DIYA'S POV
The ceiling fan spun in slow circles, casting flickering shadows across the room. My body ached, but my heart—my heart was a lead weight in my chest.
When my phone buzzed with Harsh's name, I almost ignored it. But something made me answer.
"Hey," I whispered.
"Hey, Diya," Harsh said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I know you're exhausted, but I needed to check on you."
"I'm just… tired," I murmured, but he didn't let me hide.
"Diya, stop keeping hope." His words were firm, but not unkind. "I know it's hard, but you can't keep hurting yourself waiting for something he's not sure about."
My fingers twisted in the blanket.
"He cares about you," Harsh continued, "but sometimes caring isn't enough. You can't keep reading into every gesture, every silence."
The truth of it cut deep.
"It's just—" My voice cracked.
"I know," he said softly. "I've seen how much you love him. But you have to stop expecting things to go back to how they were. If he finds his way back, he will. But don't lose yourself waiting."
I swallowed hard. He was right.
Harsh shifted the topic—flash mob practice, a new burger trend—and for a few minutes, I almost forgot the ache in my chest.
When the call ended, I curled into myself, willing sleep to come.
Then—
Maddy: How are you now?
My thumb hovered. Typed. Deleted.
What could I say?
I'm not okay. I'm breaking. I don't know you anymore.
In the end, I left it on read.
HARSH'S POV
The second I hung up, I punched my mattress.
Idiot.
Not Diya. Maddy.
I'd watched them for months—the way she looked at him like he hung the stars, the way he let her, even when he couldn't give her what she deserved.
And today? Today had been the last straw.
The way she'd stood there, holding out that damn bottle, her face crumbling when he snapped at her—fuck.
I shouldn't have called her. It wasn't my place.
But when had I ever cared about place?
The truth was, Diya was… different.
She was sharp where Maddy was soft, fiery where he was guarded. She didn't just exist in a room—she lit it up.
And the way she loved? Fully. Fearlessly.
It made something in my chest tighten.
Not that I'd ever say it.
Because this wasn't about me.
This was about her.
And she deserved better than "I don't know."
MADDY'S POV
The read receipt glared at me.
No reply. Just silence.
I tossed my phone onto the bed, running a hand through my hair.
Why had I even texted her?
To ease my guilt? To pretend I wasn't the one pushing her away?
Harsh's words from earlier echoed in my head—"If you don't want her, let her go. Stop stringing her along."
But that was the problem.
I did want her.
I just didn't know if I deserved her.