π One Week Later β Rohan's Apartment, Saturday, 6:04 PM
It was supposed to be a perfect evening.
Ishita was coming over after a week of absolute chaos β workplace rumors, police drama, and her father giving her the silent treatment. But tonight? Tonight was peace.
Dinner at home. Music. Wine.And one very special dress.
π¬ 4 Hours Earlier β Ishita's Message
Ishita:
Found it! π Wearing Mom's saree tonight β the one she wore the day Papa proposed. Think it'll give me courage πAlso, don't laugh if I cry.
Rohan had stared at that text for ten full seconds.
She was going to propose.Not marriage, maybe. But something big.
His hands had started sweating.
"Okay," he whispered. "Don't mess this up."
So he cleaned. Lit candles. Ordered food. Set mood lighting.
And then⦠he spotted the saree folded over the chair.
Light peach. Hand-embroidered. Faint scent of rose perfume.
It had wrinkles.
And Rohan, like a well-meaning idiot, thought:
Let me iron it. She'll love that.
π₯ 6:15 PM β Ten Seconds of Stupidity
The iron was too hot.
The cloth was too delicate.
One press. One slow drag.A sizzle.
Then the unmistakable stench of scorched fabric.
"No. No. Noβ" he gasped, pulling the iron away.
But it was too late.
A palm-sized brown patch melted into the middle of the saree. Threads ruined. Border scorched.
It wasn't just fabric anymore.
It was ashes of a memory.
πͺ 6:38 PM β When She Arrived
Ishita looked beautiful.
Hair tied in a low bun. Bangles clinking softly. Eyes lined with purpose.
Then she saw his face.
And the saree⦠balled up on the table, still smoking slightly.
"What⦠what happened?" she asked.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
"Rohan?"
"I tried to iron it."
"You what?"
He tried to explain. About wrinkles. About surprise. About making her feel special.
"This was my mother's," she said, stepping back. "My mother's. She wore it when Papa proposed to her. Do you understand what tonight was?"
"I do now," he whispered.
She stared at the dress like it betrayed her.
Then looked at him.
"I wanted to wear it when I told you how serious I am. When I gave you the ring. When I saidβ" her voice broke. "βthat I choose you. Every day."
Rohan's chest tightened.
"Ishitaβ¦ I'm sorry. I didn't mean toβ"
"That's the thing with you, Rohan," she said, eyes glossy. "You never mean to mess up. But you always do."
Silence.
"So what now?" he asked.
"I don't know."
She picked up her bag and walked out.
Without the ring. Without goodbye.
Just gone.
π Later That Night
The candles had melted to nothing. The food went cold. The saree lay folded on the table β like a burnt apology.
Dev came home to find Rohan sitting in the dark.
"What happened?"
Rohan just handed him the ring.
Simple. Silver. Engraved: Still, I choose you.
"She was going to give me this."
Dev looked at it. Then at his friend.
"Do you still choose her?"
"Every damn time."