Dhruve didn't expect her to reply.He had sent that message half out of exhaustion, half out of something he refused to name. A moment of weakness — nothing more. But that evening, when his phone buzzed, his stomach twisted before he even looked.
Priya:"You don't sound fine. Can we talk?"
He stared at the screen, thumb hovering. "Shit…" he whispered.
The words looked harmless — polite, maybe even kind — but they hit a nerve. That tone, that soft concern she used to have right before lying through her teeth. He could almost hear her voice saying it.
He set the phone down and walked to the balcony. The air outside was thick and humid, the city glowing under the haze of streetlights. He tried to let the noise drown out his thoughts. But they came back, dragging her voice with them.
Can we talk.Talk about what? About how easily she destroyed him? About how she'd replaced him before the coffee even cooled on their kitchen table?
He poured himself a drink — something strong — and downed half before sitting on the edge of the bed. The phone buzzed again.
Priya:"Please, Dhruve. Just once. I need to explain."
He let out a dry laugh. "Explain? Now you want to fucking explain?"
He didn't reply. Instead, he turned the phone off, tossed it aside, and closed his eyes.
That's when the knock came.
Three soft knocks — familiar. Predictable.
"Anya…" he muttered.
When he opened the door, she stood there holding a small box. "You didn't answer my calls again," she said, trying to smile. "So I brought dinner."
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You don't have to do that every night."
"I know," she said, stepping inside anyway. "But I wanted to."
He didn't have the energy to argue. She placed the box on the table and began unpacking it, talking about her day — small things, work, traffic, random gossip. Her words filled the apartment, the way Priya's used to.
He didn't realize how quiet his place had become until now.
"Dhruve," she said softly after a while, watching him from across the table, "you're somewhere else again."
"Yeah," he said. "I guess I never really left that place."
She hesitated, then reached across and touched his hand. "You don't have to stay there forever."
He looked at her — really looked. The worry in her eyes. The sincerity. The small tremor in her voice. She didn't deserve to be tangled in his mess, yet she was already halfway caught.
"Anya," he said quietly, "you should stop coming here."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Because I'll hurt you," he said flatly. "Not on purpose. But I will."
Her fingers tightened around his. "You already have," she whispered.
The words froze him. He didn't know how to respond, and she didn't wait for one. Instead, she leaned closer and pressed her lips to his — soft, brief, trembling. Not passion — desperation.
When she pulled back, her eyes shimmered. "You don't have to love me," she said, "but at least let me be here."
He exhaled slowly, his pulse still uneven. "You shouldn't want that."
"Maybe I don't care what I should want," she said, half-smiling through tears.
He didn't push her away. He didn't pull her closer either. They just sat there — two broken people pretending to keep each other whole.
Later, when she fell asleep on the couch, Dhruve sat beside her, watching the faint rise and fall of her breath. There was warmth here, but it felt borrowed. Temporary.
He looked at his phone again. Against his better judgment, he turned it back on.
Three new messages.All from Priya.
"I know you hate me.""I deserve it.""But please, I need to talk to you once. Face to face."
He read them again and again, his thumb brushing over the screen.
"Damn it," he muttered, tossing the phone onto the table.
The silence in the room grew heavy again. Anya shifted in her sleep, her head resting on her arm. She looked peaceful. He wished he could feel the same.
He poured himself another drink, staring at the phone's dim glow. The messages pulled at him like gravity — painful, familiar, irresistible.
He whispered to himself, "Some threads shouldn't be pulled."
But deep down, he knew he would. Because pain, in some twisted way, still made him feel alive.