🏙️ Three Weeks Later — Mumbai
The trip had changed something.
Not everything.
Not suddenly.
But enough that Rohan and Ishita were no longer dancing around each other like awkward coworkers in a sitcom. Now, there were smiles in elevators. Silent glances during meetings. The occasional, quiet "Did you eat yet?" text at odd hours.
Still unofficial. Still undefined.
But warmer.
And heavier.
Especially for Ishita.
💌 Thursday — Ishita's Apartment, 9:03 PM
Diya was sprawled across Ishita's bed, scrolling through her phone. Ishita stood in front of the mirror, holding a small red velvet box in her palm like it might explode.
"You're not actually going to do it, are you?" Diya asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Why not?"
"Because he's a guy. A complicated, emotionally guarded guy who will either faint, say yes too fast, or spiral into a monologue about social class."
"You're not helping."
"Ishita, listen. I like him, okay? But you've barely said the words 'I love you' out loud. And you want to jump to a proposal?"
Ishita sighed.
She wasn't planning to propose propose. Not with fireworks or kneeling.She just wanted to give him the ring.
Not even a real diamond ring—just something simple. A symbolic one. One that said: "I'm serious. I choose you."
"I'm not proposing marriage," she muttered. "Just commitment."
"Still sounds like a proposal."
"It's not."
"Then why are your hands shaking?"
🕗 Friday — Rohan's Place, 8:17 PM
The plan was casual.
She'd bring food. He'd finish work. They'd sit on the couch, eat takeaway, and maybe—just maybe—she'd slip the ring box into his hand like a surprise fortune cookie.
Easy.
Except nothing ever went easy with them.
🌧️ 9:10 PM — Rohan's Kitchen
The smell of burnt cotton filled the tiny flat.
Rohan stood at the kitchen entrance, holding a half-scorched paper bag in one hand and Ishita's traditional dress—now singed and blackened on one sleeve—in the other.
"What the hell happened!?" Ishita yelled, storming in.
"I… I was trying to steam it. I thought the iron was—"
"You tried to iron it!?"
"It looked wrinkled!"
"Rohan, that was custom-made! I was going to wear it to—"
She stopped.
He caught the "to what?"
"To what?" he asked quietly.
"It doesn't matter now," she snapped, snatching the half-burned dress. "I should've known better."
"I'm sorry, Ishita. I didn't mean—"
"That dress was for tonight, Rohan."
He blinked. "Tonight?"
"Yes," she said, chest rising. "I was going to—"
She stopped again.
"Forget it. You ruined it."
Rohan stepped closer. "Tell me. Please."
She pulled the red velvet box from her purse and shoved it into his hands.
"This. I was going to give you this."
He opened it.
Inside sat a ring. Silver. Simple. Engraved on the inside with "Still, I choose you."
His throat closed up.
"I didn't mean to—"
"I know," she said. Her voice cracked. "But you always do this. You panic. You ruin things. And I'm tired of pretending I'm okay with it."
"I didn't know you were planning this."
"Exactly. You never ask."
He looked at the ring again.
"I would've said yes."
"You don't even know what the question was."
"I didn't need to. I just… I would've said yes."
Ishita stared at him.
A tear slipped out—just one.
She wiped it away quickly and stepped back.
"Keep it. Or don't. I need air."
She walked out.
And Rohan stood alone.
Ring in hand.Words unsaid.Storm brewing—again.