Bhargav's POV
I was walking with no real direction, just letting my feet take over. The streets were quiet—eerily so. Streetlights buzzed faintly above me, casting halos on the wet pavement like forgotten prayers. My breath came in short clouds, misting the air, but I didn't care. My jacket hung open, the wind slicing through my shirt, through my skin. I couldn't care. I was too far gone for that.
Unstable. That's the word. That's what I was.
The alcohol in my veins wasn't enough to kill the sting in my chest. Three bottles—maybe more. I hadn't even looked at what I was drinking. Some weird name I'd overheard from the guy at the next table. Something foreign and fancy. Didn't matter. I just pointed and told the waiter, "The same."
The taste had burned. It still clung to the back of my throat. Bitter. Sour. Pointless.
Varsha.
God, what a bitch.
My fist clenched inside my pocket, the skin over my knuckles straining with quiet rage.
Her lips were still on someone else's mouth. I'd watched it happen. Frozen. Numb. Her smile—my smile—was handed over to another man like a borrowed pen. I stood there like a fool, like a museum relic no one cared to dust off.
I thought I meant something.
But I was just a line break in a story she'd long since ended. A smudge. A filler. Something convenient.
I laughed to myself. A dry, humorless sound.
What a joke. My love life? A tragedy trying to be a comedy and failing both.
I passed the same bar I'd just left, a neon sign flickering like it was tired too. My shoes dragged along the curb. My shadow followed me like it had nowhere better to be.
I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to vanish. Just disappear. But I didn't have the luxury of escape, so I kept walking.
And then I saw her.
A small figure crouched on the sidewalk, just ahead, half-buried in shadows under a broken streetlamp. She was holding a bottle, rocking slightly. From a distance, she could've been a stranger.
At first, I thought—just another drunk. Like me. A soul undone by the night.
But something tugged at me. Some invisible thread in my chest. Familiar. Off-key.
I slowed.
"Hey…" I called softly, almost unsure. "You okay?"
No response. Just her silhouette, trembling. Her head down.
"It's too late," she murmured, voice brittle. "Leave. It's not safe for you here at this time."
That voice. Broken, barely holding together.
I took another step forward, peering closer.
And then her face tilted toward the light.
Siri.
My heart stuttered.
Her face was a mess—mascara running in twin rivers, cheeks streaked with salt and pain. Her lips were parted, trembling like they held a thousand unsaid things. Her eyes—bloodshot, hollow—looked through me more than at me.
"Bhargav?" she whispered, dazed. Disbelieving.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" I walked up to her. "Do you know how late it is? And why the fuck are you drunk?"
She stared for a second. And then she laughed. A strange, cracked, empty sound that made my skin crawl.
"I should ask you the same, asshole. Why are you drunk?" she replied, tilting the bottle toward me like it was a punchline.
I groaned. "Shut up."
We sat in silence for a second. The kind that didn't feel peaceful.
"Do you believe in karma?" she asked suddenly, staring at nothing.
"What?"
"Because I think it just paid me a visit," she said, her voice dipping into something dark and self-hating.
I sat down beside her. The pavement was cold. Rough. Unforgiving. The cold seeped in, but I didn't care.
"Talk to me."
She didn't move at first. Just hugged the bottle like it was her last anchor to the world.
"Abhi slept with his boss," she said eventually. Each word was heavy. Like it had claws.
I froze. "You… saw them?"
She nodded, staring at the road. "Tonight. At the party."
My stomach turned. "Siri…"
"He asked me to sleep with him earlier," she continued like she hadn't heard me. "He even pulled out condoms. Like it was just… expected. Like we were on the same page. I said no. Told him I wanted to wait. Took the packet and shoved it in my bag to throw it later. Thought he'd understand."
She gave a sharp, wet laugh. "Guess he couldn't wait an hour. Found someone who wouldn't say no. They were in the room—our room, Bhargav. The one where he was supposed to help me fix a damn report. I opened the door and—" Her voice broke.
I looked away, jaw clenched.
"Turns out it wasn't the first time either," she added. "She's kind of his 'sex partner' as he proudly declared. As if I'm the idiot who missed the signs."
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smearing her already ruined makeup. "God, I'm so fucking stupid."
"You're not," I said automatically.
"I am. I waited. I gave him everything except sex, and somehow that made me… disposable." She sniffed. "It's like I was a placeholder until someone more 'available' showed up."
Her voice cracked on that last word. The pain in it made my chest ache.
I didn't know what to say. So I said the only thing I could.
"Varsha kissed someone else today," I muttered, looking down at my hands.
Her head snapped to me. "What?"
"Yeah. In front of me," I said, feeling my stomach twist all over again. "Didn't even flinch. Just looked me in the eye like I was the delusional one."
Siri stared. "What the fuck is wrong with people?"
"I don't know." I exhaled, the breath fogging the cold air. "I keep asking myself that too."
She shifted slightly, her knees drawn up under her chin now. "Maybe it's us. Maybe we're the ones who keep falling for people who don't know how to care."
"I don't think that's a 'we' problem," I said. "Caring isn't a mistake."
"But it hurts."
"Yeah. It does."
She hugged her knees tighter. "I'm so tired, Bhargav. Tired of being the one who stays. The one who gives. The one who believes. I'm tired of being left behind."
I turned to look at her. Really look.
She was unraveling. Quietly. Completely. The Siri I knew—the one who barked back, who stomped when angry, who never let anyone see her cry—was gone. What sat beside me now was a ghost of her. Hollow. Cracked.
And then she looked at me, eyes searching.
"Why do you hate me?"
I blinked. "What?"
"You always looked like you did," she said quietly. "You fought with me. Ignored me. Looked irritated anytime I opened my mouth. I used to think… I used to feel like I annoyed you."
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.
"Maybe I even thought I did," I admitted. "Maybe I convinced myself of it. But the truth? I just didn't know what to do with you."
Her brow furrowed, confused.
"You were… too much. Too close. Too loud in a way that got under my skin. You saw through people. Through me. I didn't know how to handle that. I was… afraid."
Her lips parted slightly. A breath caught between them.
"I just couldn't bear your presence," I added softly. "Not because I hated you. But because… it mattered too much."
She looked stunned. Like I'd pulled the floor out from under her.
"I don't hate you either," she whispered after a long pause.
I smiled faintly. "Good."
"Yeah."
We sat there again in silence. The city slept around us. Our pain the only thing still awake.
A wind blew past, lifting a lock of her hair. She shivered.
"Okay. Come on," I said finally, standing up. I held out my hand. "Let's get you home."
She looked at it, hesitant.
Then, slowly, she took it.
Her fingers were cold. But they curled around mine like maybe—just maybe—she didn't want to be alone tonight.
And I realized I didn't want to be either.
….
The house was still and dim as we walked in, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound. Siri kicked off her shoes with the slow, heavy rhythm of someone too tired to care, her bare feet making soft contact with the cold tiles. She walked ahead without turning on any lights and set the half-empty bottle on the counter with a dull thud.
I reached for the switch by instinct. The darkness felt too heavy.
But her hand stopped me.
"Don't," she said quietly, her fingers brushing over mine.
I paused. "Why?"
"I don't want to see everything right now," she said. "Not the walls, not the clock, not the reality."
Her voice was brittle, held together by threads of exhaustion and raw hurt.
I nodded. "Okay."
We stood there in the dimness, breathing in the quiet. I could hear her inhale, sharp and trembling. Her shoulders curled inward slightly like she was shrinking under the weight of her own thoughts.
Then she turned and looked at me.
And something shifted.
The sadness in her eyes was still there, but it had changed shape. It had sunk deeper. Now, it wasn't just pain—it was need. Something reckless. Human. Dangerous.
"I don't want to be alone tonight," she said softly.
I blinked. "Siri… what do you mean?"
She took a step closer, close enough that I could see the way her pupils glimmered under the faint kitchen light from the fridge.
"Sleep with me," she said, voice so low it almost disappeared into the silence.
My entire body stiffened. "Huh!?" I took two startled steps back, heart pounding. "What… what are you saying?"
"I'm not asking you to love me," she whispered. "I'm asking you to see me. Just this once. See me."
"I do see you," I said immediately, my voice hoarse. "That's exactly why I can't—"
But she stepped even closer, her presence burning against mine like a fever. "Everyone takes what they want. Then they leave. I just… I just want to take something back. Something that's mine to take this time."
Her words cut through me. I shook my head, almost in desperation.
"You're hurt," I murmured. "You don't want this. Not really. You think you do, but you're just trying to escape the ache."
"I do want this," she said, her voice trembling with conviction. "And I will. Stop me if you can."
I turned to walk away. I needed to get out. I couldn't let this happen.
But her hand gripped the back of my shirt—tight, shaking. She pulled me back a step.
"Don't leave," she whispered. "Please… don't."
"Siri…" My voice cracked. "This isn't the answer. You're not broken. Don't… don't ruin yourself for revenge or closure or whatever this is supposed to be."
She exhaled shakily behind me. "This isn't revenge. It's relief. It's a scream I couldn't let out. I want to feel something… anything that isn't shame or betrayal."
I turned toward her.
She was right there—face pale, eyes wild, lips parted. Vulnerable. Fragile. Yet ablaze with emotion.
And then she kissed me.
Tentative. Soft. Searching.
I froze.
My heart rattled against my ribs. My hands hovered, then gripped her shoulders—not to pull her closer, but to stop her. To say no.
But when I pulled back, I saw her.
Tears welled up again in her eyes, making them shimmer in the half-light. "You think I'm ruining myself," she said, "but this is the first time I'm choosing something… not letting someone else choose for me."
I cupped her face gently, trying to breathe, trying to think. "You're worth more than one night, Siri. Don't look for your worth in something temporary."
Her voice trembled. "And so are you. But we both need this… I need this. And maybe you do too. Stop pretending you're stronger than me."
She kissed me again, and this time she didn't hold back.
Her lips trembled against mine, her fingers curling into my shirt like she was clinging to the last part of her sanity. My body betrayed me—responding before my mind could push her away. The warmth, the ache, the need… it overpowered the logic.
I pulled back with effort. "Please… don't do this," I said, panting slightly.
She looked at me with eyes that shattered my resolve. "Then tell me you don't want this. Look into my eyes and say it."
I couldn't.
I didn't.
Because I did want it. I wanted her.
And that was the worst part.
Suddenly, she pushed me back against the wall. It was clumsy, desperate. Her hands reached for my shirt as she kissed me again, harder this time—hungry, urgent, tired.
And I stopped trying to be the strong one.
We stumbled toward her room in the darkness. Every step was frantic. Shirts half-removed. Fingers tangled in hair. Breathing grew ragged. Buttons popped off. Skin met skin.
She pulled the condom packet from her bag and tossed it on the bed.
No more words. Only the quiet rustle of clothes hitting the floor. The creak of the mattress. The heat of skin brushing skin.
She looked at me once, just once, before it began—her eyes asking for something more than comfort. Asking for oblivion.
And I gave in.
I kissed her. I touched her. I moved with her. Again. And again.
We didn't stop until the last barrier between us had shattered completely.
Our pain, our frustration, our heartbreak—everything burned in the space between our bodies. In her gasps. In my whispers. In our desperate need to lose ourselves in something, someone.
She moaned my name. I bit her shoulder trying to stifle my own. Our bodies moved like they had always known each other, like this was inevitable. And maybe it was.
We went until the box emptied, the silence deepened, the sweat cooled on our skin.
And when it was over, there was no smile. No guilt. Just two broken souls, breathless and quiet, lying side by side in the darkness. Staring at the ceiling. Listening to each other's breathing.
I wanted to say something—anything. But words felt too small.
So I reached for her hand. She let me hold it.
And for now, that was enough.
To be continued...