A heavy silence settled between us, lasting a few long minutes. The kind where every second stretches.
"You don't have to answer that," I said quietly, regretting my earlier question.
Ravi smirked faintly without looking at me. "Again you slipped your mind?"
"Yeah… I guess," I exhaled, rubbing my face with both hands.
Then the words came out before I could stop them.
"But… you're a virgin, right?"
She turned her gaze toward me, calm and unreadable.
"You want me to answer that?" she asked.
I shook my head, suddenly wishing I could rewind the last five minutes.
"It's your choice," I said, voice softening. "Actually… forget I even said anything."
She didn't respond. Just kept looking at me with that strange, quiet look. Like she saw more than I meant to show.
Trying to lighten the mood, Rowan leaned back in his chair and looked around, as if calibrating the silence in the room.
"So," he began, "you know what kind of day I've had?"
Raavi raised an eyebrow, giving a small nod.
He told her everything — from the sleepless night, the surprise meetup at Warm Mug Café, to the unexpected introduction to Aria. How Leo manipulated the situation, how he said yes not out of feeling but out of pressure.
Raavi listened quietly, her eyes locked on him, her focus undivided.
"You accepted her proposal… just because your friend Leo wanted you to?" she asked
"Yeah," Rowan said with a sigh. "I mean, what else could I do? He just wouldn't let it go."
Raavi tilted her head slightly. "So… are all boys like this, or are you just a rare kind?"
He chuckled, half-hearted. "Not all, but most… yeah."
"Thank God I'm single," she said, grinning and shaking her head.
They both laughed — not too loud, just enough to break the tension and feel a little more human again.
"Don't you have feelings, Rowan?"
Raavi looked at me with genuine curiosity.
"How were you handling your last relationship?" she asked.
I shrugged.
"Yeah... a little confused, but not bad," I said honestly.
She leaned in slightly.
"Okay, tell me—have you ever really loved someone?"
"I don't think so," I replied after a pause.
One day, I was just sitting alone, thinking about it all. That's when it hit me—
I've never actually loved anyone.
All my relationships... they were just attraction. Moments of desire mistaken for something deeper.
"That's why I don't need a girlfriend," I whispered to myself more than to anyone else.
Rowan preferred to live in secrecy. He rarely opened up to anyone, guarding his thoughts like secrets buried under layers of silence. But this time was different. For the first time, he was expressing himself without hesitation.
Especially on topics like love—subjects he usually avoided, never sharing his opinions, never letting anyone get close enough to hear what he truly thought. He didn't just avoid emotional conversations; he avoided revealing anything. Even his knowledge—deep, insightful knowledge about people, psychology, society, systems—he kept it all hidden, as if afraid it might expose too much of him.
Rowan was the kind of boy who wouldn't show what he had unless someone asked. And even then, he sometimes chose to keep it to himself. He liked playing dumb, keeping his cards close, moving through life in a calculated, maneuvering way—observing, never revealing.
But tonight... something was different.
He didn't realize it, but he was under the quiet influence of dissociation. His rational mind, the one that always filtered every word and guarded every emotion, had gone quiet. And in its place, the irrational part had taken over—raw, unfiltered, vulnerable. He spoke without thinking, without checking himself. And for the first time in a long time, the world got a glimpse of the Rowan no one ever saw.
"It's 5:15 PM," I said, glancing at the clock. "Why are you still here? Weren't you going home?"
She shrugged casually.
"Yeah, I was. But I talked to the manager. Told him you're too tired to handle everything alone. So I'm staying."
"You're doing this for me?" Rowan asked, surprised.
She smirked.
"Not really. I told the manager to pay me extra."
She leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "And what would I even do at home? Watch TV? Too boring. Instead, I chose to stay here. And guess what? Bonus point—I'll earn some extra cash."
But Rowan knew it was a lie.
She wanted to spend time with him.
He didn't need her to say it—he could see it in her eyes, in the little nervous gestures, in the way her voice tried too hard to sound indifferent.
Rowan had understanding of human nature at a young age. He knew people far too well. In this world, no one ever really showed their true self. They were all afraid—afraid that if they revealed who they really were, they'd be judged, misunderstood, or worse… left behind.
"As for Raavi, she believed that if she ever showed her true self, people would only use her."
So they wore masks.
Different faces for different people.
A mask for friends.
A mask for love.
A mask for survival.
And tonight, hers was slipping.
"Why don't you get a boyfriend?" Rowan asked with a half-smile. "He'd probably keep you well entertained."
She looked at him, then laughed softly—but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes.
"I'm afraid," she said.
He tilted his head. "Afraid of what?"
She paused, then gave him a playful look, her voice laced with sarcasm.
"Afraid that someone like you might say yes to my proposal… not because he actually like me, but just because his friend told him to."
Rowan blinked, caught off guard.
She was teasing—but not entirely. There was truth hidden in her words, disguised as a joke. And he could feel it.
Raavi was an independent girl. She never liked depending on anyone—not even her own parents. She worked, earned, and fulfilled her needs on her own terms.
But despite her strength, there were parts of her that felt... incomplete.
The love triangle.
That's where her clarity faded.
She often wondered, Why would anyone love someone like me?
Her skin was light brown, her features not conventionally pretty.
Not ugly either—just... ordinary.
But there was a kind of beauty in her, the kind that only the truly intelligent could see. A quiet brilliance, a rare soul.
Still, the fear lingered.
The fear of being judged by her looks. Of being rejected before anyone ever got the chance to know her.
So she pretended not to care.
That people's opinions didn't matter.
That admiration was for others, not for her.
But deep down, a part of her wished people did admire her. That they spoke kindly to her. That someone would look past everything else and truly see her.
In her mind, relationships were for the beautiful or the rich—two things she never believed she was.
So she never tried.
She didn't wait to be rejected by the world.
She rejected herself first, quietly, in the silence of her own imagination.
After some time, two customers arrived. They only ordered coffee, so Raavi and Rowan didn't have much work to do.
"There are no customers now," Raavi said, stretching a little. "You can take some rest if you want."
"Okay," Rowan whispered. "I'm going to the terrace."
He stepped up the back stairs and out onto the terrace. The wind was calm, and the sky wore a shade of dusky blue. He sat down on the old wooden bench tucked beside a few potted plants and leaned back, hoping for a few minutes of sleep. But the caffeine still rushed through his bloodstream. His eyelids were heavy, but not enough to shut. His thoughts refused to quiet.
Fifteen minutes passed.
A vibration buzzed in his pocket.
It was a message from Aria:
"I accidentally slept at noon. Sorry for the late reply."
Rowan unlocked his phone.
Another message sat above it—sent two hours ago. It was from Leo.
He blinked, surprised. How did I miss this?
Leo had written:
"Bro, she's a sweet girl. Not like those gold diggers. She told me she wants to take another chance at love—and asked if I knew someone good. And suddenly I thought of you. I'm sure she'd be happy with you. As your friend, I just want to say—maybe it's time you gave your love life a little attention."
Rowan stared at the screen.
His thumb hovered over the reply button.
His heart didn't feel the same excitement as Leo's words suggested. He closed the chat instead, locking the screen again, letting his phone rest on his lap.
At that moment, Raavi came to the terrace.
Rowan looked up and asked, "Did any customer arrive?"
"No," she replied. "I just came to check whether you managed to fall asleep or not."
"So, I'm being monitored now?" he smirked.
"You're awake," she said, ignoring the tease. "I'm making coffee for myself. Want one?"
"Yeah, make one for me too. I don't know why I can't sleep."
"Maybe because you've already had too much coffee?" she said with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah… I guess. But I still want one more."
Raavi chuckled. "You're hopeless."
"I think I need my bed to actually sleep," Rowan added, leaning back on the bench, sighing.
"Well, until then," she said as she turned to go, "enjoy your slow descent into caffeine madness."
Rowan sat quietly, staring at the city lights flickering in the distance. Something inside him felt unsettled.
He didn't know what was happening to him. One moment, he was filled with energy—craving something to do, eager to learn, to move, to be somewhere. The next moment, that spark would vanish, leaving behind a strange emptiness. Like his mind was tugging him in opposite directions, never landing anywhere.
He wanted to focus—on work, on life, on something meaningful. But his thoughts kept scattering like loose pages in the wind.
It wasn't just tiredness. It was something deeper, something he couldn't name.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"Where are you trying to take me?" he whispered to himself.
His heart and mind were clearly not on the same page.
Confused, Rowan slowly made his way down to the ground floor.
There, he saw Raavi standing behind the counter, brewing herself a coffee—calm, focused, unaware of his gaze. Something about her stillness pulled him back into his thoughts like a wave.
Rowan is like a octopus—one of those strange, intelligent creatures from the deep sea. The kind that hides in darkness, changes color to match its surroundings, conceals its emotions, shifts its shape. A lonely genius living in silence beneath the surface.
But right now, that octopus wasn't in the deep.
He was floating somewhere in the twilight zone—between the surface and the dark abyss. Restless, exposed… hungry. Searching.
And now, he had two targets.
The first: Aria.
He could try to understand her, talk to her, give some effort to this "relationship" Leo pushed him into. But she lived in the digital world—texts, emojis, half-seen stories. That wasn't Rowan's way. He didn't connect through a screen. He couldn't read people in pixels.
Then there was the second: Raavi.
She was here. Real. Present. And for the first time, Rowan noticed how much uninterrupted time they'd been spending together. And something within him was shifting—an interest not just in her face or voice, but in the way she thinks, the layers she might be hiding, the walls she had built.
His mind sparked to life—recalling psychological patterns, analyzing microexpressions, running through possibilities. Like a chessboard of emotions. How she'd react to compliments. When she let her guard down. What made her laugh… or flinch.
And in that moment, Rowan made a quiet decision.
He would study her.
Test her boundaries.
Play the game—not to win, not even to seduce… but to understand.
The octopus had found something alive in the twilight.
And it was ready to move.
Raavi placed the coffee cups onto the saucers with quiet precision. A moment later, she turned off the machine, picked up the tray, and walked over to where I was sitting.
She set it down with casual grace—two steaming cups of coffee, the aroma curling in the air between us.
Two sugar packets beside hers.
One beside mine.
Why are you staring at me like a total freak?" Raavi said, not even looking up. "I've been noticing it since the moment you stepped onto the ground floor.
I glanced at the cups, then at her.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Who puts sugar in black coffee?" I asked, half-genuine, half-mocking.
She smiled—
"There are some strange creatures in the world," she said, sipping.
"You're one of them, aren't you?"
I looked at her, leaned back, and tilted my head slightly.
"I'm just wondering what exactly is wrong with you that no one's in a relationship with you."
She let out a dramatic gasp. "Aah, so you've finally found it—my tragic flaw! Please, I'm dying to know."
"You are sarcastic too much," I said. "Way too much. And you never let anything slide. Why would anyone deal with that level of... cool sarcasm?"
She blinked slowly, leaned in just enough to be felt, not noticed.
"You mean I shatter the paper-thin egos of fragile men?" she said, her voice sugary-smooth and soaked in irony.
I smiled. Couldn't help it.
In that moment, I wasn't sure if we were arguing or flirting.
Or both.
But she's right.
The kind of men with fragile egos or toxic pride—they couldn't handle someone like her. Raavi would dismantle their false confidence in seconds. They'd either lash out or fall apart trying to tame her fire.
Taking everything personally, feeding your own ego just to feel powerful—that's weakness.
And I'm not one of them.
I know how to deal with someone like her. The sharp mind, the sarcasm, the cold deflections that hide a thousand buried emotions. I know how to play this game.
In fact, I can already see it.
She doesn't even realize what just happened.
And I bet… she's wondering.
What's happening?
What just happened?
But seriously," I asked, taking a slow sip of my coffee, "why are you single? Strict parents?"
Raavi raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting—part amused, part irritated. "Why are you so interested in my relationship status?" she replied, a touch of frustration curling into her voice.
Ah, that frustration and irritation—I don't think she has a good bond with her parents
I shrugged, still holding my cup, watching the steam curl into the air between us. "I'm just curious. A girl like you—independent, funny, kind—how is it possible no one's out there trying to win you over?"
She narrowed her eyes, lips twitching. "Are you… trying to win me?"
I leaned back slightly, letting a teasing grin spread across my face. "Nah. You're not my type."
For a moment, she just stared at me—half-shocked, half-smiling like she was deciding whether to laugh or throw her coffee at me.
"You aren't my type either," she said with a grin.
"I'm just kidding," I said with a little bit laugh.
"Tell me the reason
Okay, if you're forcing me…" she said, her voice soft but edged with something sharp—truth, maybe.
She leaned back slightly, looking up at the ceiling for a second before continuing. "I've seen too many relationships these days. They're almost all fake. Either it's just hunger for lust… or just some drama disguised as affection."
I watched her, silent.
So you want a boyfriend… but haven't found the right one yet? Is that the real problem here? I thought, keeping my face straight.
She glanced at me and smirked. "And today I heard one more case…" Her eyes widened dramatically, clearly teasing. "Where a boy accepted a girl's proposal… just because his friend told him to."
I groaned, leaning forward. "Okay. I already regret telling you that."
She burst out laughing. And honestly, I couldn't help it—I laughed too.
You don't want to be anyone's priority?" I ask, leaning forward, studying her.
I've seen too many girls. Girls who live for that spotlight, who crave to be someone's center of the universe. It's not even about love. It's about being seen. One of my friend's girlfriends—attention seeker, full-time drama artist. Every sigh, every story crafted just so people orbit around her. I wonder...
"You're not one of them?" I ask, calmly. But really, I'm testing her.
"Humans are social animals,. It's coded in our DNA. The need to be noticed. To be admired. Not everyone flashes it like a neon sign, but deep down, they all want to be seen.
She blinks once, looks at me. "Nah, I don't like it," she says, shrugging like it's obvious.
Ah. Look at that. She fell right into the trap, I think, sipping my coffee.
But she's not done. "I don't like creating drama for attention."
Makes sense. Maybe you don't know yet.
Maybe you've never had anyone to be against, no emotional battlefield to perform on. Or maybe… you like the attention but just haven't noticed it in yourself yet. That would explain the quiet resistance, the sarcasm, the walls.
I smile, but inside I'm watching, listening, collecting pieces.
It's 11:00pm she said, just 7 hours left
Rowan and Raavi talked for almost three hours straight. No distractions, no interruptions—just quiet conversation that unraveled slowly like a tightly coiled thread. And somewhere between her sarcasm and laughter, she started opening up. Bit by bit. Word by word.
He was beginning to understand her now. Not just the surface-level Raavi—the cool, witty girl who brewed coffee like a ritual—but the person behind the defenses. The quiet fears. The masked loneliness. The contradictions that made her real.
There's a theory—one Rowan always kept tucked in the back of his mind. Most men don't know it. Most women don't say it aloud. But it's there:
Women are deeply, instinctively drawn to intelligence.
Not the kind that screams from books or loud opinions. No, not that.
It's emotional intelligence—the ability to listen without trying to fix, to feel without trying to control. The ability to be calm in someone else's storm.
And intelligence, true intelligence, isn't something you can fake. You can't show it off like a trophy or wear it like a badge. It's invisible. It reveals itself quietly, over time. And when it does, it creates a strange kind of beauty—not dramatic, not confused, not complicated. Just… original.
Rowan knew that. He knew how it worked. He knew how to play with it.
And maybe that's why she kept talking. Her walls were down now. She was saying things no one else had heard. Her voice dropped lower. Her words turned into weight. Secrets slipped between sentences—buried pieces of her life, things she'd left in the dark for too long.
And suddenly, Rowan wasn't analyzing anymore.
He was just listening.
And something inside his head—something cool and calculated—shook loose.
I'm not a love child," she said quietly.
I tilted my head, unsure. "What do you mean by that?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, her eyes drifted toward the floor. Then, softly, she began.
"My parents... they never really made much effort for me. My brother was always their first priority. His studies, his future, his meals—they cared about everything for him. No lectures, no scolding. He was free to live the life he wanted."
She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts.
"But he's not the villain in this. He's actually... good. Really good to me." A small smile curved on her lips. "Whenever mom or dad scolded me, he'd come check on me. And if I was crying, he'd hug me so tight and whisper, 'Don't worry. I'm with you.'"
I leaned back, surprised by the warmth in her voice. "Then how can you say you're not a loved child? Your brother clearly loves you."
She smiled faintly, this time with something softer—maybe pain, maybe pride.
"Yeah. I mean my parents didn't love me like that. But my brother... he's different."
Then she chuckled, mimicking a boyish voice, "'Didi, I want this... Didi, I want that…'" Her face lit up, and she continued, "And I buy it for him. I see how happy he gets. That's how I stay happy too. Just watching him waiting for me at home, smiling like I'm his whole world."
Her expression shifted—gentle but firm.
"That's why I don't need a boyfriend. If I had one, I'd have to give him my time. I'd have to split myself. And right now, I'm not earning enough to raise two kids." She smiled, almost laughing. "Because, honestly, my brother is like my little kid too
She took a slow breath, as if pulling the memory out from somewhere deep.
"One day, I told my dad I wanted to get a job. He asked me what kind of job. I said, 'Anything. I'm grown now. I want to earn my own money.' He was eating at the time. I said a lot to him—about independence, about wanting to stand on my own—but he didn't say a word. Just kept eating, quietly."
Her fingers traced the rim of her cup as she went on.
"I thought he was considering it. I thought maybe I'd finally convinced him. But when he finished his meal, he stood up… and exploded."
I stayed silent, just listening.
"He shouted at me. Said I was just tricking him. That I wanted a job so I could meet my so-called 'boyfriend'—who didn't even exist. He said I'd end up partying around like the other girls, shaming the family."
I could hear the frustration in her voice, the tightness in her throat. But she didn't stop.
"I shouted back. I told him he never gave me any freedom. That just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I'm doing anything wrong. I told him I never did anything to ruin his so-called reputation."
Her voice faltered for just a second.
"And then… he slapped me."
I didn't interrupt. I couldn't.
"My brother saw everything. He rushed in, yelled at my father. But I was crying, and even then, I told him—'Go inside. It's not your matter.'"
She smiled faintly, eyes glossed with the memory. "I didn't want him to get into trouble because of me."
She took a sip of coffee, then continued.
"After that day, I didn't speak to my father for a while. Instead, I went to my Dadaji—my grandfather. I asked him to talk to my father. I promised I'd never do anything to dishonor the family. I just wanted to work."
Her face softened.
"My Dadaji is a good man. He believes that, at some point in life, every child—boy or girl—deserves the chance to be free. He once told me, 'A time will come when they must be released, like an eagle. And they must fly. So high, that no one can even survive where they soar.'"
I smiled a little at that.
"He convinced my father. And after that, I joined a café. I learned to brew coffee, cook dishes. Sometimes, I try those recipes at home. And guess what?" she added, a grin flickering on her face, "Everyone eats like it's food straight from heaven."
Rowan sat there, facing her, but his mind had already begun to drift. Her voice echoed faintly in the background, like distant waves brushing the shore—present, but far. Something inside him had started to unravel.
In the last forty hours, he had barely slept three. Just three hours of restless, broken rest. And now, his mind had started shutting down—like lights slowly flickering off in a building no longer powered. A heaviness filled his chest. His thoughts were blurred, disconnected. He was slipping into the final stage of dissociation—where the world around you continues to move, but you don't feel part of it anymore.
Raavi's words clung to him.
"I'm not a loved child."
That single line echoed in his head on repeat, stirring something inside him. The way she spoke about her brother—how she found joy in him, how she felt seen because of him—it struck a chord. And it kept playing, over and over.
He thought of his own past. He was a single child. No siblings to laugh with, cry to, or fight for. Sometimes, he'd ask himself in silence: Why didn't God give me a brother or sister? Not out of complaint, but out of some deep, aching curiosity.
And now, he couldn't help but wonder.
Was I a loved child?
The question lingered—unspoken, unanswered—but loud enough to drown out everything else.
It's 4:30 a.m.," Raavi said, shocked, glancing at the time.
"I didn't even realize how fast time flew..."
She turned her head quickly toward him. "Rowan!" she called out, a bit louder this time.
"Rowan!"
"Yeah..." he answered, blinking slowly, as if waking from a heavy dream.
"Are you even listening to me, or did you just fall asleep sitting there?"
"No, I was just... thinking," he replied, his voice tired, words dragging slightly.
Raavi smiled faintly, her own energy nearly drained. "I'm here, buddy. You go get some rest. There's a cot in the kitchen. Use it."
Rowan nodded. "Okay... I'm going."
He stood up slowly, like his body needed permission from his mind to move. Without another word, he walked away—leaving behind a long, quiet silence filled only by the soft hum of the coffee machine and two half-empty mugs.
Rowan had no siblings. Every festival, every celebration, he did it alone. There was no one to wait for, no one to share things with. No one to surprise him with gifts or silly traditions. Just him, and whatever he could create to feel like it meant something.
He never truly understood what being loved felt like.
His past relationships? Just attraction.
He knew it.
Love? It wasn't real to him. No one ever taught him that love was even a thing worth chasing. The books he read, the knowledge he collected over the years—they all whispered the same message:
Love is weakness.
He hadn't slept in 38 hours. His body was crashing from too much caffeine, too much overthinking, and now, this—talks of love. But not just from anyone. It came from Raavi. Her voice. Her pain. Her warmth.
It stirred something deep.
Not just her words, but what they meant.
He remembered his own childhood. No joint family. No cousins or siblings. Just one room. His own space. His own thoughts. He learned to celebrate wins alone. Learned to enjoy solitude. And somewhere along the way, he convinced himself that was enough.
No one really admired him. No one asked him what he felt. He had no one to share the knowledge that filled his head. No one to hear the things he couldn't say aloud.
And now, all those silent memories hit him at once.
His eyes widened. A cold wave of realization washed over him.
His hands were shaking.
His heart pounded.
He wasn't tired anymore. He was scared.
Scared of himself.
Because somewhere deep inside, he realized—
There was something in him that stopped him from being loved.
Something blocking him.
Something guarding him.
Something that whispered, "Don't trust it. It won't last."
He had read too much. Observed too much. Understood people too well. Their nature. Their patterns. How quickly they fall in love... and how quickly they leave.
Seven times. Eight.
Each time he predicted the end.
And each time, he was right.
So eventually, he stopped.
Stopped chasing.
Stopped hoping.
Stopped believing.
Because when you know how it ends, why even begin?
"Rowan's inner thoughts or messy brain"
Shut up, you idiot. You haven't slept in what—28, maybe 30 hours? You're out of your mind. That's it. You need sleep, not drama.
"No. You're just an unloved child with a stupid face. Just accept it. No one wants you. They never did."
—————
"Why me… every time? I was alone then. I'm alone now too."
"Why didn't she love me?"
"Why did they all leave me like I meant nothing?"
"Why do they treat me like a slave, as if I don't have feelings?"
"When she shouted at me, it wasn't even my fault—I told her beforehand. I tried."
"You're just tired. That's all. You haven't slept. You're overthinking. This is normal. You've been here before."
"I was so happy when he was with me… but why did God took....
"Rowan....,
remembering the past is just foolishness.
And that… wasn't you. That wasn't who you are
"I don't know who I am
Rowan. This is not you. This is just a moment,
"This wasn't even a big deal for you. You've handled worse."
"You've faced fear. You've beaten stress, anger, pain. Don't forget that. You win. You've always won."
Just accept that you NEED....
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
"Raavi..." I blinked.
"The manager just arrived," she said softly. "I'm going home now. Do you want to come with me or rest here a bit?"
Her voice didn't feel real.
Everything around me was spinning.
It felt like I was hallucinating—
Like I wasn't in this world anymore.
Like the rules had changed and I'd woken up in some other life.
I stared at her for a few seconds, not even recognizing her face. Everything felt blurry. Like my brain was underwater.
"Why are you sitting on the ground?" she asked, concerned.
"Hey..."
She rushed toward me, eyes wide like she might hug me at any second.
"Rowan… are you crying?" Her voice was gentle, scared.
"What happened?"
I looked up at her slowly, trying to find words.
"I haven't slept in... I don't even know how many hours," I whispered.
"I guess that's why the tears are falling."
She knelt beside me and gave me a small smile—the kind you give to calm a little child.
"Okay. Come on. I'll drop you home. I'm sure your bed is waiting for you."
I couldn't help but smile back, just a little.
I didn't argue.
We walked out together.
The road was empty.
Only silence followed us.
Cold wind touched my skin, streetlights flickered behind thin fog, and a soft mix of shadows and morning light painted the world outside.
It all looked normal.
But inside me?
Inside me was a whole new universe—
A place I'd never visited before.
Everything was suddenly full of feelings I had never let myself feel in this life.
When we reached my house, Raavi waited as I rang the bell.
My mom opened the door—surprised to see me at this hour.
Without saying much, I walked straight to my room, dropped onto the bed...
...and after that—
I don't remember anything.