The news didn't come from Apurva.
It came from the notice board.
"Selected Students for National Leadership Conclave – Delhi."
Name no. 3 — Apurva Mehra.
Rithvik read it twice.
Then a third time.
Delhi.
Three months.
Without telling him.
His chest tightened — not jealousy, not anger.
Something worse.
He found her in the library.
Of course she was studying. Like nothing changed.
He stood in front of her table.
"You're leaving?"
She didn't look up immediately.
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"Since yesterday."
"And you thought you didn't need to tell me?"
Now she looked up.
Cold. Calm. Controlled.
"Why would I?"
That hit straight.
He leaned closer, voice low.
"Because I deserve to know."
She closed her book slowly.
"Deserve? Tumne hi toh bola tha stay away."
Silence.
People around them pretended not to listen.
Rithvik's voice dropped even softer.
"Distance ka matlab disappearance nahi hota."
Apurva's fingers tightened slightly over the page.
"Maybe for you it doesn't. For me it does."
That sentence had weight.
He swallowed.
"You're running."
She stood up.
"No. I'm growing."
That difference shattered his argument.
For a second… he almost said it.
Almost.
"Apurva, I—"
Footsteps approached.
Her friends entered the library.
Moment broken. Again.
She picked her bag.
"I leave next week."
And walked past him.
This time, their shoulders brushed slightly.
Not accidental.
Not intentional.
Just… something.
He didn't turn around.
But his fist clenched.
Later That Night
Rithvik stared at her name again.
He told himself it didn't matter.
Three months is nothing.
But his mind whispered something ugly:
What if she changes?
What if she comes back different?
What if she doesn't come back at all?
For the first time…
The rich, controlled, composed Rithvik Malhotra felt out of control.