Author's POV
The plane landed in Chennai late at night.
Humidity hit her like a wall the moment she stepped out.
Warm.
Thick.
Familiar.
The air smelled like jasmine and diesel and something frying somewhere.
Home.
Really home.
She took a deep breath.
Let it fill her lungs.
Let it push out the cold of that house.
The chill of his world.
The frost that had settled around her heart.
---
Her parents waited outside arrivals.
Amma in a cotton saree.
Appa in his usual checked shirt.
Both looking older.
Worried.
Relieved.
Her mother pulled her into a hug that crushed the air from her lungs.
"Meera, Meera, Meera."
Just her name.
Chanted like a prayer.
Like she had returned from the dead.
In some ways, she had.
Her father patted her back.
Eyes wet.
Not speaking.
Men in her family didn't speak when feelings were too big.
They just stood there.
Present.
Solid.
Loving in their silence.
---
The drive home was chaos.
Her mother talking nonstop.
About the neighbors.
About the temple festival.
About the new filter coffee powder she discovered.
About everything and nothing.
Her father driving.
Occasionally glancing in the rearview.
Checking on her.
Making sure she was real.
Making sure she was here.
Meera leaned her head against the window.
Watched Chennai pass by.
The auto rickshaws.
The cows wandering the streets.
The shops with their bright lights.
The women in colourful sarees.
This was her world.
Not marble floors and glass showers and men who killed in basements.
This.
Noise.
Colour.
Life.
---
They reached the flat.
Third floor.
Lift not working as usual.
Four flights of stairs.
Her mother complaining.
Her father carrying her bags.
Meera climbing slowly.
Letting the familiar exertion ground her.
The flat was small.
Two bedrooms.
One bathroom.
Kitchen that fit one person at a time.
Balcony where her mother grew tulsi and marigolds.
Everything cramped.
Everything loved.
Everything hers.
Her brother waited at the door.
Karthik.
Fifteen years old.
Gangly.
Awkward.
Grinning like a fool.
"Akka!"
He launched himself at her.
Hugged hard.
She stumbled back.
Laughed.
Actually laughed.
The first real laugh in weeks.
---
"You brought chocolate, right? Foreign chocolate? The good kind?"
Her mother swatted his head.
"Let her enter first, idiot."
"I need chocolate. You promised last time. Foreign chocolate."
Meera's heart sank.
She had promised.
Months ago.
Before everything.
Before Ethan.
Before that house.
Before she forgot who she was.
She had brought nothing.
No gifts.
No chocolates.
No souvenirs.
Just herself.
Broken and empty.
---
"I forgot, Kanna. I'm sorry. I'll get you some tomorrow—"
But Karthik wasn't listening.
He had spotted her bag.
The one Ethan packed.
The one she hadn't opened since leaving.
He unzipped it.
Dived in.
"Karthik! That's private—"
Too late.
He pulled out a bag.
Foreign chocolate.
The expensive kind.
Then another.
And another.
And small souvenirs.
Keychains.
T-shirts.
Little statues of American landmarks.
Enough for the whole family.
---
Meera stared.
She hadn't packed these.
Hadn't bought them.
Hadn't even thought about gifts.
But Ethan had.
In the midst of everything.
The fighting.
The pain.
The letting go.
He had packed her bag with gifts for her family.
Made sure she wouldn't arrive empty-handed.
Made sure her brother got his chocolate.
Made sure her parents felt remembered.
Even as he was losing her.
Even as his heart was breaking.
He thought of her.
Of them.
Of making sure she was okay.
---
Karthik was ecstatic.
Tearing into chocolate.
Talking a mile a minute about how his friends would be jealous.
Her mother smiled at the souvenirs.
Held the little Statue of Liberty keychain like it was precious.
Her father examined the T-shirt.
Approved the quality.
Nodded slowly.
"Good choices. Someone has good taste."
Meera said nothing.
Couldn't.
Because if she spoke, she might cry.
And she didn't want to cry for him.
Didn't want to feel anything for him.
He had hurt her.
Used her.
Called her terrible things.
Almost destroyed her.
But he also did this.
Packed her bag with love she didn't ask for.
Thought of her family when she forgot them.
Made sure she arrived home with gifts and dignity.
Who was he?
Really?
The monster or the man?
She didn't know anymore.
---
The first week passed in a blur of sleep and food and family.
Her mother force-fed her every traditional dish she missed.
Idli.
Dosa.
Pongal.
Sambar that tasted like childhood.
Her father took her to the temple.
Let her sit in the quiet.
Let the priest bless her.
Let the incense and chants wash over her.
Karthik dragged her to watch movies.
Theatres with screaming fans.
Masala films with ridiculous plots.
Normal things.
Simple things.
Things that had nothing to do with marble houses and men with dark eyes.
---
Pongal came.
The harvest festival.
Her favourite time of year.
The house filled with smells of cooking.
Sakkarai Pongal boiling in clay pots.
Sweet.
Rich.
Fragrant with cardamom and ghee.
Her mother woke early to boil the first pot.
Watched it overflow as tradition demanded.
Good luck for the coming year.
Meera helped.
Grinding coconut.
Cutting jaggery.
Feeling useful.
Feeling present.
Feeling like herself again.
---
They drew kolam at the entrance.
Intricate patterns with rice flour.
Colourful powders filling the outlines.
Flowers placed at the centre.
Her mother teaching her the old ways.
The ones grandmother taught.
The ones that connected them to generations of women before.
Meera's hands moved.
Remembering.
Creating.
Healing.
For the first time in weeks, she didn't think about him.
Didn't see his face when she closed her eyes.
Didn't feel his touch on her skin.
She was here.
Now.
Home.
---
The family visited cousins.
Ate together.
Laughed together.
Complained about the heat together.
Normal.
Beautiful.
Healing.
Her aunt asked about America.
About college.
About boys.
Meera smiled.
Deflected.
Changed the subject.
Her aunt didn't push.
Indian aunties always pushed.
But something in Meera's eyes made her stop.
Made her pat Meera's hand.
Say "Everything will be okay, kanna."
Like she knew.
Like she understood without being told.
---
Weeks passed.
Meera stopped waiting for the pain.
Stopped waiting for the missing.
Stopped waiting to feel something about him.
It didn't come.
She didn't think about Ethan.
Didn't wonder what he was doing.
Didn't check her phone for messages.
Didn't care.
She was free.
Really free.
Her body was hers again.
Her mind was hers again.
Her heart was slowly becoming hers again.
---
But somewhere across the ocean, in a cold marble house, someone wasn't free.
Ethan lay in his bed.
The bed where she slept.
The bed where he held her.
The bed where he almost lost her completely.
He hadn't moved in days.
Didn't eat.
Didn't sleep.
Didn't care about business or territory or any of it.
His family sent messages.
He ignored them.
His enemies made moves.
He let them.
Nothing mattered.
She was gone.
---
He rolled over.
Pressed his face into the pillow.
Her scent was fading.
Almost gone now.
Soon there would be nothing left.
No proof she was ever here.
No proof she was ever his.
Then he saw it.
A hair.
Long.
Dark.
Tangled in the sheets.
Her hair.
He picked it up carefully.
Like it was made of glass.
Like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Wrapped it in tissue.
Put it in his pocket.
Close to his heart.
Where she belonged.
Where she would always belong.
---
He thought about her constantly.
Her laugh.
Her arguments.
Her stubbornness.
The way she crossed her arms when defensive.
The way she ate idiyappam like it was heaven.
The way she looked at him that last night.
Broken.
Lost.
Destroyed.
By him.
By his words.
By his inability to love without destroying.
He had to fix this.
Had to get her back.
But how?
She was in Chennai.
With her family.
Safe.
Happy.
Free.
And he was here.
Alone.
Miserable.
Dying without her.
---
His phone buzzed.
Isabella.
Again.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
Then a knock on his door.
Isabella walked in without waiting.
Took one look at him.
Shook her head.
"Pathetic."
"Leave."
"No."
She sat on the edge of his bed.
Looked at her brother.
The most powerful man in their world.
Reduced to this.
By a girl.
By love.
"Ethan."
"Go away, Isabella."
"I'm not going away. I'm going to help you."
"Can't help. She's gone."
"Gone doesn't mean lost. Lost doesn't mean forever."
He looked at her.
Hope flickering.
Pain still dominant.
"What do you know about it?"
"I know you love her. I know you messed up. I know you let her go. But I also know that love like yours doesn't just disappear. And neither does hers."
"She doesn't love me."
"She doesn't know if she loves you. Different thing."
---
Isabella pulled out her phone.
Showed him photos.
Meera's family.
Her flat.
Her temple.
Her world.
"How did you get these?"
"I have people everywhere. You know that."
He stared at the photos.
At her smiling.
At her helping her mother.
At her drawing patterns on the ground.
She looked happy.
Really happy.
Without him.
---
"But look closer."
He did.
Studied her face.
The smile was real.
But something underneath.
Something quiet.
Something missing.
"What am I looking for?"
"The absence. She's happy, yes. But she's not complete. Something's missing. Someone's missing."
"You can't know that."
"I'm your sister. I know love when I see it. She's healing. But she's not over you."
Hope grew.
Small.
Fragile.
Dangerous.
"What do I do?"
"You wait. You give her time. You let her miss you. And then, when she's ready, you go to her. Properly. Not as the monster. Not as the man who hurt her. As the man who loves her. The real one."
"And if she doesn't want me?"
"Then you live with it. Like the rest of us do when we lose something precious."
---
Ethan looked at the photos again.
At her smile.
At her eyes.
At the girl he loved more than anything.
She was happy.
But she wasn't complete.
Neither was he.
Neither of them would be complete without the other.
He knew it now.
With certainty.
With absolute clarity.
She was his other half.
His missing piece.
His little star.
And he would get her back.
Not by force.
Not by control.
Not by manipulation.
By love.
Real love.
Patient love.
Love that waited and earned and deserved.
However long it took.
Whatever it cost.
He would get her back.
Because she was worth it.
She had always been worth it.
And someday, when she was ready, she would know it too.
---
He stood.
For the first time in days.
Walked to the window.
Looked out at the city.
Somewhere across the ocean, she was sleeping.
Dreaming.
Healing.
And he would wait.
Patient as always.
Loving as always.
Hoping as always.
Because little stars always came back to the sky.
And he would be there.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
For her.