It had been many days since I last saw Manya.
The house felt strangely quiet without her — no dramatic entrances, no teasing laughter echoing through the hallways.
But tonight, she was coming back.
It was a soft, golden evening. I was curled up on the couch, tucked into Sarthak's arms, his warmth pressing against my back as we half-watched a movie. Everything was peaceful — until my phone rang.
At first, I ignored it, assuming it was Anvi. But the number was unknown.
"Hello?" I said softly.
"Ma'am, are you Miss Manya's friend?" came a nervous male voice. "I'm calling from Persian Billy Bar. She's very drunk and refusing to leave without someone she knows. Could you please come pick her up?"
For a second, my whole body froze. "What? Drunk?" I repeated.
Manya? The same Manya who couldn't even finish a glass of wine without complaining it was bitter?
"Yes, ma'am," the man continued. "She's… she's crying a lot too. Please come quickly."
"I'm coming right now!" I said, standing in shock.
Sarthak looked up immediately. "What happened?"
"It's Manya," I said quickly, grabbing my jacket. "She's drunk at Persian Billy. They just called."
Without another word, Sarthak stood and put on his blazer. "Let's go."
---
The car ride felt endless. My heart was pounding, my thoughts a blur. Manya never drank like this. She could be reckless sometimes — but never like this.
Sarthak drove fast but steady, his jaw clenched.
"She'll be fine," he said quietly. "Maybe something happened. We'll find out."
I looked out the window at the passing lights. "If she's crying that much, it's not something small, Sarthak."
---
When we reached Persian Billy, the bar was half-empty — the kind of place where soft jazz plays behind the low hum of conversations. The manager recognized me instantly and hurried forward.
"Ma'am, over there," he said, pointing toward a booth in the far corner.
And there she was.
Manya.
Her hair was messy, her mascara smudged down her cheeks. She was slumped forward with her head buried in her arms, surrounded by two empty glasses and one untouched drink.
"Manya…" I said softly, rushing to her side.
She lifted her head slowly, her eyes red and glossy. "Samiraaaa… you came," she slurred, trying to smile. "And look… Sarthak bhaiya toooo!" She giggled, then hiccupped.
Sarthak sighed, kneeling beside her. "Manya, what is this? How much did you drink?"
"Enough to forget him," she said bitterly, her voice cracking. "But… not enough to forget his words."
I froze. "Whose words?"
She laughed weakly. "Jai's." Then she slammed her fist on the table. "He said he doesn't feel the same way. After all these years, Sammy! Since we were kids! I waited for him to notice me, to see me — but he never did! And now he says we're better as friends!"
Her voice trembled, and her eyes filled again.
"Oh, Manya…" I whispered. My throat tightened.
"He doesn't even remember our childhood promises," she sobbed. "Do you remember, Samira? When we were little, I used to say I'd marry him someday. Everyone laughed, but I meant it. I really did. And today he said, 'You're like a sister to me.' A sister!"
She buried her face in her hands, crying uncontrollably.
Sarthak reached for a tissue, silent but visibly uncomfortable seeing her break down like that.
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "Hey, hey… it's okay. I know it hurts. But he doesn't deserve your tears, Manya. You're so much more than this heartbreak."
"No!" she said, shaking her head. "He was everything! My first crush, my first love, my everything — and now I'm nothing to him. Why does everyone I love leave me like this?"
Her words stabbed through me. Because I knew that pain too — that emptiness when love doesn't love you back.
I stroked her hair gently. "You're not nothing, Manya. You're someone who loves deeply — and someday, someone will love you the same way back."
She sniffled. "You think so?"
"I know so."
---
We stayed there for a while, letting her cry it all out. Even Sarthak ordered her water, sitting silently like a protective brother. The manager offered us napkins and a small smile, probably used to seeing heartbreaks like this unfold every night.
Finally, when her sobs softened into sleepy murmurs, Sarthak helped me get her up.
"Come on," he said gently. "Let's go home."
Manya leaned against me, half-asleep, mumbling, "Don't tell him I cried, okay? I'm still strong…"
"I won't," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
---
Back at home, she was fast asleep before we even reached her room. Sarthak carried her carefully, tucking her in like she was made of glass.
When we stepped out, I sighed, leaning against the door.
"She really loved him," I said quietly.
"I could tell," Sarthak replied, voice low. "But love isn't always returned. It's cruel that way."
I looked at him and smiled faintly. "You sound like you've been through it too."
He smiled back. "Maybe. But at least she has you — someone who won't let her drown in it."
---
That night, as I checked on Manya one last time, she was clutching her pillow, whispering in her sleep,
"Jai… why not me?"
I closed the door quietly, my heart heavy.
She'd always been the strongest among us — wild, fierce, full of life.
But even the strongest hearts can shatter quietly.
And tonight, Manya's had broken for the first time.