SHANAYA’S POV :

I didn’t go home.

I couldn’t.

I sat in the backseat of my car. The driver asked if I wanted to head back to my penthouse.

I said no.

Instead, I had him drive.

Nowhere. Everywhere.

Through the glowing veins of a city that didn’t sleep. Past neon lights and midnight cafés. Over bridges that felt too metaphorical for my sanity.

And all the while, the ghost of Kabir’s eyes haunted every blink.

I replayed it all—the gala, the spotlights,The confrontation everything.

God, how do you stand before someone who left you in ruins and pretend you're made of steel?

How do you lie to the world when your own heart refuses to stay quiet?

When I finally walked into my penthouse, the air felt thinner. Like it, too, remembered his name. Like every corner was watching me crumble again.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey I didn’t drink.

My heels lay discarded by the door. My dress still clung to my skin. My makeup had long begun to betray me.

And I stood by the window, once again, alone. Watching the city from the 37th floor. Pretending I wasn’t about to fall.

That was the thing about strength—sometimes it was just pain in better clothes.

I pressed my hand to the glass, imagining a world where Kabir never left.

Where we didn’t burn.

Where I didn’t have to lie to Vihaan.

But that world didn’t exist.

Not anymore.

---

KABIR’S POV :

I didn’t go home.

I drove to the docks.

To the only place in this city that didn’t lie. Where it smelled of salt and old memories, and no one asked questions.

The water was dark, calm, deceptive. Just like me.

I stood at the edge of the platform, wind biting at my suit, hair slicked back from the rain earlier, and lit a cigarette I didn’t need.

I hadn’t smoked in years.

But tonight wasn’t about good decisions.

It was about ghosts.

Shanaya.

God. Shanaya.

I saw her leave the terrace. I didn’t follow.

But I knew where she went.

I’d always known where she’d go to run.

Then I saw him.

Vihaan.

The man I’d only ever read about in business briefings and scandal articles. The man whose arm she clutched like he was home.

He followed her.

And I watched.

From the shadows, like I was some forgotten chapter in her story.

But I saw enough.

I saw the way she trembled.

I saw the moment he said something that made her cry.

And I saw her wipe her tears like she’d done it a thousand times without anyone watching.

My lungs felt too tight. My chest burned. I crushed the cigarette beneath my heel, the ember dying like every part of me that had tried to move on.

She was still mine.

Not in the way the world would accept.

But in the way that every broken thing inside me still whispered her name.

And I hated that I loved her like this. Quietly. From behind walls.

I hated that Vihaan got to touch her. Speak to her. Stand next to her in a world that demanded appearances while I was stuck behind the glass of consequences I built myself.

But most of all…

I hated that I wasn’t brave enough to say her name in front of her.

Wasn’t bold enough to ask if she still remembered what it felt like to kiss me in the rain.

So instead, I let the wind take the silence for me.

I let the sea swallow the apology I never said.

And somewhere between guilt and grief…

I realized I hadn’t just lost her once.

I was losing her all over again.

--

THIRD-PERSON POV :

After a week,

It was supposed to be just a drive.

After the gala, after the suffocating spotlight, Kabir had needed air. Silence. Escape. But instead, he ended up parked outside a bookstore cafe that still stayed open late—her kind of place.

He hadn’t expected to see her there.

Not really.

But his chest tightened the moment he stepped inside.

And there she was.

Shanaya.

Tucked into a corner by the window, hair down, glasses perched low on her nose as she stared blankly at an open book she wasn’t reading. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Kabir stood still.

She looked... quieter tonight. Like the storm had passed but left behind wreckage no one could see. Her hand absentmindedly stirred a now-cold cappuccino. She hadn’t touched it. He knew because she hated when the foam went flat.

Maybe it was madness, walking toward her.

But then again, madness was all they'd ever known.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said softly.

Shanaya looked up.

And for a second—just a second—her guard dropped. Then it was back, neat and flawless, like armor freshly polished.

“Kabir.” She leaned back. “I thought you preferred rooftops and red wine these days.”

“I needed quiet,” he replied. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t tell him to leave either.

He took that as a win.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already sliding into the seat across from her.

She didn’t answer. He sat anyway.

Minutes passed. Neither of them spoke.

Outside, the rain began again—soft, rhythmic, familiar.

“It always rains when we do this,” Shanaya finally said.

“When we do what?”

“Run into each other. Unplanned. Unwanted.”

Kabir tilted his head. “You sure it’s unwanted?”

She looked at him then. Not just at his face, but the man beneath it. The one she’d memorized in another lifetime.

“I’m not sure of anything when you’re around,” she said quietly.

He swallowed hard. “That makes two of us.”

Their eyes locked.

It wasn’t like the gala—fiery, explosive, full of ghosts.

This was different.

Worse.

Because this was the version of them that could’ve existed if the world had been kinder.

He reached forward, slowly, fingers brushing against the back of her hand. She didn’t move.

“I don’t want to fight tonight,” he said. “I just wanted to see you without the noise.”

“You’ve seen me enough,” she whispered. “You know how this ends.”

“But I still choose it,” he murmured. “Every goddamn time.”

Something in her cracked.

And maybe that’s why she didn’t pull away when his fingers curled around hers. Maybe that’s why her breath trembled when she whispered, “It still hurts, Kabir.”

“I know.”

“You still make it hurt.”

“I know.”

She looked down at their intertwined hands. “And yet I still let you sit here.”

He gave a half-smile. “Because some pain feels like home?”

Her lips quivered.

And when she finally looked up, eyes glassy with the weight of everything unspoken, Kabir leaned in—just slightly, just enough to breathe the same air.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness tonight,” he said. “I’m just asking for a moment.”

She didn’t respond.

But she didn’t let go.

And in that dim-lit cafe, with the rain dancing outside and two hearts holding a truce neither trusted—

They sat.

Not as lovers.

Not as enemies.

But as something far more dangerous.

Something like almost.

---

End of the chapter

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