Bhargav's POV :
The college was quieter than usual when I arrived.
Most students had already left after the farewell function, their cheers and confetti now just scattered echoes on the breeze. The golden hour sunlight streamed through the ancient gulmohar trees that bordered the campus, casting long shadows on the brick pathways. I parked near the old library steps, where the stone had warmed under the sun, and leaned on my bike, staring at the messages on my phone.
Me: "Here. Come out?"
The two grey ticks stood there. Mocking. No reply. Not even the typing bubbles.
I waited.
Scrolling aimlessly through my Instagram feed. Watching old reels I didn't care about. Ten minutes. Then fifteen. Still nothing.
A strange pit formed in my stomach, somewhere between unease and irritation. She knew I'd be here. We'd talked about meeting after the farewell of our seniors.
I got off the bike, slipped my phone into my pocket, and walked toward the auditorium block. Maybe she was still with her gang of girls. Maybe taking selfies. Or maybe saying goodbye to professors.
Or maybe…
No. I shook my head. I didn't want to go there.
The corridor still wore traces of the morning's chaos — golden streamers hanging half-torn from windows, balloons deflating in corners, a few stray plastic cups lying around. I passed a notice board plastered with farewell notes and photos, one of which had Varsha and me smiling — her in my hoodie, me with cake on my nose.
It stung now. Like salt on raw skin.
As I neared the garden behind the auditorium, my steps slowed. A strange instinct clawed at me. A memory.
This place — the stone-paved pathway, the faded mural on the old pillar, the fragrance of jasmine from the bushes — it was our hiding spot.
She used to drag me here when she wanted to escape events. "I hate crowds," she'd whisper, her hand slipping into mine.
And there she was.
Behind that very pillar.
Not alone.
My breath hitched. My feet stopped moving, but my heart raced like it wanted to burst out of my chest.
She was there. Pressed against someone else.
Rahul.
Of all people, it had to be him. The smug ex-basketball captain who flirted with anything that moved and still had the audacity to wink at girls even when their boyfriends were around.
His hands were on her waist.
Her arms curled around his neck.
Their mouths moved in sync — not shy, not hesitant — like they'd done it a hundred times.
A giggle escaped her lips as she kissed him again. She tugged on his shirt like she couldn't wait for more.
I couldn't move.
For a second, I wondered if I was hallucinating. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe this wasn't her.
But then she said something.
"So? Better than your last girlfriend?"
Rahul chuckled, his voice smooth like sleaze. "You're a whole upgrade, babe. You don't play innocent. That's hot."
My vision blurred, but not from tears.
It was rage.
It was disbelief.
I took a step forward, boots crunching on dried leaves.
"Varsha."
They both flinched.
She turned.
And for a second, just a second, I thought she'd look guilty.
She didn't.
Her expression was more irritated than ashamed. Like I had interrupted something mildly annoying.
"Bhargav," she said, straightening her kurti with a casual flick. "You're… early."
Her voice didn't crack. Her hands didn't shake.
Rahul didn't even move away. Just looked at me with a smug little smirk, like this was some TV show and he'd won the episode.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
"Early?" I asked, my voice unnaturally calm. "That's what you have to say?"
She sighed. "I was gonna talk to you."
"Talk?" My voice sharpened, the edges fraying. "Talk about what? That you've been screwing around with a guy you barely knew until two weeks ago? Behind my back?"
Rahul raised his brows. "Relax, man. It's not like you two were married."
I shot him a glare. "Shut up."
He opened his mouth again, but Varsha placed a hand on his chest and shook her head. "Let me handle it."
Then she turned to me. "Look, don't make this into some Bollywood heartbreak, okay? We weren't that serious."
I stared at her. For a moment, words refused to come. Her face — the same face I'd memorized, kissed, admired — now looked unfamiliar. Harder. Sharper. Cruel.
"Not serious?" I repeated, my throat dry. "We spent six months together, Varsha. Six. You introduced me to your family. I helped you prep for your exams. You came to my sister's birthday party. You— you said I mattered to you."
"You did," she said with a shrug. "Back then. But things change, Bhargav. I don't want to be tied down."
"Tied down?" I almost laughed. "Is that what I was? A leash?"
She sighed. "Don't be dramatic. We had fun, right? Let's leave it at that."
My jaw clenched. "You could've told me. You didn't have to cheat."
To that, she had no answer.
Rahul tried to speak again. "Bro—"
"I swear, Rahul," I snapped, eyes never leaving hers, "one more word, and I won't care that it's farewell day."
He stepped back, hands raised.
I exhaled. Slow. Heavy.
"I thought you were different," I said softly. "I really did."
She shrugged. "Sorry I disappointed you."
But she wasn't sorry.
Not really.
She didn't reach out. Didn't explain. Didn't even try.
So I turned around.
And walked.
Each step away from her felt like pulling a knife from my chest — not because she was gone, but because the version of her I loved never existed.
…..
The ride home felt like floating through a storm.
I didn't blast music. No helmet. No adrenaline.
Just silence.
The streets passed in a blur of headlights and horns, but I barely noticed. All I could think of was her eyes — how unfazed they looked. How easily she'd tossed months of memories aside like yesterday's notes.
I pulled up to a bar, cut the ignition, and just sat there on the bike.
Motionless.
The emptiness inside me was louder than anything else.
I wasn't the type to cry. I couldn't. Because deep down, I knew I hadn't done anything wrong. I'd given her my time, my attention, my loyalty. She gave me betrayal.
I didn't scream.
Didn't punch walls.
Didn't text her a final goodbye.
I just sat in the dark.
Feeling a part of me quietly break.
And the worst part?
No one would ever know.
Not even her.
….
Siri's POV
The clock struck 6:00 PM.
I was ready—ready in the way a girl dreams of being seen. Dressed in the soft lavender gown I picked after hours of indecision. It hugged me in all the right places—neither too bold nor too shy. My hair curled into soft waves that Indhu insisted on doing for me, and the light makeup she helped apply was just enough to bring out the blush in my cheeks and the nervous flutter in my heart.
I turned slowly in front of the mirror, taking in the reflection. I looked… like someone in love. Hopeful. Nervous. Stupidly optimistic.
Abhi said he wanted to introduce me to everyone tonight. That had to mean something, right? People don't introduce you at parties unless they see a future with you. Unless you matter. Unless you've crossed from "someone I'm seeing" to "someone I might want forever with."
I pressed my palms to my chest, willing my heartbeat to settle. My cheeks still warmed thinking about how he hugged me that morning—the way his arms circled my waist and lingered, like he didn't want to let go. After a year of silence, distance, and waiting… we were finally starting again. For real.
A honk pulled me from the spiral of thoughts.
I rushed to the window. There he was. Abhi.
That familiar silver sedan sat parked neatly at the edge of our lane, the headlights off but the engine humming softly. He leaned against the driver's seat, one arm lazily draped over the wheel, the other scrolling through his phone.
I swallowed the knot of nerves rising in my throat.
Grabbing my small clutch, I ran down the stairs, barely pausing to yell a quick "Bye!" into the empty house. No one answered. Not that I expected them to.
Outside, the air had that faint tinge of evening chill. I walked quickly toward his car.
As I opened the door and slid inside, he looked up—and for a second, his eyes widened.
"Wow," he said, his gaze lingering over me, slow and unmistakably appreciative. "You look… stunning."
I flushed, looking down at my lap, fiddling with the zipper on my clutch. "Thanks," I said shyly. "You don't look too bad yourself."
He chuckled, resting his arm on the center console. "That's the best compliment I get tonight? Not bad?"
I smiled faintly, but I was still watching him from the corner of my eyes. I wanted to see that spark—that tiny flicker that told me I was doing the right thing being here. With him.
He reached over and slid his fingers through mine, lacing them slowly. His palm was warm, familiar.
For a few minutes, we drove in silence. It wasn't awkward—not yet. Just quiet. The golden light of the setting sun stretched across the dashboard, painting our hands with long shadows.
Then he spoke. "You know…" He glanced sideways at me. "I was thinking… Since my parents aren't home tonight… maybe you could stay over."
I blinked. "Stay over?"
He nodded casually, eyes flicking between me and the road. "Yeah. Just the two of us. We haven't really spent the night together, you know? In that way."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a foil packet—condoms. He didn't even try to hide it. Just waved it a little before dropping it between the seats like it was nothing.
I stared at it, then at him.
My heart began to pound—not out of excitement, but… confusion. Disappointment. Maybe even fear.
"Abhi…" I said, slowly pulling my hand back from his. "I love you. I really do. But I told you before—I want to wait. At least until we're married."
His smile faded—barely, but I saw it. The edge of his jaw tightened. A flicker of annoyance passed through his eyes, quickly masked.
The air in the car shifted.
"It's just hard, Siri," he muttered, looking ahead. "It's been a year. We're adults. You're not a kid anymore. What's the harm if we're already committed?"
I stared at the packet between the seats. My throat felt tight. I picked it up and silently slipped it into my clutch. Not because I'd changed my mind—but because I didn't want it lying there between us, mocking everything I thought we were.
"I'll throw it away later," I said under my breath.
Then I turned to him, steadying my voice. "The harm is me doing something I'm not ready for. The harm is waking up tomorrow feeling like I gave up a part of myself just to keep you around. I thought you understood that."
He let out a breath. Not loud—but sharp. Irritated. The kind of breath that makes your stomach twist.
"I get it," he said. Flatly. No warmth.
No apology.
Silence filled the space between us again—but this time, it wasn't comfortable. It was thick. Uneasy. I stared out the window, trying to calm the racing in my chest.
Did he really get it? Or was he just trying to keep the evening from derailing?
A thousand thoughts ran through my head.
If he really loved me, wouldn't he wait?
Wouldn't he hold my hand and say, "That's okay, I'll wait with you"?
Wouldn't he have kissed my forehead and thrown the packet out himself?
I didn't want to cry. Not now. Not when I was finally with him again.
But the ache in my chest grew heavier with each passing minute. I pressed my nails into my palm and bit the inside of my cheek.
Neither of us spoke again until we reached the party.
And when he parked, he didn't even glance at me.
He just stepped out.
Like nothing happened. Like nothing was said.
And I sat there, for a second longer, fingers tightening around my clutch.
I wasn't sure what tonight would bring anymore.
But something had already started to feel wrong.
….
The place was fancier than I expected.
A rooftop lounge nestled in the heart of the city, bathed in golden lights that shimmered like fireflies against the velvet night. The skyline stretched endlessly behind the transparent glass barriers, and everything — the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses — felt like it belonged in someone else's world. Not mine.
I hesitated at the entrance, my hand curled loosely around Abhi's elbow. He barely noticed.
"Come on," he said, tugging me gently forward. "Let me introduce you."
I nodded, pasting on a smile.
The guests were dressed to impress — sleek cocktail dresses, pressed suits, expensive shoes that clicked confidently against the polished floor. I felt eyes sweep over me as we passed, not with admiration, but evaluation. I held my breath, adjusted the drape of my gown, and reminded myself: He asked me to be here. He wanted me here. I belong.
Abhi led me to a group of colleagues gathered near the bar. "This is Siri, my… friend," he said casually.
Friend?
My smile faltered for the briefest second. Friend?
Someone in the group — a tall guy with a ridiculous man bun — raised his brows. "She's the one you were always talking about? Damn, bro. You weren't exaggerating."
I forced a laugh. "Nice to meet you."
They chuckled, nodded, asked generic questions — What do you do? Where are you from? How did you two meet? I answered politely, not really listening to the responses. Because all I could hear was the word he used: Friend.
My eyes darted to Abhi. He was barely listening either. His eyes were on his phone. Again. Thumb scrolling. Screen lighting up. Tap. Tap. Lock. Unlock. Smile. Frown. Pocket. Again.
I tilted my head. "Everything okay?"
"Huh?" He blinked, looking at me like I'd just appeared out of thin air. "Yeah. Work stuff. Don't worry about it."
I nodded slowly, hiding the sting. "Right. Work."
Still, I tried. I laughed at jokes, made small talk, complimented a woman's earrings. I even pretended to enjoy the overly sweet mocktail someone handed me. Because this night was supposed to matter. Because I still wanted to believe he cared.
Then she appeared.
His boss.
She was tall, striking, and confident in that effortless way that made me feel small just standing near her. Her dress was a perfect shade of emerald green that clung to her curves, and her smile was sharp, like she knew her power and enjoyed wielding it.
"Abhi," she said, approaching him with a familiarity that curled something cold in my stomach. "I need you to check a report real quick. It'll just take five minutes. It's upstairs in the office."
Her hand rested on his arm. Casually. Intimately. Like it had done it a thousand times before.
He hesitated. Just for a second. Then looked at me.
"I'll be back in five, okay?"
I nodded. "Sure."
But something twisted in my chest. The way she looked at him. The way he didn't pull away from her touch. The way he didn't introduce me to her. Just I'll be back.
I sipped my drink, trying to ignore the growing unease. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.
My hand tightened around the glass.
The mocktail tasted like syrup and regret.
I scanned the rooftop, anxiety clawing at my throat. No sign of him. No sign of her.
Then I saw it — a small office door tucked at the back of the terrace level, slightly ajar.
My heart pounded. I wasn't going to check. I wasn't.
But my feet moved anyway.
I pushed the door open.
And the world ended.
There they were.
Her back was against the desk. His hands were gripping her waist. Their lips collided hungrily, feverishly, bodies entwined like something rehearsed — too familiar to be a mistake.
Her fingers were in his hair. His shirt was unbuttoned. Her heel dangled from one foot while the other was bare. A jacket was on the floor. Moans I'd never heard from him echoed softly through the room.
Then I heard it. His voice, low and playful.
"Did you miss having sex with me?"
And she laughed. "Always. Especially with your little doll waiting downstairs."
My chest caved in.
"Abhi?" I croaked, though it didn't sound like me. It sounded like a ghost.
He froze. The blood drained from his face as he turned around.
"Siri!" he stammered, stumbling back from her. "Wait, it's not— It's not what it looks like!"
I stepped back. "Don't."
"Siri, please—"
"You didn't even wear your shirt back yet," I whispered. "You didn't even—"
He reached for me, but his belt was still undone, and he couldn't come close. Good. I didn't want him to. I didn't want anything from him anymore.
I turned and walked out.
I didn't stop to think. Didn't care if people saw. Let them.
The music was still pounding, the laughter still alive. But everything sounded far away, like underwater.
Fake smiles. Fake lights. Fake love.
I was fake.
Everything had been fake.
All those late-night calls when he said he missed me. The notes. The forehead kisses. The Someday I'll marry you, Siri. The way he made me feel like the world disappeared when he looked at me.
All of it.
Gone.
I moved blindly through the crowd, my breath coming in short bursts. My heart wasn't breaking — it was being crushed, shredded, set on fire.
On my way out, my hand landed on a glass bottle. I didn't look. I didn't think. I just took it.
A bottle of something dark. Probably expensive. Probably meant for someone important.
I didn't care.
The city air hit me like a slap. Cold. Brutal. Real.
I kept walking. I didn't know where.
I looked down at the bottle in my hand. Some kind of whiskey, I think. It didn't matter. I unscrewed the cap, raised it to my lips, and drank.
It burned.
It burned like fire down my throat, made me cough, made my eyes water — but it was better than the burning in my chest.
"Idiot," I whispered to myself. "Stupid, hopeless, naive idiot."
I kept walking.
He wasn't coming after me.
He wasn't going to say sorry. Or explain. Or fix this.
Because this wasn't a mistake.
This was who he really was.
And I?
I was just the girl who loved a lie.
To be continued…