ears with minutes ago.
"How do you actually know Abhi?" I asked to break the silence.
"Leave it Siri. Please." He almost snapped. I flinched.
And yet—my hand still rested on the table near his.
Because sometimes trust isn't the absence of doubt. It's choosing to stay, even with the questions.
And I stayed.
Yet the curiosity about how Abhi and Bhargav knew each other hadn't left me.
And I will find out.
To be continued...