The apartment felt wrong the moment Veer stepped inside.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
His eyes moved instantly—door, window, hallway.
No sign of her.
His jaw tightened.
"Aarohi?"
No response.
The stillness answered for her.
She was gone.
For a second, something sharp cut through his usual control—not panic, not fear—
Something close.
He turned, already moving.
There was only one place she would go in this state.
---
The club was louder than usual.
Or maybe it just felt that way.
Veer stepped inside, his presence shifting the air without effort. His gaze scanned the room once—
and found her.
At the bar.
Aarohi sat with a glass in her hand, another already empty beside it. Her posture was steady, but her eyes—
they weren't.
She was trying to drown something that refused to disappear.
Veer walked toward her.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"Aarohi."
She didn't turn immediately.
Then she let out a quiet laugh. "Of course you'd find me."
"I wasn't looking far."
That made her glance at him.
"And that's supposed to mean something?"
"It means I know you."
Aarohi shook her head, picking up her drink again. "No. You don't."
Veer reached forward and took the glass from her hand before she could drink.
"That's enough."
Her eyes snapped to his. "Don't."
"You've had enough."
"I said don't."
Her voice was sharper now, pulling attention—but she didn't care.
"Give it back," she added.
"No."
That was it.
No argument.
Just refusal.
Aarohi let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. "There it is."
"What?"
"The control," she said, standing up unsteadily. "That's all you care about, right?"
Veer didn't respond immediately.
"You don't care about me," she continued. "You care about what you can take."
"That's not true."
"It is," she shot back. "That's what you do, isn't it? Did s*x —and then move on."
Silence.
Sharp.
Heavy.
"And now what?" she added, her voice breaking just slightly. "I'm just next in line?"
Veer's expression changed.
Not anger.
Something else.
Something tighter.
"You're not listening to yourself."
"I'm finally listening to the truth," she said. "Your truth."
"My truth?" he repeated.
"Yes," she said, stepping closer despite herself. "You and Naina. Three years of every night s*x, right? How many promises did you make her? How many did you break?"
His jaw tightened.
"She told you that."
"She didn't have to tell me everything," Aarohi replied. "I can see it."
"That's the problem," Veer said quietly. "You're seeing what you expect—not what is."
Aarohi laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "Then tell me. Go on. Tell me I'm wrong."
A pause.
Then—
"I didn't leave her," he said.
Aarohi stilled.
"She left," he continued. "Not because of me—because she found something better."
The words weren't bitter.
They were factual.
That made them heavier.
Aarohi's expression faltered—but only for a second.
"And that makes it better?" she asked.
"No," he said. "It makes it real."
Silence stretched between them.
The music faded into the background again.
"For three years, I thought it meant something," he added. "Then it didn't."
Aarohi looked at him, her emotions shifting—but not settling.
"And after that?" she asked.
"I stopped expecting anything to last."
That answer landed.
Because it made sense.
Too much sense.
"And me?" she asked quietly.
Another pause.
Different this time.
"You weren't supposed to be anything," he said.
That hurt.
It showed.
"But you are," he added.
Aarohi's breath caught slightly.
"I don't know what to call it yet," he continued. "But it's not the same."
Silence again.
Longer.
More fragile.
"If you think I'm lying," he said finally, "then walk away."
The words were calm.
But they carried weight.
"I won't stop you."
That—
That wasn't what she expected.
At all.
Aarohi searched his face, trying to find something—control, manipulation, anything familiar.
She didn't.
And that scared her more.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I'd rather you leave than stay for the wrong reason."
Her chest tightened.
"And if I leave?"
Veer held her gaze.
"Then I don't move on," he said.
No drama.
No exaggeration.
Just truth.
Aarohi looked away, her thoughts crashing into each other again.
Nothing was clear.
Not him.
Not herself.
Not this.
But one thing was.
This wasn't simple.
And it wasn't over.
Not yet.