Aditya

A Few Years Ago

I never thought that I, someone who is always breaking hearts, could get my heart broken by a small, petite girl. Nor had I ever learnt how to cope with this poor heartbreak, because considering what I've done in the past week or so, I've clearly lost my mind along with my heart.

Cigarettes — which I left for her sake — are back in my hands every evening; the guitar, which she always asked me to play, smashed and broken in some corner of my house. The house — which I called home whenever she was there — clattered with bottles of alcohol and the smoke of cigarettes, which couldn't seem to help me forget her.

The friends who used to text me only when needed, now call me every hour as if I'll end my life any second now. And all this, why? All this because some girl left my heart broken? A girl broke Aditya Singhania's heart? That's what everyone believes. That's why everyone blames her.

But who will tell them that she's not just any other girl?
She's my girl. She's my Inaya.

The one who owns my heart, the one who rules my mind, the one who remembers the entire map of my body. She's not just some girl.

And that's why the  Aditya Singhania is sickly, maddeningly, achingly in love with her.

I stare at the darkened sky, the smoke from my cigarette floating into the night sky, disappearing between the drops of rain pouring harshly against my soaked white shirt. It started pouring somewhere between my fifth cigarette and third bottle of some alcohol, which didn't taste strong enough for me to stop her name from echoing in my head and heart.

and without thinking, I'd set out, without my car, without an umberalla, without a damn clue —

only to find myself outside her window.

snearing, shaking, soaked — not only in rain, but along the sorrow of my heartbreak.

The lights of her room are on, the curtain drawn halfway. My gaze is fixed on the transparent panel, staring hard to find answers to the questions I'm too afraid to ask. Her silhouette moves beside the curtains, breathing, as graceful as ever. It's still the same, still the same. Inaya, I knew it from the moment I fell in love with her.

I stand still for what seems like hours, waiting, watching, withering in the rain, the cold drops slapping against my skin as I hope —

hope that she'd feel me,

hope that she'd sense the presence that's been absent from her life

hope that she'd open the window and look out just once.

And before I gather enough courage to turn back and leave this hope here, with her. Inaya's windows creak open.

It's her hands that draw my attention at first, those delicate fingers I used to kiss between laughter and midnight whispers. Her glowing skin contrasted against the dark wooden frame of her windows, and glistening on one of her fingers — the promise ring I gifted her.

My heart clenches at the sight, throbbing in pain more than it had in the past few days. The alcohol in my system begins to dull, fading into the background, replaced by something far more sobering — The sight of that ring. Tears sting my eyes as I keep staring, unable to look away. So many memories. So many broken promises wrapped around that one delicate finger. Even after everything's fallen apart, even after everything's changed, she still wears me.

A loud crack of thunder splits the sky, and my eyes snap to hers. Those greenish-brown orbs that have always spoken louder than her voice ever could—eyes I used to fall asleep staring into, eyes that once felt like home. And now, even through the rain and distance, they still hold the storm I've been drowning in.

I don't hear her gasp, but the shock is evident on her face. She wasn't expecting me to show up here.

"Aditya... what are you doing here?" Her voice barely rises above the sound of the rain, soft and uncertain, yet it cuts through the chaos around me like it always does. It flows with the breeze, brushing against my skin, pushing strands of wet hair out of my face. "You shouldn't be here," she says, but there's no sharpness in her tone—only something quieter, something that sounds like heartbreak.

I don't answer. Not right away. My eyes drink her in—the way they always have. Because how could they not? She's something to be admired. She always has been. She's the kind of girl the world pauses for. The kind of girl you don't just look at—you feel.

"Adi?" she questions, her voice softer this time.

My words escape my lips before I can stop them, answering her question with my own, "Did it ever even mean anything to you, or were your stupid promises just a lie?". A shiver passes down my back at my tone as her gaze falls.

She opens her lips to say something, but no words leave. Silence.

"Answer me," I yell, the words ripping out of me before I can stop them. Her eyes snap back to mine instantly, startled—but not afraid. That greenish-brown fire I know all too well ignites behind them, the same occasional rage I've witnessed before.

"You can't just show up at my house, stand there in the rain like some sick, love-struck fool, and yell at me!" she snaps, her voice sharp and shaking with the same rage that's burning in my chest. "We're over, Aditya. We broke up. Promises are meant to be broken."

My jaw tightens, and for a second, I don't speak. Then my eyes drop to her hand. The one is still resting on the window frame. The one still wearing the ring.

I let out a breath, bitter and heavy. "Yeah? Then why is it that you're still wearing my ring, Inaya?"

My question seems to catch her off guard. Her eyes flicker—startled, uncertain, before they drop to her hand. I follow her gaze, letting mine burn into the small, gleaming thing that still sits there like a cruel reminder. The golden band rests delicately on her ring finger, glinting softly in the dim light.

Inaya softly touches the ring, twirling it around her finger, trying to find words to respond to me. When she fails to find an answer, her eyes set on me, hiding behind her lashes.

A deep chuckle erupts from my chest, humoured by the irony of the situation. She refuses to accept that she broke her promises, yet has no answers to defend herself or that ring.

"You know Inaya, it's fucking ironic. Dil toh tod diya mera, magar ab apne hi gunaah ko tasleem karna bhi mushkil ho gaya hai, hai na?"

(You broke my heart—shattered it. But now you can't even bring yourself to accept the damn crime? right?)

The crudeness in my voice is almost unrecognisable to me. Harsh, bitter, nothing like the boy who once whispered love into her skin. "That ring," I say, my voice sharp, "the one on your finger that's your reminder." I point at it, the band catching the faint light. "A reminder of what you lost, Inaya. A reminder of what we could  have been... if you hadn't been so damn cruel."

I catch the faint shimmer of a tear sliding down her cheek, barely there at first, until more begin to follow. And just like that, my chest tightens. My heart aches violently, and yet the blood in my veins boils with rage. Not at her, but at myself.

For making her cry. For being the reason her eyes don't shine the way they used to. My hands tremble at my sides before I curl them into fists, nails digging into my palms. Because if I don't, I might just rip open my skin and bleed right here, for her.

"Leave," her voice is so soft at first, I almost fail to catch her words.

"Inaya-"

Her words hit harder than any scream ever could. "I don't want to see you again," she says, voice barely wavering now. "All you've done is make assumptions about me, tear me apart with your silence, your anger. You left me defenceless, Aditya. This isn't love anymore—and it's showing." She pauses, and it feels like the air itself holds its breath, "Your words echo the hatred you hold for me now. And no matter what answers I give, that hatred will only grow. I can't survive loving someone who's already made me the villain in his head."

For a second, everything is still. Then I see her hand move.
Slow, almost reluctant, she pulls the ring off her finger.

Her eyes don't meet mine. She stares down at it, this small, golden circle that once held the weight of every late-night whisper, every shared silence, every promise. Her fingers tremble just the slightest bit, but she doesn't stop. Doesn't hesitate.

Then, she throws it.

It flies through the air in a quiet arc and hits the ground near my feet with a soft clink that sounds so gentle, it almost makes it worse. Like it didn't just end something sacred. Like it didn't just kill whatever hope I was still holding onto.

I flinch—not because it hits me, but because it doesn't. Because watching her throw it... Watching her let us go that easily, hurts more than any slap ever could.

I look back up at her slowly, the words crawling out of my throat like something broken. "Inaya..." It's all I can manage, but it isn't enough.

She doesn't reply. She doesn't cry. She just stands there, strong, silent, done. Like she's already mourning the boy I used to be, and not the man standing in front of her now. And maybe she's right. Maybe love isn't supposed to feel like this, like war, like a wound that never heals. Maybe we've both been fighting for a version of us that no longer exists.

Still, I speak, because silence now would feel like another betrayal. "I never hated you, Inaya," I say, voice low, cracking. "I hated how easy it was for you to let go." This time, she flinches. Barely. But it's there.

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then turns away from the window without another word. And I finally take a step back. Then another. Until the distance between us feels just as wide as the silence we've built.

Present

"I have to ask.." I pause in between to look at Kyra's reaction. Her face twists into an uncomfortable expression, yet she keeps quiet, waiting for me to continue.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling someone's gaze on my back. I turn, my eyes scanning the surroundings for someone who might be hiding to spy on us. My gaze returns to Kyra when i fail to find anyone.

"Um, well.. It's about Inaya," I say calmly, not wanting her to run away before I even ask for a favour.

Kyra is known for her protectiveness towards her younger cousins and friends, and naturally, Inaya is a part of that. It would be easy for her to say no, considering my beloved ex is her younger sister's best friend. But it would be easier to convince or, if needed, threaten Kyra than it would be Kaynaaz.

Kaynaaz is scary protective of Inaya, and even though I'd hate to admit it, I'd rather talk to Inaya myself than have to do it through Kaynaaz. I mean, the woman almost killed me by slashing the tires of my car, but that's a lore for another day.

Kyra's lips twist at my words, and her eyes waver behind me for a minute, as if seeking someone's help. Sensing her hesitation, I speak before she makes a decision.

"Kyra, I really just need to reach out to her, it's important," I say desperately.

Her eyes cloud with confusion before she answers, "If it's so important, then why don't u reach out to her yourself?"

Because she blocked me after whatever I said to her the last time I cornered her, and maybe because you're my sister's sister-in-law, so I might as well use that to my advantage.

"She blocked me after our break-up," I tell her half the truth, "I can't go to her house, you know how her brother and father are, right? Please, Kyra,"

She tightens her grip around the tote bag over her shoulder, and the umbrella in her other hand now seems to lower as if it's too heavy to hold. The raindrops behind her continue to fall fast against the pavement, making the air around us more humid by the second.

"I'm sorry, Aditya... but I can't help you with this," Kyra says, her voice tight. "I think it's better if you leave Inaya alone. She doesn't need more trouble than she's already got."

She tries to sound firm—confident, but I can hear the cracks beneath her words. Her pitch falters, betraying the softness she's trying so hard to bury. I know Kyra. I know that behind the sharp tone is a heart that's far too gentle for this kind of confrontation. And even now, when she's standing between me and the girl I'd bleed for, she's not cold—she's just scared. For Inaya. For what I might do.

Kyra exhales shakily, as if just saying those words took everything out of her. Then she steps back, clearly ready to leave. But I can't let her walk away. Not yet.

Without thinking, I reach out and catch her arm, not hard, just enough to stop her. Her body stiffens instantly, and she freezes in place.

"Kyra," I say, voice low, urgent. "Please..."

She doesn't turn around, but I can feel the tension in her shoulders, the war inside her. I'm not trying to scare her—I just need answers. I need something. And right now, she's the only thread I have left that still leads to Inaya.

After a beat, she speaks softly. "Let go, Aditya."

"Listen, I need to get to Inaya." I sound more helpless than I want to, but I refuse to let go of this chance.

Kyra's body trembles slightly as she rips her hands out of my hold.

"I cannot help you, please leave me alone and do not approach me again." There's slight anger in her words, and I look at her face, noticing the lost expression mixed with a hint of exhaustion.

My face twists with despair as I grab onto Kyra again and turn her around to face me. Fear coats her entire body as she looks at me in shock and bewilderment.

"Kyra, I'm sorry, but you've left me no choice now. I need to get to Inaya and you're my only chance at doing so," I pull out an envelope from the pocket of my pants before shoving it in her shivering hands, "Deliver this to Inaya and make sure she reads it, and if you fail to do so, I'm sure your father will love to hear why exactly your visit to the library have become so long and frequent."

Kyra stares at the envelope in her trembling hands, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes dart around the quiet corridor, as if hoping someone else is here, someone who might pull her out of this moment, this threat, this version of me she wasn't expecting.

Then she looks back at me, wide-eyed and shaken. "What do you mean?" she whispers, voice barely steady. "What are you talking about?"

But I can see it, the flicker of recognition behind her panic. She knows exactly what I'm talking about. She just didn't think anyone would find out.

"Kyra, I don't think your father will appreciate hearing about your little dates with the grandson of one of his business partners, would he? I mean, this is kind of a shock for me too," I pause more a second, before smiling at her. "Kind, sweet, innocent Kyra Rajvanshi, with the crude and cold Ansh Sharma, not the usual pairing now, is it?"

She clutches the envelope tighter to her chest, her lips parting like she wants to deny it, but she doesn't. Because she can't.

"I didn't want to use this. I really didn't. But you've left me no choice. Now kindly do as I say, before I've to use this information against you, yea?"

Kyra doesn't say a word. Her eyes stay locked on mine for a long, trembling second, filled with fear, confusion, and something dangerously close to betrayal. The rain continues to pour, as it taps against the stone path, mingling with the tension like a second silence. She shivers, clutching the envelope like it might burn her fingers.

Then—she nods. Small. Frightened. Defeated.

And before I can say anything else, she yanks her arm from my grip and stumbles back. Her shoes splash against the wet ground as she turns and runs, clutching the envelope tightly to her chest.

I watch as she rushes down the library steps, the hem of her dress trailing behind her. She doesn't look back before disappearing into the pouring rain with her umbrella.

I stand there, motionless, breathing in the scent of wet earth and something sharp beneath it, regret maybe. For a moment, I let my shoulders drop. The weight of the confrontation, the fear in Kyra's eyes, the letter—everything presses against my ribs, and yet the rain numbs it. Dulls it. I tilt my head back slightly, letting a few drops hit my face, letting the cold settle in.

It's strange—the way the storm outside feels quieter than the one inside me. But then—

A hand yanks me backwards by the collar, hard and sudden. I stumbled a step, completely caught off guard.

Before I can even register who it is, a fist connects with the side of my face.

Crack.

Pain explodes in my jaw, white-hot and immediate. My head whips sideways, and I taste blood—metallic and sharp against my tongue. The rain only makes it worse, seeping into the cut at the corner of my lip, stinging like it's punishing me too.

I stagger but don't fall.

Slowly, I lift a hand to my mouth, wiping the blood with the back of my sleeve. My vision blurs for a second before it clears—and when I finally look up, I see him.

Ansh Sharma.

Standing there, fists clenched, chest heaving, eyes burning with a fury I've only ever seen in myself.

His hair's soaked, his jaw tight, rain dripping from his brow as he glares at me like I'm the reason the sky's falling apart.

"You've got a death wish, don't you, Aditya?" Ansh growls, stepping closer, his voice low and lethal. "What the hell were you thinking, threatening her like that? You thought you'd get away with it?"

I wince as the pain in my jaw throbs again, my fingers brushing the blood at the corner of my mouth. Still, I manage a smirk. Of course. So Mr. Sharma has a soft spot. Interesting.

"So it's true," I murmur, amused. "She's grown on you. Enough to turn that iron spine of yours into something fragile. She's becoming a weakness, Ansh."

His jaw flexes, and for a second, I think he's going to explode. But he doesn't. His gaze locks to mine like he's already figured out where to bury me.

"Call her a weakness one more time," he says, voice soft now—too soft. "And I'll have your head on a stake, Aditya. I'm not bluffing. Try threatening her again, even breathe in her direction, and I swear—"

He leans in, his tone dropping into something even darker, his breath mixing with mine in the cold rain.

"I'll make you disappear so quietly, so cleanly, your daddy's money won't be enough to even trace the memory of you."

I barely have time to process it before his fist crashes into my face again—harder this time. My neck jerks back, and blood spills warm onto my tongue. I don't fight it. I let him have it.

I deserve it.

Ansh straightens, his chest rising and falling steadily as he shakes the sting from his knuckles. And then he speaks again, quieter this time.

"Oh, and Aditya," he says, his smirk dark, deliberate, undeniably dangerous.

"Her father will know about me eventually," Ansh says, his voice like velvet over steel, deadly calm. "And when he does, there won't be denial. No protests. No objections. He'll hand her over himself—because by then, even he'll know she was always mine to begin with."

He steps back once, but his presence lingers like a storm just beginning. And in that moment, I see it, that flicker of fire in Ansh's eyes that doesn't burn out.

And for a second, I almost admire him.

Because damn...

He makes fury for love look so beautiful.