KABIR’S POV :

I stood alone on the upper level of the ballroom, hidden behind an ornate pillar carved with golden roses and velvet drapes.

It was the kind of place you come to when you have something to prove.

Or something to bury.

I had both.

The last five years had sharpened me into a man of restraint. I spoke only when needed. I smiled only when required. And I felt—

Only when no one could see me.

But tonight, the walls I’d built around myself cracked.

Because she was here.

Shanaya.

In Black.

God, Black.

Like the color she wore the night she first told me she loved me. Like fire. Like blood. Like ruin.

She moved through the crowd with an elegance that hurt to look at. Her laugh—a faint echo I could barely hear—hit me like a car crash. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t reckless and full of sunshine like it used to be.

It was rehearsed. Restrained. Like her smile had boundaries now.

Beside her stood Vihaan—his hand loosely at the curve of her back, his smile perfectly charming.

A man too composed, too perfect.

Too undeserving.

My chest tightened. A storm swirled under my skin.

But I didn’t move.

I had no right to.

After all, I’d left her.

For her own good. For her safety. For her future.

I had chosen her over me…

And lost her all the same.

------

“Mr. Singhania,” a voice whispered.

A staff member, soft-spoken, respectful.

“You’ve been requested to give the speech for the night. The hosts insist.”

I let out a low breath. Nodded.

Of course. My name was still currency.

My silence was still loud.

But tonight, it would speak.

As I descended the staircase, the weight of my own heartbeat felt like an earthquake in my ribs.

And with every step… I felt her eyes search the crowd.

She didn’t know I was here.

Not yet.

------

The moment I stepped into the spotlight, time stopped.

The emcee introduced me with elegant flattery, but my ears tuned it out. Because my gaze had already found her.

Front row.

Stilled.

Her fingers froze around the stem of her wine glass. Her breath visibly hitched. And her lips—painted crimson like the old days—parted in disbelief. The look in her eyes was the same one I had memorized five years ago.

Only now… it was layered with hurt.

Confusion.

And rage.

I took the mic, swallowed the lump in my throat, and forced my voice to be steady.

-------

“Good evening everyone,” I began.

“My name is Kabir Singhania. Though I imagine some of you didn’t expect to hear that name spoken aloud tonight.”

A few polite chuckles. I didn’t smile.

“I don’t attend galas. I don’t do speeches. And I especially don’t like being the center of attention. But tonight...”

My voice dropped a little, thick with something I couldn’t mask anymore.

“Tonight, I couldn’t stay away.”

My gaze found hers again. Held it.

“There are moments in life that define us. Not the loud ones. Not the headlines or awards. But the quiet ones. Like the first time someone holds your hand and suddenly, the noise of the world fades. Or the last time you look back… knowing you won’t be forgiven.”

She blinked.

Once.

Tears? No.

Not yet.

But her facade had cracks now.

“I’ve spent five years building something most would call untouchable. But what no one knows is—every foundation I laid was out of pain. Every brick was anger. Every success… guilt.”

I stepped forward, voice thickening, threading straight to her.

“There was someone I loved once. Fiercely. Desperately.

So much that I let her go.

Because loving her meant watching the world sharpen its knives.

And I couldn’t—”

My voice faltered. I clenched the mic tighter.

“I couldn’t let her bleed for me.”

The crowd was hushed. Spellbound.

But I wasn’t speaking to them.

I never was.

“I don’t expect forgiveness. Or understanding.

But tonight, as I stand before all of you…

I just hope she knows…

I never stopped choosing her.

Even when it looked like I didn’t.”

My words landed like punches against glass.

I saw it then—just for a second—

Her eyes glossed over. Her lips trembled. Her chin lifted like she was holding back the storm.

I gave a small nod, ending the speech with a single, quiet line:

“To the ones who taught us love… even if they never stayed to see us survive it.”

Applause roared.

But I couldn’t hear it.

Because in that one glance—

The five years of silence, sacrifice, and soul-crushing regret between us shattered.

She remembered.

She felt.

And so did I.

-----------

SHANAYA’S POV

My hands were trembling.

I didn’t notice until I looked down at the way my fingers clenched the stem of my wine glass like it was the only thing anchoring me to the ground.

That voice.

That voice.

It crawled under my skin like fire laced with memory. The moment it echoed through the speakers, everything else—Vihaan’s calm hand on my waist, the clinking glasses, the elegant jazz in the background—faded into white noise.

Kabir.

The name hit my chest like a bullet I thought I’d already healed from.

Turns out, the wound never closed.

He walked onto the stage like time had never passed. Taller. Colder. The kind of composed that comes from building yourself back up with anger and ash. His jaw was sharper, his eyes darker—but those eyes…

God, those eyes.

They found me the second he looked up.

And suddenly, I wasn’t the Shanaya in London, the poised CEO with perfect posture and a well-fitted dress. I was the girl who used to wait by the window, counting minutes until she could hear the sound of his car pulling in. I was the girl who held his bleeding hands and kissed his broken knuckles. I was the girl he left without saying goodbye.

And now here he was.

Standing in the same room, breathing the same air.

Speaking words like knives laced with regret.

His speech didn’t sound like a practiced address.

It sounded like a confession.

Every syllable carved into the space between us. Every pause felt like it was meant only for me.

I couldn’t breathe.

Not because it hurt. But because it still mattered.

Vihaan noticed. Of course, he did. He always noticed when I lost control.

He leaned in slightly, voice low, careful. “You okay?”

I nodded. Lying came naturally now.

But my eyes never left Kabir.

Because in that moment, something inside me cracked.

Not from the pain.

From the rage.

How dare he?

How dare he stand there, after five years of radio silence, and pour his guilt out like an open letter—like it fixes the fact that I had to learn to stop loving him with no closure, no explanation, no goddamn goodbye?

I wanted to scream. To throw something. To break the glass in my hand just to hear something shatter besides my chest.

But I didn’t.

I stood.

Head high. Spine straight. Heart a ticking bomb.

And I walked away from the crowd, heels clicking against marble like war drums.

I didn’t know if I was heading toward the terrace, the exit, or the past I’d sworn I’d never reopen.

All I knew was—

If he followed me…

If he dared—

I wouldn’t just listen.

I would speak.

Finally.

Loudly.

And maybe…

For the first time in five years—

I would break.

-----

The cold air hit me the moment I stepped out onto the terrace.

London’s night sky hung like velvet above me, heavy and suffocating. The city lights twinkled in the distance, mocking the storm inside my chest. I wrapped my arms around myself, not for warmth — but to stop my body from falling apart.

Because I knew.

I knew he’d follow.

The click of leather shoes on marble confirmed it.

And still — I didn’t turn around.

Not until his silence became louder than the gala music behind us. Not until the air between us pulled tighter than the string of a violin begging to snap.

Then, I turned.

And there he was.

Kabir Singhania.

My greatest love.

My deepest wound.

He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, like he was holding the pieces of himself together. His jaw was tight. His eyes — god, those traitorous eyes — were staring at me like they’d been waiting five years for this moment.

And maybe they had.

But so had mine.

Only I hadn’t waited to forgive.

I had waited to bleed.

“Say something,” he said, voice rough — not like the one that spoke on stage, polished and public. This one was raw. Intimate. Like it was meant only for me.

I laughed — a hollow, bitter sound that didn’t reach my chest. “You don’t get to ask that.”

He stepped closer. “Shanaya—”

“Don’t,” I snapped. My voice cracked, but I didn’t let it falter. “You do not get to say my name like that. Like you didn’t vanish from my life and bury me in silence.”

He flinched.

And for a moment, that pleased me.

“Five years, Kabir,” I whispered, eyes stinging. “Do you know what five years of silence feels like? Of waking up every morning hoping it was all a bad dream? Of screaming into pillows, holding onto a phone that never rang? You broke me. And I built a life on top of your ashes.”

His face twisted, pain crawling into the lines of his features. “I did it to protect you.”

“Don’t you dare,” I spat, taking a step toward him now, my control unraveling. “Don’t you dare hide behind that excuse. You left me! You chose to leave. And you didn’t just walk away from our love — you ripped it out of me like it was a disease.”

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing harsh. “If I had stayed, you would’ve been destroyed, Shanaya. My world wasn’t something you could survive—”

“I didn’t want to survive without you!” I shouted, voice shaking, fingers trembling. “You never gave me a choice, Kabir. You left, and then you let me grieve someone still alive.”

The silence between us now was thicker than the London fog.

He took another step forward. We were inches apart now. So close I could feel the storm in his breath.

“I died every day I stayed away,” he whispered, voice splintering. “But I kept telling myself that if you were safe… it was worth it.”

“Then why are you here now?” I asked, voice breaking entirely. “Why come back now, Kabir? What do you want from me?”

He looked at me like he was drowning.

And then he said it.

Soft. Honest. Terrifying.

“You.”

My breath hitched.

“I want you. I want the mornings you hum to yourself when you make coffee. The way you curl into yourself when you’re cold. The fights, the silences, the laughter. I want it all, Shanaya.” He reached out — didn’t touch, just hovered. “But not if it means hurting you again. Not if your heart no longer beats for me.”

Mine was pounding so loud I thought it would rip from my chest.

“But you did hurt me,” I whispered. “And I don’t know if I can survive you again.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. He reached out this time — slowly — and gently wiped one away with his thumb. The touch seared through me like wildfire.

We stood like that. On a terrace above the city. Below a sky that had seen too many broken lovers and too few endings worth surviving.

And I realized — I didn’t know if I still loved him.

Or if I was just haunted by the way he once made me feel.

But I did know one thing.

The moment our eyes met again in that ballroom…

Every part of me remembered.

---

End of the chapter

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