The morning came too soon.
Light spilled through the thin curtains, touching his face with an almost cruel softness. Dhruve groaned and turned his head away, but the day refused to let him hide.
His head throbbed faintly from the whiskey. His throat was dry. And the silence — that goddamn silence — was still there, waiting to greet him like an old friend.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples. The couch creaked beneath him; he hadn't slept in his bed in weeks. The bed still smelled faintly of her perfume, even after washing the sheets. It was easier to stay away from it — easier to pretend the emptiness didn't have a shape.
The phone was on the table beside him, facedown. He hadn't replied to that message. Part of him wanted to delete it, part of him wanted to stare at it forever.
He dragged himself to the balcony. The sky was pale blue, the kind that promised warmth later. People walked below, busy with their little lives. He envied them — how they could just keep going.
He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke dance. "Morning," he muttered bitterly, as if the world could hear him.
He thought about the night before — about Priya's tears, her voice, her trembling hand. He thought about how close he came to forgiving her, or maybe just wanting to. Then he remembered what she'd done, and the ache turned to something sour in his chest.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, gripping the railing.
But even as he cursed, the hatred didn't hit as hard as it used to. It was quieter now — not gone, but fading, like a wound turning into a scar.
He finished the cigarette and stared at the ember burning at the end.Maybe I'm burning out too, he thought.
After a shower, he dressed and stood in front of the mirror again. The man looking back still didn't feel familiar. The tired eyes, the unshaven jaw, the faint hollowness beneath the surface. But there was something new too — a steadiness.
He didn't know if it was numbness or strength, but for once, he didn't feel like falling apart.
He grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet, then hesitated before leaving. There was no one to say goodbye to.
The café near his office opened early. It used to be their spot — every Sunday morning, two cups of coffee, lazy talk about nothing important. He hadn't been there since everything fell apart.
Still, his feet carried him there, like muscle memory.
The same bell jingled when he walked in. The same faint smell of roasted beans and butter hung in the air. The waitress — a young woman with messy hair tied up in a bun — smiled at him automatically. "Good morning. You want a table for one?"
He paused for a second, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question.Table for one. Yeah. That's him now.
"Yeah," he said, voice low. "One."
She guided him to a small table by the window. He sat down, staring at the empty seat across from him. It felt strange — comforting and painful at the same time.
When the waitress returned with his coffee, she smiled again. "You look tired. Rough night?"
Dhruve almost laughed. "You could say that."
She chuckled lightly. "Well, coffee fixes half of life's problems. For the other half, there's sleep."
He smirked faintly. "I'll take the coffee then."
She walked away, and Dhruve found himself watching her for a moment — not in a longing way, just noticing. The way she smiled without forcing it, the small tiredness in her eyes, the life that kept moving in her like she had her own invisible weights.
He looked out the window again. The city was already alive, cars honking, people crossing streets, laughter echoing faintly.
And for the first time in months, Dhruve didn't feel like the world was mocking him. It just was.
He took a sip of coffee. It was too bitter, but somehow, it felt right.
His thoughts drifted back to Priya — not as the woman who betrayed him, but as someone who had once loved him, however imperfectly. It hurt less thinking of her that way.
Maybe that was the beginning of something — not forgiveness, but acceptance. The quiet kind.
He looked at the steam rising from his cup and said softly,"Guess this is what moving on feels like."
It wasn't peace. Not yet. But it was the closest he'd been in a long time.