11 hours ago
Chapter 152 : The Weight of Goodbyes
Sunlight had fully claimed the room by the time Jay stirred. He reached out instinctively, his hand sliding across cool sheets where warmth should have been. Nikitha was gone. The faint scent of her skin and the lingering musk of their passion still clung to the pillow, but the space beside him felt achingly empty.
Jay lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling with a quiet, knowing smirk. “Nikki… why are you like this?” he murmured to the empty room. He knew she still loved him—buried it deep under layers of guilt and self-loathing—but she kept running. Last night had been raw and real: her body yielding to his with desperate hunger, soft moans turning into cries of release as he moved inside her, slow and deep, then hard and claiming. Every touch, every kiss had spoken what her words refused to. Yet here she was, fleeing again before the morning light could force her to face it.
He dressed casually, refusing to chase the ghost she had become. Hours later, he stepped into the lobby, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, only to freeze at the sight near the reception desk.
Nikitha stood there in the same sundress, looking composed but fragile. Beside her, Tharun gripped her hand tightly, their bags already loaded onto a trolley. Tharun’s eyes met Jay’s across the marble floor. A flash of triumph—and warning—crossed his face.
“I and Nikki are getting married in five days,” Tharun announced, voice loud enough to carry. “Please don’t come. My humble request.” He tugged Nikitha’s hand, ready to leave.
But Nikitha stopped him gently. “Wait. Let me tell him a proper goodbye.”
She approached Jay slowly. Up close, he could see the redness in her eyes, the exhaustion she tried to hide. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry if I gave you false hope last night. The sex… consider it as repayment for all the pain I caused you. I’m sorry, Jay.”
Jay’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained steady. “So the marriage is really happening in five days?”
She nodded, eyes glistening. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice cracking. “I’m not worthy of you. Meet someone else. Lead a good life. Forget me.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue. She turned before the tears could fall, letting Tharun guide her away.
Jay watched them leave, the smirk from earlier long gone. His chest felt hollow.
Back at Tharun’s family home, the atmosphere had shifted dramatically. His parents were already there, faces tight with reluctant acceptance. They had finally bent to their son’s unyielding demands. Nikitha felt the finality of it settle over her like a heavy shroud as she stepped inside. Everything was moving forward. Everything was over.
“I have a headache,” she murmured after brief greetings. “I need to rest.” She escaped to the bedroom, closing the door behind her and sinking onto the bed. Minutes later, a soft knock sounded. Tharun’s mother entered.
“What’s bothering you, child? Everything is good now, isn’t it?” The older woman’s tone was polite but cool. “I still don’t fully approve of you. But we have no other option. Tharun has made his choice.”
Nikitha offered a weak smile. Tharun peeked in, saw the two women talking, and quietly closed the door, giving them space.
The next days blurred into a whirlwind of preparations. Though they had planned a simple temple ceremony, Tharun insisted on making everything perfect for Nikitha. The family moved from shop to shop—vibrant silk sarees that shimmered like liquid gold, intricate gold jewelry that caught the light with every movement, flowers, accessories, and all the little details that turned a rushed wedding into something almost magical.
Nikitha smiled through it all, partly genuine. Tharun’s family had accepted her—for their son’s sake. He had gone to extremes, even after she had bluntly told him she wanted an open relationship. His devotion was overwhelming, almost frightening in its intensity. She let him hold her hand as they chose her bridal wear, his thumb stroking her skin with quiet possessiveness.
Exactly two days before the wedding, the entire family gathered for dinner at a popular upscale restaurant. Laughter and conversation flowed under warm lights. Tharun sat proudly beside Nikitha, his parents across from them, the table laden with fragrant dishes.
“I’ll just use the restroom,” Nikitha said midway through the meal, squeezing Tharun’s hand before slipping away.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
Tharun’s unease grew into alarm. He excused himself and searched the entire restaurant—restrooms, corridors, even the garden outside. No sign of her. Panic set in as he called her phone repeatedly, only to find it switched off. He rushed home. Empty. He drove to her old hostel. Nothing. Desperation clawing at him, he finally went to the one place he dreaded: Jay’s house.
Jay opened the door, expression unreadable. But the answer was the same.
Nikitha was nowhere to be found.
Sunlight had fully claimed the room by the time Jay stirred. He reached out instinctively, his hand sliding across cool sheets where warmth should have been. Nikitha was gone. The faint scent of her skin and the lingering musk of their passion still clung to the pillow, but the space beside him felt achingly empty.
Jay lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling with a quiet, knowing smirk. “Nikki… why are you like this?” he murmured to the empty room. He knew she still loved him—buried it deep under layers of guilt and self-loathing—but she kept running. Last night had been raw and real: her body yielding to his with desperate hunger, soft moans turning into cries of release as he moved inside her, slow and deep, then hard and claiming. Every touch, every kiss had spoken what her words refused to. Yet here she was, fleeing again before the morning light could force her to face it.
He dressed casually, refusing to chase the ghost she had become. Hours later, he stepped into the lobby, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, only to freeze at the sight near the reception desk.
Nikitha stood there in the same sundress, looking composed but fragile. Beside her, Tharun gripped her hand tightly, their bags already loaded onto a trolley. Tharun’s eyes met Jay’s across the marble floor. A flash of triumph—and warning—crossed his face.
“I and Nikki are getting married in five days,” Tharun announced, voice loud enough to carry. “Please don’t come. My humble request.” He tugged Nikitha’s hand, ready to leave.
But Nikitha stopped him gently. “Wait. Let me tell him a proper goodbye.”
She approached Jay slowly. Up close, he could see the redness in her eyes, the exhaustion she tried to hide. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry if I gave you false hope last night. The sex… consider it as repayment for all the pain I caused you. I’m sorry, Jay.”
Jay’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained steady. “So the marriage is really happening in five days?”
She nodded, eyes glistening. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice cracking. “I’m not worthy of you. Meet someone else. Lead a good life. Forget me.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue. She turned before the tears could fall, letting Tharun guide her away.
Jay watched them leave, the smirk from earlier long gone. His chest felt hollow.
Back at Tharun’s family home, the atmosphere had shifted dramatically. His parents were already there, faces tight with reluctant acceptance. They had finally bent to their son’s unyielding demands. Nikitha felt the finality of it settle over her like a heavy shroud as she stepped inside. Everything was moving forward. Everything was over.
“I have a headache,” she murmured after brief greetings. “I need to rest.” She escaped to the bedroom, closing the door behind her and sinking onto the bed. Minutes later, a soft knock sounded. Tharun’s mother entered.
“What’s bothering you, child? Everything is good now, isn’t it?” The older woman’s tone was polite but cool. “I still don’t fully approve of you. But we have no other option. Tharun has made his choice.”
Nikitha offered a weak smile. Tharun peeked in, saw the two women talking, and quietly closed the door, giving them space.
The next days blurred into a whirlwind of preparations. Though they had planned a simple temple ceremony, Tharun insisted on making everything perfect for Nikitha. The family moved from shop to shop—vibrant silk sarees that shimmered like liquid gold, intricate gold jewelry that caught the light with every movement, flowers, accessories, and all the little details that turned a rushed wedding into something almost magical.
Nikitha smiled through it all, partly genuine. Tharun’s family had accepted her—for their son’s sake. He had gone to extremes, even after she had bluntly told him she wanted an open relationship. His devotion was overwhelming, almost frightening in its intensity. She let him hold her hand as they chose her bridal wear, his thumb stroking her skin with quiet possessiveness.
Exactly two days before the wedding, the entire family gathered for dinner at a popular upscale restaurant. Laughter and conversation flowed under warm lights. Tharun sat proudly beside Nikitha, his parents across from them, the table laden with fragrant dishes.
“I’ll just use the restroom,” Nikitha said midway through the meal, squeezing Tharun’s hand before slipping away.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
Tharun’s unease grew into alarm. He excused himself and searched the entire restaurant—restrooms, corridors, even the garden outside. No sign of her. Panic set in as he called her phone repeatedly, only to find it switched off. He rushed home. Empty. He drove to her old hostel. Nothing. Desperation clawing at him, he finally went to the one place he dreaded: Jay’s house.
Jay opened the door, expression unreadable. But the answer was the same.
Nikitha was nowhere to be found.
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