The city never really sleeps — it just hums, quietly, like it's trying to drown out its own regrets. Dhruve sat on the cold balcony floor, a half-burned cigarette dangling from his fingers. The smoke curled up, disappearing into the dark, just like every word he never said to her.
He'd walked out of that apartment like a man escaping fire… but now that the adrenaline was gone, all that was left was smoke — the kind that stays in your lungs no matter how hard you cough it out.
His phone buzzed once. He didn't check it.
Priya's tearful face kept flashing in his mind — the way her voice cracked, the way her hand trembled when she reached for him. Damn it. Why did she still sound like home?
He laughed under his breath, bitterly. "Fuck, Dhruve… you're pathetic."
The cigarette burned down to his skin before he noticed, and he dropped it, cursing softly. The tiny ember fell to the concrete — glowing for a moment, then fading into nothing. Just like them.
Inside the apartment, the clock ticked too loudly. The silence was unbearable. He poured himself a drink — cheap whiskey, warm and harsh. He didn't even bother with ice. He just wanted to feel something raw enough to remind him he was still alive.
He raised the glass. "To closure," he muttered. Then laughed again, darker this time. "What a joke."
He took a long sip. It burned like truth.
His mind replayed her words — I wanted to end this properly. Properly. As if anything between them had ever been clean or neat. No, it had always been messy, passionate, stupid, and real. That's what made it beautiful. That's what made it unbearable.
He leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above him. "You didn't deserve how things ended," she'd said.
Then why did she do it?
He knew the answer — people do stupid things when they're lonely, scared, or looking for validation. He'd read about it, seen it happen to others. But knowing didn't help. It still felt personal, like a knife she turned with a smile.
He shut his eyes.The image of her with that man flashed again.And then, her crying face.Love and hate kept switching places so fast it made him dizzy.
He wanted to scream. To throw something. To call her and curse her name.But instead, he whispered, "Why couldn't you just love me enough?"
The words came out quieter than a breath.
He stood up suddenly and walked to the mirror near his wardrobe. His reflection looked hollow — eyes sunken, jaw tight, a faint tremor in his hands. He'd lost weight. The dark circles under his eyes looked permanent now.
"You're not the same guy she married," he told his reflection. "You're something else now."
A smirk tugged at his lips — tired but dangerous. "Maybe that's a good thing."
He turned back toward the balcony, letting the night air hit his face. It was cold, cleansing in a way. He could feel the chaos inside him — the storm that used to drive his revenge — now turning quieter, deeper.
Not gone, no. Just… changing.
The pain wasn't as sharp tonight; it was heavier, like a stone he carried without realizing. Maybe this was how healing looked in real life — not some grand moment of forgiveness, just exhaustion.
The phone buzzed again. This time, he picked it up.
A message from an unknown number:
"Are you okay?"
No name, but he knew who it was.
He stared at it for a long time. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
He typed — Don't worry about me. Then deleted it.He typed — I'm fine. Deleted again.
Finally, he set the phone down and walked away. Some silences were better left untouched.
In the kitchen, the whiskey glass stood empty. He rinsed it out, placed it carefully in the sink, then leaned on the counter. His eyes were wet, but no tears fell. He was too tired even to cry.
"Tomorrow," he murmured to himself. "Tomorrow, I'll figure out who the hell I am without her."
But deep down, he knew — part of him would always stay trapped in that apartment, in that moment when he almost reached out to hold her one last time.
Outside, the night wind carried the faint sound of laughter from somewhere below. He watched the city lights flicker and thought, not for the first time — maybe every story doesn't need a happy ending. Maybe some just need to be understood.
He exhaled slowly, letting the cigarette smoke fade into the night.The stars didn't look forgiving.And he didn't look away.