11

The low hum of machines and faint clinking of weights filled the small gym, but Aryan was barely registering any of it. He was gripping the dumbbells tightly, his jaw clenched, veins visible on his arms as he pushed through another set. Sweat dripped down his face, but the burn in his muscles was nothing compared to the frustration boiling inside him.

Tara.

Her name echoed in his mind with every rep. Every glance she had avoided. Every time she had walked away.

He wanted her back. He needed her back.

But she was slipping further away with every step she took in the opposite direction.

He dropped the weights onto the mat, his chest rising and falling heavily, frustration seeping into his breath. His hands rested on his knees as he stared down at the ground, thoughts spiraling.

How did I let it get this bad?

How did I lose her like this?

I thought coming back would mean a chance to fix things... but it's like she built a wall so high I can't even see her anymore. I can't even blame her for it.

His phone vibrated on the bench beside him. He grabbed it, still panting lightly, and saw 'Mom Calling' on the screen.

He sighed before swiping to answer.

"Yeah, Mom?" His tone was low, almost drained.

"Beta, how are you? Are you settled in properly?" Her voice was warm, comforting—the only familiar thing in his life right now.

"Hmm... I am." His answers were clipped.

"Did you eat?"

"Yeah."

"Properly?" She pressed.

"Yes, Mom," he snapped lightly, but not meaning to sound harsh.

There was a pause before her voice softened further. "Did you... meet her?"

His jaw tensed instantly. His free hand curled into a fist on his thigh.

"Hmm. I did."

"And? What did she say?" Her voice was careful, as though she already knew the answer.

"Nothing." His tone was cold, but there was an ache underneath it. "What did you expect?"

"Aryan..." she started, but he cut her off quickly.

"Mom, I need to go. I'll call you later. Take care."

Before she could respond, he ended the call, tossing the phone aside onto his gym bag. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm the anger bubbling beneath his skin. But it wasn't just anger—it was regret, guilt, and the overwhelming feeling of being powerless. Losing Tara had soured things with everyone he knew.

After a few moments, he stood up, grabbed his stuff, and headed back to the flat. The shower was quick, but the warm water did little to soothe his mind. He changed into joggers and a sweatshirt, slipping his hoodie over his damp hair, and decided to head out to the convenience store nearby for some groceries.

It was late evening, the air crisp as he made his way through the aisles, mindlessly picking up bread, eggs, and other essentials. His eyes wandered as he turned a corner—and then he froze.

There they were.

Her favorite chips.

The same kind she would always buy during their late-night movie marathons. The same ones she made him run out to get at 1 AM when she was craving them.

Without thinking, he reached for the bag. He stared at it for a moment, his thumb brushing over the packaging.

He knew she probably wouldn't even accept them if he gave it to her.

But he still placed it in his basket.

It was stupid, he knew that.

But it was also the closest he could get to feeling connected to her—right now, that was enough.

Aryan was walking back towards the accommodation building, the bag of groceries swinging lightly in his hand, when he spotted her. Tara.

She was stepping into the lift, eyes fixed on her phone, completely unaware of his presence. His heart jolted—this was his chance.

The doors were sliding shut.

"Taru," His voice broke out, firm yet gentle.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening in shock as she looked at him. For a second, she seemed frozen—like she was weighing whether to press the 'Open Door' button and run—but it was too late. She had slipped inside just before the doors sealed.

The air was thick.

She instantly shifted to the far corner of the lift, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, but he stepped closer. Not threatening—just determined. His eyes, dark and intense, held hers.

"You can't run this time," he murmured. "Talk to me."

She tensed, her breath hitching, but she didn't speak.

Aryan's hand came up to rest lightly on the wall beside her head, his body close but not caging—just enough to make sure she didn't slip away. His eyes softened, the tension in his jaw slowly giving way to something raw, something pleading.

"Taru... I'm sorry," his voice cracked, low and sincere. "I messed up. I know I did. I should've—"

"I don't want to know," she cut him off quickly, her voice sharp, but laced with the kind of pain that made his chest ache.

He stepped back slightly, searching her eyes. "Why not? Why don't you want to listen, Tara?"

Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but she stopped herself. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes flickering away before she whispered, "Because I don't want anything to change."

He blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"I want to stay this way now," she breathed. "I've... made peace with it. I built a life without you in it." Her voice wavered slightly. "I can't go through all that again."

For a second, he said nothing—just stared at her, taking in every word. And then, his voice softened, almost teasing but deeply serious underneath.

"So, you're saying... hearing me out would change things?"

Her eyes shot up to meet his—wide, panicked. She opened her mouth but no words came out. She was caught.

Silence.

The kind that made it hard to breathe.

Their eyes locked, holding onto something neither of them could name—something fragile, something dangerous. The weight of everything they had been and everything they still were pressed down on them in that small space.

Her breath quickened. His gaze dropped for a fleeting second to her lips before returning to her eyes. His fingers twitched by his side as if resisting the urge to reach for her.

The lift slowed, then came to a stop.

His floor.

"Bloody hell," Aryan muttered under his breath, frustration flickering across his face. The spell broke for a second.

But before the doors opened, his hand reached up—gentle fingers brushing against her cheek. A touch so familiar yet so foreign, it sent chills down her spine.

His thumb traced her cheekbone softly, his eyes searching hers. "This isn't over," he whispered.

And then, he was gone.

The doors slid shut. Tara was left standing there—heart racing, eyes burning with unshed tears.

Everything she had worked so hard to bury was threatening to rise again.

💜