SHANAYA'S POV :

The clock on the wall ticked.

Ticked.

Ticked.

Ticked.

Each second a cruel reminder: he wasn't here.

I sat by the door, legs pulled to my chest, forehead resting on my knees, arms wrapped tightly around myself like a shield against the world.

Any moment now.

Any moment, he would walk in, his keys jangling in his hand, that small smirk tugging at his lips, as if he hadn't just torn my soul in half.

Any moment now, I told myself.

If I just waited long enough, believed hard enough, maybe the universe would hear me.

Maybe it would bring him back to me.

The morning light shifted across the floor.

Afternoon crept in.

Evening bled into night.

He didn't come.

But I stayed there, unmoving.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Because what else was left of me but hope?

And God, how I hated hope.

It was crueler than grief.

Crueler than death.

"Why did he leave? Why wasn't I enough? Why didn't he stay?"

I closed my eyes, imagining it — his voice calling out to me, soft and rough and real.

"Shanaya. Baby, I'm home."

I would run to him.

I would throw myself into his arms, no questions asked.

No anger. No accusations.

Just love.

Just desperate, aching love.

I pressed my palm flat against the floor, feeling its coldness seep into my bones.

It grounded me. Reminded me that this—this empty penthouse, this bleeding heart, this unbearable silence—was real.

He wasn't coming back.

But still, I waited.

I whispered promises to the walls.

"I'll wait forever if I have to."

"Just come home."

The letter was tucked into my hoodie, close to my heart, the words burned into my skin like a brand.

Every time I breathed, it hurt.

Every time I blinked, I saw his face.

Memories flooded me like a storm I couldn't outrun.

Him brushing my hair behind my ear.

Him laughing, a sound that felt like sunlight.

Him whispering I love you against my skin like a sacred prayer.

And the last look he gave me before he left—

God, that look.

Like he knew.

Like he was already saying goodbye without words.

Another broken sob clawed its way up my throat.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to muffle it, as if the noise itself might shatter what was left of me.

No one told me heartbreak was like this.

No one warned me that you could miss someone so violently that it felt like your lungs were collapsing, your veins freezing, your bones fracturing under the weight of absence.

I tilted my head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling through blurred vision.

The world spun.

Or maybe it was just me.

Spinning.

Sinking.

Breaking.

"You promised me forever."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, cracked and broken, barely a whisper.

"You promised..."

But promises meant nothing when the person who made them wasn't here to keep them.

The door stayed closed.

The clock kept ticking.

And my heart kept breaking.

Over and over and over again.

I curled tighter into myself, the night wrapping around me like a shroud.

Maybe tomorrow, I thought.

Maybe tomorrow he'll come back.

Maybe tomorrow...

But even the hope tasted bitter now.

Even the prayers sounded hollow.

Still, I stayed by the door.

Still, I waited.

Because loving him had never been a choice.

And letting him go wouldn't be either.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Maybe not ever.

-----

"Maybe tomorrow," I whispered, my voice so hoarse it barely escaped my throat.

"Maybe tomorrow he'll come back. Maybe... maybe this is just a mistake. Maybe he's just handling something and he'll walk back through that door smiling and say, 'I'm sorry, baby. I'm here.' "

Hope. It was the cruelest thing.

It bloomed in my chest like a dying flower, wilting even as it tried to lift its head.

Another sob tore through Me, raw and painful, making her clutch the letter even tighter to her chest.

"Please," I whispered to the empty room.

"Please bring him back to me. I don't want anything else. I don't care about anything else. Just him. Only him. Please, God, I'm begging you."

"Please..."

My heart prayed louder than my lips ever could.

Every second without him was torture, a slow bleeding I couldn't stop.

------

The night grew colder.

The air inside the penthouse felt thick, suffocating, like it was mourning with me.

I stayed by the door, arms wrapped tightly around my knees, forehead resting against them.

The wood against my back was hard and unrelenting, but I didn't move.

Couldn't move.

Sleep pulled at me, slow and merciless.

But I fought it.

What if he came and I wasn't awake to see him?

What if he needed me?

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Another tear slipped down.

My body ached — my bones, my muscles, my heart — every part of me hurt.

A deep, gnawing ache that nothing could soothe.

I shivered under Kabir's hoodie, his scent clinging to the fabric in a way that made my chest cave in.

"Don't leave me," I whispered, so small it barely made a sound.

"Please..."

The words floated into the darkness, unanswered.

Slowly, slowly, my body gave in to exhaustion.

And like a child abandoned at the doorstep, I fell asleep against the door — broken, crumpled, forgotten.

Even in sleep, my arms stayed locked around myself, desperate for a warmth that would never come.

Even in dreams, I reached out for him.

------

FLASHBACK :

The ocean crashed against the shore in the distance, a soft, rhythmic heartbeat to the night.

Kabir and I had been lying on the beach, side by side, hands intertwined between us.

The stars glittered like they were watching us, whispering ancient promises.

Kabir had turned his head to me, a smile so rare, so raw, pulling at his lips.

A real smile.

Not the one he gave the world.

The one he saved just for me.

"Stay with me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"Forever."

I blinked at him, breathless.

"Forever?" I teased, but my heart was hammering against my ribs.

He tightened his hold on my hand.

"I don't say things I don't mean, Shanaya," he said, voice deep, certain.

"You're it for me. You're my home. My only home."

I had smiled, tears filling my eyes, a laugh escaping my lips.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, pressing my forehead to his.

"I promise."

He kissed me then — soft, slow, sealing that promise between us.

Forever.

The kind of forever people wrote poems about.

The kind of forever you believed in, with your whole stupid, trusting heart.

---

PRESENT :

I woke with a violent jolt, gasping for air.

The door was still closed.

The hallway still empty.

The penthouse still cold.

And the man who promised me forever...

was nowhere to be found.

My chest caved in as the sobs ripped through me once again.

He had promised.

He had promised.

And I had believed him.

God help me, I had believed him.

-------

Days bled into nights.

Nights bled into nothing.

I didn't know how long it had been.

Time stopped meaning anything.

I lived in the spaces Kabir left behind.

In the shirts still hanging in the closet.

In the watch he forgot on the nightstand.

In the crumpled notes he stuffed into drawers.

I moved through the penthouse like a ghost.

Touching his things.

Breathing in the fading traces of him.

Whispering to the silence like he might whisper back.

At night, I curled up in the giant hoodie he always made fun of — "It's swallowing you whole, little one," he'd say, tugging the hood over my head and laughing.

I pressed my face to his shirts, sobbing into the fabric until it didn't even smell like him anymore, until it just smelled like salt and heartbreak.

I clutched his watch against my heart, like maybe if I held it tight enough, it would start ticking backwards.

Take me back to the night he promised me forever.

Take me back to him.

"I'm still here," I whispered into the darkness.

"I'm still waiting, Kabir. You said you'd never leave me. You said—"

My voice cracked, breaking against the walls that didn't answer.

I started talking to his things like they could hear me.

Telling his hoodie about my day.

Telling his watch how scared I was.

Telling his shoes how much I missed his voice.

Maybe it was crazy.

But it was all I had left.

And God...

it hurt.

It hurt in ways no one ever warned me love could hurt.

---

WEEKS LATER

The world outside the penthouse blurred into nothingness.

I didn't open the windows.

I didn't answer the phone.

I didn't eat unless my body forced me to.

I didn't sleep unless my body collapsed.

I stayed curled up on the floor most days, Kabir's leftover shirts wrapped around me like a second skin.

How could I forgive him for shattering me?

How?

---

It was raining the night Vansh bhai broke down the door.

I didn't even flinch when it splintered open.

Didn't even lift my head when the footsteps came thundering in.

"Shanaya!" he shouted, panicked.

I just sat there on the floor, arms wrapped around my knees, Kabir's shirt pulled over my head, staring blankly at the empty doorway.

When Vansh bhai reached me, he froze.

I must have looked like a corpse.

Hair tangled.

Eyes hollow.

Skin pale and bruised with exhaustion.

He dropped to his knees in front of me.

"Shanu," he choked out, his voice breaking for the first time since we were kids.

"Please... please look at me."

I blinked slowly.

Tears fell, silent and endless.

"I'm still waiting for him," I whispered, my voice shredded.

Vansh's bhai face crumpled.

He pulled me into his arms, clutching me so tightly like he thought I might disappear too.

"You're not alone," he kept saying.

"You're not alone, Shanu. I've got you. I promise. I'm not letting you fall."

But I already had.

I had fallen the day Kabir walked out the door.

And no one — not even my brother — could reach the place inside me where the wreckage lived.

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End of the chapter 🥺🥺

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