The ballroom was empty now.
Lights dimmed. Champagne glasses collected. The echo of heels against marble had faded into silence.
But in Aarav's head, the night hadn't ended. Rhea's words—"That was the problem"—kept replaying like a broken record skipping at the sharpest verse.
He sat alone in his penthouse balcony, unbuttoning the collar of his tux, the sky above a dull grey, as if even the stars had decided not to show up.
Aayushi's voice broke the silence.
"You didn't sleep."
He didn't turn. "Wasn't tired."
She stepped beside him, barefoot, hair tied loosely, holding two mugs of coffee.
"You want to talk about her?" she asked, sipping casually.
He looked at her, surprised. "You knew?"
"I'm not blind. And I Googled you before I said yes to this engagement, remember?"
He cracked a reluctant smile.
"She's your wound," Aayushi said softly, "not your mistake."
He exhaled. "I don't know if that makes it better or worse."
---
Elsewhere, Rhea was packing.
Not a dramatic suitcase of tears and memories. Just a simple black duffel with her laptop, a stack of printed scripts, and a letter from a theatre company in Mumbai.
They wanted her.
Full-time.
Director.
Three-year contract.
She should've been elated. But her fingers trembled as she zipped the bag.
"You okay?" her roommate Meenal asked, yawning from her bunk.
"Yeah. Just... life being poetic again."
"You mean tragic?"
"Maybe both."
---
Later that day, Aarav sat with Kunal—his oldest friend, and probably the only one who still called him out.
They were at an old chai stall in Hauz Khas, far from the glass towers of his world.
"You look like a broken statue," Kunal said, munching a samosa.
"Thanks for the pep talk."
"You met her, didn't you?"
Aarav sighed. "She didn't even flinch. Like I never mattered."
Kunal paused. "Or maybe she flinched so hard on the inside, she trained herself not to show it."
Aarav looked at him.
"What?"
"Since when did you become emotionally insightful?"
"Since I dated that therapist. Picked up a few lines."
They both laughed. It was dry, short—but real.
Kunal added, "So what now? You marry Aayushi and pretend the ghost doesn't visit?"
"She's not a ghost."
"Then what is she?"
Aarav stared at the steam rising from his chai.
"She's the truth I walked away from."
---
That night, Aayushi called Rhea.
Not as a rival. Not as a woman scorned.
Just... woman to woman.
"I don't expect you to talk," she said, voice calm, "but I needed to say this."
Rhea stayed silent on the other end.
"I don't think he's in love with me. But I think he's trying to be."
A pause.
"I don't blame you. I don't even hate you. I just... don't want to be someone's second choice, you know?"
Rhea blinked away tears.
"You're not," she whispered.
"I know."
Click.
No anger. No guilt. Just grace.
And yet, it cut deeper than any scream could have.
---
The next morning, Aarav walked into his office and canceled the day's meetings.
He stared at a picture of him and his parents from years ago. His mother's hand rested on his shoulder. His father looked proud. And he—he looked like someone who thought the world was still full of choices.
He took out his phone.
Typed Rhea's name.
Paused.
Deleted it.
Instead, he wrote an email to his board:
"Postponing all personal appearances for the next month. Need time. Will explain."
He didn't need time.
He needed answers.
---
Meanwhile, at the railway station, Rhea stood with her bag, ticket in hand.
Platform 4.
Mumbai Express.
Five minutes to departure.
She took a breath. Looked at the train. Then at the city behind her.
And then...
She turned around.
Didn't board.
Didn't run.
Just walked into the crowd again—somewhere in between leaving and returning.
---