03-09-2025, 12:02 PM
His thumb lingered on her name in the call log.
He wanted to dial, to hear her voice, even if it was only a single word.
But he couldn’t. Not now.
Not when she was surrounded by family, by rituals, by mourning.
Not when the weight of both her grief and his betrayal hung between them.
Ravi stood up and paced the flat. The tea cups still sat on the table, the wrappers from his dinner crumpled beside them.
He thought of clearing them, of making the room look fresh, new, untouched. But then what was the point? The stains were not on the table, not in the cups. They were inside him.
He went to the balcony and leaned against the railing. Mumbai stretched before him in restless movement, cars honking, lights flickering, voices rising from the street. To the city, it was just another Saturday night. To him, it was a night suspended, a night that refused to end.
“Didi…” he whispered again, barely audible above the hum of traffic.
The word drifted out into the dark, unheard, unanswered.
Back inside, he dropped onto the couch. The silence pressed heavier now, almost suffocating. His eyes burned but no tears came.
He sat motionless, clutching the phone like it was his only anchor.
His phone buzzed a few more times, but Ravi didn’t look at it.
Messages from Neetu Bhabhi and Sirisha flashed across the screen, Sirisha checking in, asking if he was alright, Neetu Bhabhi sending a playful joke about the Threesome Rasmalai Party, but none of them registered.
His mind wasn’t in a place to respond to anything now. Everything felt distant, as if those messages were sent from a world he no longer belonged to.
The weight of Priya’s absence, of the distance between them now, had consumed him completely.
The screen continued to glow with notifications, but Ravi let them stay unanswered, drifting further away from the lives of others as he sat there, caught in his own silence.
At some point, exhaustion pulled him down.
He didn’t change, didn’t pull the sheets over himself. He simply lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling until the blur of fatigue softened his thoughts. In the quiet, he clung to a single hope, that tomorrow, somehow, there might still be a way to make things right.
But for now, Ravi remained where he was: alone, guilty, grieving, and waiting in the dark.
He wanted to dial, to hear her voice, even if it was only a single word.
But he couldn’t. Not now.
Not when she was surrounded by family, by rituals, by mourning.
Not when the weight of both her grief and his betrayal hung between them.
Ravi stood up and paced the flat. The tea cups still sat on the table, the wrappers from his dinner crumpled beside them.
He thought of clearing them, of making the room look fresh, new, untouched. But then what was the point? The stains were not on the table, not in the cups. They were inside him.
He went to the balcony and leaned against the railing. Mumbai stretched before him in restless movement, cars honking, lights flickering, voices rising from the street. To the city, it was just another Saturday night. To him, it was a night suspended, a night that refused to end.
“Didi…” he whispered again, barely audible above the hum of traffic.
The word drifted out into the dark, unheard, unanswered.
Back inside, he dropped onto the couch. The silence pressed heavier now, almost suffocating. His eyes burned but no tears came.
He sat motionless, clutching the phone like it was his only anchor.
His phone buzzed a few more times, but Ravi didn’t look at it.
Messages from Neetu Bhabhi and Sirisha flashed across the screen, Sirisha checking in, asking if he was alright, Neetu Bhabhi sending a playful joke about the Threesome Rasmalai Party, but none of them registered.
His mind wasn’t in a place to respond to anything now. Everything felt distant, as if those messages were sent from a world he no longer belonged to.
The weight of Priya’s absence, of the distance between them now, had consumed him completely.
The screen continued to glow with notifications, but Ravi let them stay unanswered, drifting further away from the lives of others as he sat there, caught in his own silence.
At some point, exhaustion pulled him down.
He didn’t change, didn’t pull the sheets over himself. He simply lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling until the blur of fatigue softened his thoughts. In the quiet, he clung to a single hope, that tomorrow, somehow, there might still be a way to make things right.
But for now, Ravi remained where he was: alone, guilty, grieving, and waiting in the dark.
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