25

The week passed in a blur, marked by long hours of work, site visits, and late evenings spent in front of their laptops. Tara and Aryan had found a strange rhythm—comfortable yet strained. They worked efficiently, communicating with minimal words, often falling into old patterns without meaning to. She would catch him watching her sometimes, and he'd quickly look away. He would call her Star without thinking, and she would pretend not to hear.

By the end of the week, they had finalized their business plan and prepared the initial website structure. That morning, they had their check-in with Mark.

Sitting across from him in his office, Aryan led the presentation, his voice smooth and confident, while Tara occasionally added technical details. Mark listened, nodding, occasionally smiling to himself. When they finished, he leaned back in his chair, impressed.

"This is excellent work, you two. You've gone beyond what was expected. The business team is happy with your progress, and I can see this turning into something long-term if you keep at it," Mark said, his eyes warm.

Tara allowed herself a small smile. Aryan beamed beside her.

"You work well together," Mark added, his tone light but layered. "It's good to have a partner who gets you, right?"

Tara froze for half a second, but Aryan responded smoothly, "Yes, sir. Couldn't agree more."

Mark chuckled but said nothing further. "Keep this up. You're on the right path."

They thanked him and left the office. The air outside felt crisp as they made their way back toward the studio buildings.

As they walked side by side, mostly silent, Aryan broke the quiet. "We killed it, Star." His voice had that proud, easy tone she used to love.

She nodded, simply.

He grinned at her, but she quickly looked away, focusing on the path ahead.

They were nearing their building when, suddenly, a football came flying their way—fast. Before Tara could react, Aryan stepped in front of her, his arm lightly stretching back to shield her. He trapped the ball with one smooth motion of his foot, controlling it like second nature. With a quick, skillful flick, he kicked it back to the guys playing nearby.

One of the boys yelled, "Nice one, bro!"

Aryan gave a casual nod, the confident ease of someone who had done this a thousand times.

Tara's heart had jumped—first from the ball, then from him instinctively protecting her. For a moment, she watched him, feeling that small flicker of admiration she had felt so many times before. The way he moved—graceful, sure, like he belonged there—made her chest tighten in a way she hated to admit.

But she quickly shook it off, composing herself.

"You didn't have to do that," she muttered.

He glanced at her, smirking. "Can't let anyone hurt my Star, right?"

She ignored that, turning her eyes away.

"Don't let it get to your head," she said, but her tone lacked its usual bite.

He chuckled, hands in his pockets, walking beside her. "Too late."

Tara and Aryan walked side by side toward their studio building, but this time, she slipped her earphones in—her subtle signal that she didn't want to talk. He noticed, of course, but didn't say anything. He just walked next to her, matching her pace, their steps falling into an easy rhythm like they always had.

She scrolled through her playlist, picking something mellow, but her mind wasn't on the music. It was stuck on that brief moment—the way he had shielded her from the ball with such instinctive ease. Her chest tightened at the memory. She had fallen for him, back then, partly because of that—the way he played football, the way he loved it. His skill on the field, his passion, his confidence—it had made her heart race. And now, watching him control the ball today, so effortlessly, as if it was part of him... she felt it again.

The same rush. The same admiration. The same danger.

Her guard was slipping. She felt it, and it scared her.

She turned the volume up slightly, hoping the music would drown out her thoughts. But it didn't. Because he was still there beside her—quiet, present, and familiar.

When they reached their building, they both slowed down, almost reluctant to break the walk.

He unlocked his door, pausing for a moment. "See you later, Star," he said, his voice gentle.

She gave him a small nod, barely looking at him. "Yeah..."

She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes. Her heart was racing again—because of him. Because it always had been him.

~•~

It was around 9 PM. The low hum of Aryan's laptop filled the room, blending with the faint sounds of the city outside. Tara sat on the floor, back against the coffee table, scribbling notes while he typed away on his couch. The work had been smooth today—they had found a rhythm, like old times.

Too much like old times.

They had been at it for hours, yet no casual conversations slipping in between tech talk. The tension in the room was intense—a mix of unsaid words and feelings yet a lingering urge of longing.

It felt natural. Easy. Dangerous.

Then, it happened.

Aryan sighed, frustrated with a backend error. He leaned back, cracking his knuckles. "Ugh, this is annoying... Honestly, should've just done print('Hello, World') and called it a day, right?"

He chuckled softly.

Tara froze.

Her pen slipped from her fingers. That line. That joke. It was theirs.

First year. First semester coding class. First everything.

She remembered them sitting in the back of the lab, typing dumb versions of it into the console. "print('Tara is stuck with Aryan forever')."

"print('Aryan loves Tara more than pizza')."

Their laughter had echoed, carefree and warm.

Now, his voice—bringing it back—made her chest tighten. It wasn't fair. He wasn't allowed to do this. He didn't even know he just brought it up.

"I miss that." he muttered quietly. "Those nights... you, me, being stupid... I wish we could go back to that sometimes."

Her heart clenched. She didn't look up. Her grip on her notebook tightened.

"You wish?" Her voice was quiet but sharp.

He blinked, sensing the tension but trying to keep it light. "Yeah, I mean—"

She cut him off.

"You miss it," she repeated, louder this time.

Aryan shifted on the couch. "Of course I do, Tara. Those were the best day—."

Something inside her snapped.

Her head shot up, eyes burning. "THEN WHY THE HELL DID YOU THROW IT ALL AWAY?!"

His face dropped. He opened his mouth, but she didn't let him.

"You miss it? You wish we could go back? What stopped you, Aryan? What stopped you from calling me back then?"

He tensed. "Tara, I—"

"NO." Her voice cracked. "You don't get to say you miss it. You left. You walked away and never looked back. YOU DISAPPEARED."

He sat up straight, his chest rising with a shaky breath. "I didn't know how to—"

"YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW?" Her voice rose, trembling with anger and heartbreak. "YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO PICK UP THE FREAKING PHONE? YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO TEXT THR PERSON YOU SAID YOU LOVED?"

"Tara, please, I—"

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FELT LIKE?!" Her voice was breaking now, eyes glassy with tears. "I called you every day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. I messaged you, I begged you to just... just tell me you were okay. AND YOU IGNORED ME. LIKE I WAS NOTHING."

Aryan stood up now, tears in his eyes. "I wasn't okay, Tara! And I wasn't ig—"

"YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME THAT!" she cried. "You could've trusted me. But you left me to sit there, wondering if you were DEAD or if you just... STOPPED CARING."

"I never stopped caring!" His voice cracked.

She let out a bitter laugh through her tears. "OH REALLY? BECAUSE FROM WHERE I STOOD, IT SURE AS HELL FELT LIKE YOU DID. YOU WERE OUT THERE—PARTYING, MOVING ON, LIVING YOUR LIFE—and I was here... breaking."

"I DIDN'T," Aryan's eyes widened. "Tara... I didn't go to any parties. I didn't see anyone. I wasn't with my friends. I cut everyone off. I was—"

"Bullshit!" she snapped. "Don't try to act like—"

"I'M NOT LYING!" His voice rose for the first time. His face was wet now. "I wasn't partying. I wasn't moving on. I was drowning."

She stared at him, chest heaving from the tears, frustration and anger oozing from her. Her eyes were burning. She was burning.

"I didn't talk to anyone. Not my friends. Not my family. No one. I—I was a mess. I didn't know how to face you... or myself. I thought I was protecting you." His voice trembled.

Her face crumpled, anger mixing with confusion. "PROTECTING ME FROM WHAT? FROM LOVING YOU?"

His lips parted, but nothing came out. He looked helpless—broken.

She wiped her face with trembling hands. "You were everything to me, Aryan. And you let me sit in the dark. ALONE. DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO ME?!"

His jaw tightened, voice cracking. "I know I hurt you. I hate myself for it every day."

Her tears fell faster. "YOU SHATTERED ME. I HAD TO TEACH MYSELF HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT YOU. I HAD TO TRAIN MY HEART TO STOP WAITING FOR YOU."

His face twisted in pain. He took a hesitant step forward. "Tara... I'm so sorry."

"I DON'T SANT YOUR SORRY," she yelled, voice shaking. "I WANTED YOU. I NEEDED YOU, ARYAN."

He was crying fully now. "I know. I needed you too... but I—I was scared.... Tara, there's a lot you don't know. I was scared I would ruin you, I'd hurt you more."

"THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME WHAT WAS GOING ON? WHY LEAVE ME IN THE DARK?"

Aryan chocked on his tears, "Tara, I couldn't. I genuinely couldn't—"

She shook her head violently. "BULLSHIT. YOU DIDN'T WANT TO TELL ME. YOU HURT ME ANYWAY. I WOULD RATHER GET HURT BEING NEAR YOU. AND YOU DON'T GET TO DECIDE WHAT HURTS ME." She took a deep breath, "You don't get to decide that for me."

A heavy silence. Their breathing was ragged, their faces streaked with tears.

She clutched her bag, her whole body trembling. "I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't."

"Tara, please—" His voice was desperate now.

She turned for the door, gripping the handle like it was her lifeline.

He stepped closer, hand reaching out. "I never stopped loving you."

Her breath hitched. She paused but didn't look back. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You don't get to say that now."

Her fingers twisted the handle.

"Tara..."

She opened the door.

"Tara, don't go like this—" His voice cracked into a sob.

But she was already stepping out.

She slammed the door behind her.

Aryan stood there, chest rising and falling rapidly, his face soaked with tears. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath before covering his face with his palms.

On the other side of the door, Tara leaned back against the wall, sliding down slowly, her hand pressed over her mouth to muffle her sobs.

Both shattered.

Both still in love.

But broken, all the same.

💜