The change didn't come suddenly. It came like dusk - quietly, gradually - until one day, the sunlight was gone, and Aarav was left wondering when it had dimmed.
Tara began to vanish in pieces.
First, it was the late replies. Messages read but unanswered. Then it was canceled plans - her voice airy with excuses: "Sorry, the muse hit me," or "I just needed to be alone with the canvas." She said it with a smile, but her eyes - those eyes that once danced when they looked at him - had begun to dull.
Aarav tried to ignore it. Love, he told himself, had ups and downs. Artists were different. She needed space. He convinced himself that giving her freedom was part of loving her.
But the signs multiplied.
Once, while folding her hoodie, a crumpled note fell from the pocket - "Dinner was perfect. I missed this. - V." His chest tightened, but he said nothing. He didn't want to believe what his gut screamed. He didn't want to seem insecure, clingy - things she despised.
He mustered the courage to ask. "Who's Vihaan?"
Tara's face froze for a second, just long enough for doubt to confirm itself. Then she laughed - a brittle, hollow sound.
"A friend," she said, brushing it off. "You're overthinking."
But he wasn't.
She began turning her phone face-down when they were together. There were more hushed calls, more locked doors. When he reached for her hand, she'd pull away just a little too quickly. Her kisses became rituals, not warmth. Her words, fewer.
He started keeping his questions to himself. Because every time he asked, she recoiled, accusing him of distrust.
"You think I'm cheating just because I don't report my every move?" she snapped once, eyes wild.
"No," he said softly, heart cracking. "I just… miss the way we used to be."
She didn't respond. Just lit a cigarette and stared out the window, as if he weren't even there.
Aarav began to feel like a ghost in his own story - present, but fading.
Still, he held on.
Because sometimes, love isn't blind - it sees everything but hopes anyway.
And Aarav was still hoping. That the girl who made him feel alive hadn't already left. That this was just a phase. That love, real love, wouldn't end this way.
But deep down, a voice whispered: "This isn't love. This is erosion."