The wedding ended in a blur of rice showers, tearful goodbyes, and one too many group hugs.
Shanaya looked radiant in red. Vikram looked terrified and happy in equal measure.
Naira watched from the sidelines, smiling when expected, clapping when the music swelled.
But her mind was already half in Mumbai.
Aarav stood beside her through most of it.
Not touching. Not too close.
They had agreed—day by day, no grand displays.
Yet every time their eyes met across the mandap, something unspoken passed between them.
A promise. A fear. A question.
The baraat left at midnight.
Firecrackers lit the sky. Dhol thundered.
Guests danced in the driveway like the world was ending tomorrow.
Naira and Aarav slipped away during the chaos.
They walked to the parking lot.
His flight to Bangalore was at 7 a.m.
Hers to Mumbai at 9:30.
He leaned against his rented sedan.
She stood in front of him, arms crossed against the early morning chill.
"So," she said. "This is it."
"For now."
She nodded. "For now."
He reached out. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
His fingers lingered on her cheek.
"I hate goodbyes," she whispered.
"Me too."
They stood in silence for a long minute.
The hotel lights buzzed overhead.
A stray dog barked somewhere far.
Aarav spoke first.
"I booked a flight back to Delhi next weekend. Three days. Just to see you."
Her heart stuttered.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
She looked up at him.
"And after that?"
"After that… we figure it out. Calls. Visits. Maybe I look for projects in Mumbai. Maybe you come to Bangalore sometimes. We don't need to decide everything tonight."
She exhaled. "Okay."
He pulled her into his arms then.
Tight. Fierce. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of her.
"I'm going to miss you," he murmured into her hair.
"I already miss you."
They kissed then.
Slow. Deep. Desperate in the quiet parking lot.
His hands framed her face. Hers clutched his shirt.
When they broke apart, both were breathing hard.
"Text me when you land," she said.
"I will."
"And don't be stupid and forget to eat on the flight."
He smiled. "Yes, ma'am."
Another kiss. Shorter. Softer.
Then she stepped back.
"Go. Before I change my mind and kidnap you."
He laughed. Quiet. Sad.
"I love you, Naira."
"I love you too."
He got into the car.
Started the engine.
Gave her one last look through the window.
She raised her hand. Small wave.
He drove away.
She stood there until the taillights disappeared.
Then she cried.
Not loud sobs. Just silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she walked back to the lobby.
Priya found her in the corridor.
Wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Come on. Let's get you to your room."
In the elevator, Priya asked softly,
"Was it worth it?"
Naira wiped her face.
"I don't know yet."
Back in the room, she packed slowly.
Every item reminded her of him.
The black satin slip folded neatly.
The yellow-stained anarkali she hadn't bothered to wash.
The friendship band he'd tied on her wrist during Rakhi 2011—still there, faded but intact.
She didn't take it off.
The flight to Mumbai was turbulent.
She stared out the window at the clouds.
Thought about how everything looked so peaceful from up here.
How small the problems seemed.
But on the ground, they were huge.
She landed. Took a cab home.
The city greeted her with its usual chaos—honking, heat, the smell of vada pav from the corner stall.
Her flat felt empty.
She dropped her bag.
Showered.
Changed into an old t-shirt of his that she'd stolen years ago.
It still smelled faintly of him.
She curled up on the couch.
Phone in hand.
A message from him.
Landed safely. Miss you already. Call when you're home?
She smiled through fresh tears.
Just got in. Call me.
The phone rang almost immediately.
His voice filled the room.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"How was the flight?"
"Bumpy."
"Like us."
She laughed. Soft.
"Yeah."
They talked for an hour.
About nothing. About everything.
The wedding. Rhea's face. The way Shanaya cried during vidaai.
The way they both felt like they were starting over and falling apart at the same time.
"I'm scared," she admitted again.
"I know."
"But I'm happy too."
"Me too."
A pause.
Then he said,
"I meant what I said. Next weekend. I'm coming."
"I'll be here."
"Good."
Another pause.
Then, quieter,
"I love you."
"I love you more."
They hung up.
Naira stared at the ceiling.
The flat was quiet.
But it didn't feel as empty anymore.
Flashback. Two years after he left.
She'd been dating someone new. A nice guy. Graphic designer like her.
They'd gone to Marine Drive one evening.
Sat on the rocks. Watched the sea.
He'd tried to kiss her.
She'd pulled away.
"I can't," she'd said.
"Why not?"
"Because I still love someone else."
The guy had looked at her sadly.
"Then why are you with me?"
She hadn't had an answer.
She'd gone home that night.
Cried until dawn.
Deleted his number.
Told herself she was moving on.
She wasn't.
Now, lying on her couch, she understood why.
Some loves don't fade.
They just wait.
Patient.
Quiet.
Bleeding.
She picked up her phone again.
Opened their old chat.
The one from 2018.
The last message she'd sent him before he went silent.
You okay? I miss you.
He'd seen it.
Never replied.
She typed a new message.
I'm glad you finally answered.
She didn't send it.
Instead she sent a heart emoji.
He replied instantly.
"❤️"
She smiled.
Closed her eyes.
The weekend would come soon.
He would come.
And maybe—just maybe—they could start building something real.
Something messy.
Something honest.
Something that might survive.
Or maybe it wouldn't.
But for the first time in years,
Naira wasn't afraid to find out.
She fell asleep on the couch.
Phone clutched to her chest.
Dreaming of yellow haldi stains and rooftop promises.
Outside, Mumbai hummed.
Rain started again.
Soft at first.
Then harder.
Like the city was crying with relief.