When Rohan Malhotra opened his eyes, the rain had stopped.
Faint sunlight crept through the edge of the curtains, dust dancing in the golden beam. The hum of the AC was back, the light on the minibar flickered softly, and the warmth of the room made him forget—for a brief moment—that anything unusual had happened the night before.
He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and sat up—
Only to find the other bed empty.
Neatly made. Not a pillow out of place.
The girl—Ishita—was gone.
No note. No text. No sound of heels tapping in the bathroom. Nothing.
Just silence. And the faint jasmine scent she'd left behind.
Rohan blinked.
"Guess strangers disappear faster than they arrive," he mumbled.
He stepped down from the bed, grabbed his bag, and walked to the window—still slightly fogged from last night's storm.
And that's when he saw it.
A sleek, jet-black car idling in the hotel driveway. A suited chauffeur stood beside it. And just for a second—barely long enough to be sure—he caught a glimpse of her.
Ishita.
Wearing sunglasses, coat in hand, slipping into the car like she'd done it a thousand times before.
Classy. Unapologetic. Effortless.
The car pulled away without a sound.
Rohan stood at the window a few moments longer than he needed to. Not because he cared. Not because he was interested.
Just… because.
Downstairs, as he handed over the key card, the receptionist gave him a polite smile.
"Did you enjoy your stay, sir?"
Rohan gave a half-smirk. "Let's just say it wasn't boring."
The man smiled nervously. "Your… friend checked out early this morning. Asked not to be disturbed."
"She would," Rohan muttered.
Outside, the city looked different.
The rain had washed everything—rooftops, street signs, even Rohan's thoughts. The morning was dry but smelled like wet dust and new beginnings. He slid his hands into his jacket pockets and began walking, his sneakers still a little damp from last night.
What kind of girl books a luxury suite just to disappear?
He shook the thought off. She was gone. End of story.
Just a random encounter. Nothing more.
But later that evening, when he pulled out his phone to check work emails, his fingers hovered for a second.
No new messages.
No missed calls.
And still… he checked WhatsApp.
Then Instagram.
Then nowhere.
Because he didn't have her name.
Or her number.
Or any reason to care.
Still, his thumb paused on the search bar—like muscle memory wanted to betray him.
He quickly locked his phone and tossed it onto the bed.
"Don't be stupid, Rohan."
But the room felt too quiet.
And he couldn't help but wonder—
Would he ever see her again?