It was supposed to be an ordinary Sunday. Aarav had stepped out to buy groceries, a small escape from the suffocating quiet that Tara had left in her wake. The skies were clear, but his chest carried a storm.
He wasn't planning to pass the bookstore.
But something - call it instinct, call it fate - led him down that street. And there, just a few feet ahead, time collapsed.
Tara.
Her laughter rang out - carefree, unguarded - the way she used to laugh only with him. But it wasn't him beside her. It was Vihaan.
He was tall, confident, with that effortlessly rugged charm Aarav could never quite pull off. And her fingers? Intertwined with his, like they belonged there.
Aarav froze. The world didn't stop. Cars passed. A dog barked. A child tugged at her mother's sleeve. But for him, it was like the universe had drawn a cruel red circle around that moment.
She didn't see him. Or maybe she did and chose to look away.
He stood there for minutes - or maybe lifetimes. Every part of him screamed to walk away, but his legs were anchored in disbelief. In betrayal.
That evening, he went to her apartment. The key still worked. Her studio was a mess of canvases and half-empty wine bottles. She was there, barefoot, humming, unaware of the wreckage behind his calm exterior.
"Tara," he said, voice trembling.
She turned, a flicker of surprise - maybe guilt - in her eyes.
"I saw you," he said, no theatrics, no accusations. Just pain, raw and naked.
She sighed, not the kind of sigh that begged for forgiveness, but the kind that signaled annoyance. As if he were interrupting her peace.
"Vihaan was never out of the picture," she said flatly. "I never told you to fall for me, Aarav."
It wasn't anger that rose in him - it was devastation. He had expected denial, even a lie. But the truth was worse.
He didn't shout. He didn't cry. He just nodded, turned around, and walked away.
The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that echoed.
And in that silence, something inside Aarav shattered - not loudly, not like glass, but quietly, like paper burning from the inside out.
Love hadn't broken him. The illusion of it had.