The party had gotten louder.
But for Rohan, everything felt distant—like the noise was happening somewhere far away.
Sam was still going.
"…I'm just saying, people hype her up too much. It's mostly just—"
"Enough."
The word cut through clean.
Not loud.
But sharp.
Everyone paused.
Sam blinked. "What?"
Rohan looked up slowly, his expression different now. Not explosive like before.
Controlled.
But heavy.
"I said enough," he repeated.
Aryan frowned slightly. "Bro, what's your problem?"
Rohan stood up.
For a second, no one spoke.
Even Kaiser glanced over properly this time.
Rohan looked straight at Sam. "You don't get to talk about her like that."
Sam let out a short laugh, confused. "Oh, now you care?"
"Yeah," Rohan said, his voice steady. "Now I do."
Aryan sat forward, studying him. "You were quiet five minutes ago."
Rohan nodded once. "Yeah. I was."
A beat.
"And that was wrong."
That shifted something.
Sam scoffed. "Relax, man. We're just talking."
"No," Rohan said firmly. "You're talking. About someone you don't even know properly."
Sam rolled his eyes. "And you do?"
Rohan's jaw tightened—but he didn't lose control this time.
"I knew her enough to know she deserves better than this," he said.
The room felt quieter around them now.
"Better than what?" Sam challenged.
"Better than being reduced to how she looks," Rohan replied. "Better than people acting like that's all she is."
Aryan let out a small breath, leaning back. "Okay, this is getting serious again…"
Rohan didn't even look at him.
"You think it's nothing," he said, still focused on Sam. "But it says more about you than it does about her."
That landed.
Sam's expression hardened slightly. "You're taking this way too personally."
"Yeah," Rohan said. "I am."
A pause.
Then, quieter—but stronger:
"Because I messed things up with her. Not because of how she looks. Not because she's 'easy' or whatever you think."
His voice dipped, more honest now.
"But because she actually cared. And I didn't value that when I should've."
That shut everyone up.
Even Kaiser stopped pretending not to listen.
Rohan exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"So don't stand here and talk about her like she's just some… surface-level person," he added. "You're wrong."
Sam didn't reply this time.
Aryan looked between them, unsure what to say.
The energy had completely shifted.
Rohan glanced around once, then shook his head slightly.
"…This isn't even worth it."
He grabbed his jacket from the side and turned.
No shouting.
No fight.
Just… done.
As he walked away, Kaiser watched him go, a small, thoughtful look on his face.
Because that?
That wasn't the same Rohan from earlier.
A few days later, things had quieted down.
Not resolved.
Just… quieter.
Meera stood by the window, looking out absentmindedly, her thoughts still tangled between everything that had happened recently.
Harsh noticed.
He always did.
"Okay," he said suddenly, walking up beside her. "I have an idea."
Meera glanced at him. "That sounds dangerous."
He smiled slightly. "Let's go somewhere."
She frowned. "Where?"
"Anywhere. Just… away from all of this," he said. "We both need it. You definitely do."
She looked at him for a moment, considering.
"A break?" she asked softly.
"A real one," he nodded. "No drama. No past. Just us."
There was a pause.
Then—"London?" he added casually.
Her eyes widened slightly. "London?"
"For 15 days," he said. "Holiday trip. Fresh start, at least for a bit."
And just like that—
something inside her lifted.
A real smile appeared on her face, the kind that hadn't been there in days.
"I… actually really need that," she admitted.
Harsh smiled back. "Then it's settled."
A few days later.
Airports, luggage, excitement.
And finally—
London.
The city buzzed with life, completely different from everything they'd left behind.
For the first time in a while, Meera felt… lighter.
That evening, her phone buzzed.
Kitty:Hey… can we talk?
Meera read it, then quickly typed back.
Meera:Of course! I'm just on a trip right now—with Harsh. But I can talk 😊
There was a pause on the other side.
Kitty stared at the message, her expression softening.
She thought about everything she had to say.
About the party.
About what was said.
About Rohan.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then she stopped.
Instead, she typed—
Kitty:It's okay. Enjoy your trip. Have fun together ❤️
Meera smiled at the message, unaware of what was left unsaid.
Meera:Aww thank you! I'll call you soon ❤️
Kitty locked her phone, exhaling quietly.
"…Later," she murmured to herself.
The next day.
Kitty stood near the college entrance, arms folded, lost in thought.
"Kitty."
She turned.
Aryan stood there, looking… different.
Less casual.
More serious.
"What?" she asked, not harsh—but not warm either.
He hesitated for a second, then stepped closer.
"I wanted to say sorry."
She didn't respond immediately.
"For the other night," he continued. "I shouldn't have laughed. Or gone along with it."
Kitty's expression didn't change much—but she was listening.
"I didn't think it would affect you like that," Aryan admitted. "Not like… that."
"That's the problem," Kitty said quietly. "You didn't think."
He nodded, accepting it.
"Yeah," he said. "I didn't."
A pause.
"I didn't realize how much she means to you," he added. "And I definitely shouldn't have let anyone talk about her like that."
Kitty studied him for a moment.
"You didn't just let them," she said. "You joined in."
Aryan winced slightly. "Yeah… that too."
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
"I'm really sorry," he said again, more sincerely this time.
Kitty looked away for a second, then back at him.
"…Just don't do it again," she said.
"I won't," he replied immediately.
Another pause.
This one… less tense.
Not fully okay.
But not broken either.
Meanwhile, in London—
Meera walked beside Harsh, the cool breeze brushing past them as the city lights reflected in her eyes.
For now—
she didn't know what was waiting back home.
And maybe that was a good thing.
Because for these 15 days—
she finally had space to just… breathe.
The evening air in London was cool, almost crisp, a soft contrast to the warmth of the city lights glowing all around.
Meera and Harsh walked side by side along the river, the gentle sound of water and distant chatter blending into something calm.
Ahead of them, the lights of Tower Bridge shimmered beautifully against the dark sky.
Meera stopped for a second.
"It's… so pretty," she said softly.
Harsh glanced at her instead of the view. "Yeah," he said. "It is."
She turned to him, narrowing her eyes slightly. "You're not even looking."
"I am," he said.
"You're literally not."
He smiled a little. "I meant something else."
She rolled her eyes—but she was smiling.
They leaned against the railing, standing close but not quite touching.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Just… quiet.
Peaceful.
"I needed this," Meera admitted after a while. "More than I thought."
Harsh nodded. "I could tell."
She looked down at the water, her expression softening. "Everything was getting so… heavy."
He didn't interrupt.
"I didn't even realize how much it was affecting me," she added.
Harsh gently nudged her hand with his.
"I'm glad you came," he said.
She looked at him then—really looked.
"And I'm glad it's with you."
That was enough to shift something.
Harsh reached out slowly, almost like he was giving her time to pull away.
But she didn't.
Their hands intertwined naturally.
No hesitation.
No awkwardness.
Just… right.
A soft breeze passed by, making her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You know," Harsh said lightly, "this is the part where something dramatic is supposed to happen."
Meera raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Like, fireworks, or someone playing violin out of nowhere."
She laughed quietly. "You've been watching too many movies."
"Maybe," he admitted.
A pause.
Then, softer—"But I don't think we need all that."
She tilted her head slightly. "No?"
He shook his head. "This is already enough."
The simplicity of that made her heart feel… full.
She stepped a little closer without thinking.
And this time, when he looked at her—
there was no teasing.
Just something steady.
Gentle.
He brushed his thumb lightly against her hand.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
She nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "I really am."
And for the first time in a while—
she meant it.
Harsh smiled, then pulled her into a soft hug.
Meera rested her head against him, closing her eyes for a moment, letting everything else fade away.
No past.
No tension.
No noise.
Just this.
Just them.
The next morning in London started with chaos.
"Harsh!"
"I didn't do anything!"
"You lost the map!"
"I didn't lose it," he defended, spinning around in the middle of a busy street. "I just… don't know where it is right now."
Meera crossed her arms. "That's literally the definition of losing it."
They stood near a corner café, completely unsure of where they were.
Tourists passed by confidently.
Locals walked like they had a purpose.
And then there was them.
Lost.
Together.
Harsh pulled out his phone, frowning at it. "Okay, Google Maps says we're—uh…"
He squinted.
"Somewhere."
Meera stared at him. "Wow. So helpful."
He grinned. "Thank you, I try."
She shook her head, but couldn't help smiling.
"Great," she muttered. "First international trip and we're already lost."
"Correction," Harsh said, stepping closer. "We're exploring."
Meera gave him a look. "That's not exploring. That's poor planning."
"Same thing," he shrugged.
She let out a small laugh despite herself.
"Fine," she said. "Lead the way, Mr. Explorer."
"Oh, you trust me now?"
"Not at all," she replied immediately. "But this is more fun."
He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "That hurts."
They started walking anyway, turning random corners, occasionally stopping to look around like they totally knew what they were doing.
At one point, Harsh confidently pointed ahead. "This way."
"Why?" Meera asked.
"…I like the vibe," he admitted.
She laughed again. "Unbelievable."
After a few minutes, they ended up in a quieter street—small shops, fewer people, a calm little space away from the rush.
Meera slowed down.
"Okay… this is actually nice."
Harsh smirked. "See? Told you."
"Don't get overconfident," she warned. "We're still lost."
"Temporarily directionless," he corrected.
She rolled her eyes again.
Then, without thinking, she slipped her hand into his.
He looked at her, a little surprised—but smiled.
"Admit it," he said. "You like being lost with me."
She tilted her head, pretending to think.
"…Maybe a little."
"Wow. High praise."
They stopped near a small bakery window, looking at the display of pastries.
Meera pointed. "That one."
"Which one?"
"That one," she insisted.
"They all look the same."
"They do not!"
He laughed. "Okay, okay, we'll get it."
A few minutes later, they sat on a small bench nearby, sharing the pastry.
Meera took a bite and smiled instantly. "Okay, worth it."
Harsh nodded. "Finally, something we agree on."
She leaned slightly against him, still holding the pastry between them.
"You know," she said softly, "I don't even mind that we got lost."
He glanced down at her. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "Because… it doesn't feel stressful."
A small pause.
"It just feels… nice."
Harsh's expression softened.
He gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer.
"Good," he said quietly. "That's how it should feel."
She rested her head against him, comfortable, at ease.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just a quiet, happy moment in a city far from everything else.
And somehow—
getting lost turned out to be the best part.
The hotel room in London was unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
Which, for Meera, was suspicious.
She turned around—
And there he was.
Harsh.
Sitting at the desk.
Books open.
Pen in hand.
Actually studying.
Meera stared at him like he'd just committed a crime.
"…You're joking."
Harsh didn't even look up. "Nope."
"Harsh," she said slowly, walking toward him, "we are on a holiday."
"Mhm."
"In London."
"Correct."
"And you're… studying?"
He finally glanced up, completely calm. "Yes."
She blinked.
Then, without warning, she walked behind him and leaned over his shoulders, resting her chin right near his ear.
"This is illegal behavior," she declared.
Harsh tried to keep a straight face. "Pretty sure it's not."
"It should be," she said, peeking at his notes. "What even is this? You're ruining the vibe."
"I have exams," he replied simply.
She narrowed her eyes.
Then—
She climbed onto the chair with him.
"Meera—what are you doing?"
Too late.
She had already made herself comfortable, half sitting on his lap, half turned toward him, completely blocking his book.
"This," she said proudly, "is me saving your holiday."
Harsh looked at her.
Then at the book.
Then back at her.
"…You are aware I can't see anything now?"
"Exactly," she smiled sweetly.
He tried to stay serious.
He really did.
But the way she was looking at him—so pleased with herself, so completely unserious—
He couldn't.
A small laugh escaped him.
"Unbelievable," he muttered.
She grinned wider. "You love it."
He shook his head, then leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to her cheek.
"Maybe a little," he admitted.
She froze for a second—just a second—clearly not expecting that.
Then quickly recovered, trying to act normal.
"Okay, don't try to distract me now," she said, a little flustered.
Harsh raised an eyebrow. "I'm the one getting distracted?"
"Obviously," she said, avoiding his eyes for a moment.
He chuckled, then gently tapped her notebook lying nearby. "Come on. If I'm studying, you should too."
Her head snapped back toward him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Meera groaned dramatically, leaning back slightly. "Nooo. We are not doing this."
"Why not?"
"Because," she said, counting on her fingers, "one: we're on holiday. Two: I refuse. And three—"
She paused, then looked at him proudly.
"You cannot say I've failed right now."
Harsh blinked. "Oh?"
"I improved my marks," she continued, clearly pleased. "I got a B this time."
He looked at her for a moment.
Then smiled.
"A B?" he said. "That's actually really good."
She tried to stay casual—but the smile gave her away. "I know."
"I'm proud of you," he added.
That softened her instantly.
"…Don't say it like that," she muttered, suddenly shy.
"Like what?"
"Like it means something," she said, looking away.
"It does mean something," Harsh said simply.
She didn't respond right away.
Just sat there, quieter now.
Then—
"Still not studying though," she said.
Harsh laughed. "Of course."
She leaned back against him again, completely comfortable, like she'd won.
He sighed, glancing at his untouched book.
"…Five more minutes," he said.
"Deal," she replied instantly.
"Then you study too."
"Okay, relax," she said. "Let's not get carried away."
The room had settled into a comfortable rhythm.
Harsh sat at the desk, actually focused this time, flipping pages and jotting things down.
Meera, on the other hand, was sprawled across the bed, one leg dangling off the edge, scrolling through her phone… then switching to writing something in her notebook… then back to her phone.
"Are you studying?" Harsh asked without looking up.
"Obviously," she replied.
He glanced back.
She was very clearly not.
"Right."
A few more minutes passed.
Then Harsh closed his book, stretched slightly, and grabbed his jacket.
Meera peeked up instantly. "Oh?"
He looked at her. "Wanna go out for dinner?"
She sat up immediately. "Finally. The scholar has decided to live a little."
He smirked. "Five minutes. Get ready."
"I've been ready since I got here," she said, already getting off the bed.
The streets of London were alive again—soft lights, people walking, a mix of quiet and energy that felt just right.
Meera walked slightly ahead, looking around excitedly.
Harsh followed, hands in his jacket pockets. "You look like a tourist."
"I am a tourist," she said, turning back. "Let me enjoy."
"I'm enjoying," he replied calmly.
"You're walking like you're going to a lecture."
"That's just my personality."
She laughed. "We need to fix that."
They ended up at a cozy little restaurant, warm lights and soft music filling the space.
They sat across from each other, menus in hand.
Meera squinted at it. "Why is everything so… fancy?"
"It's normal," Harsh said.
"No, it's not. Why does water have three options?"
He smiled. "Just pick one."
She leaned forward. "You pick. I don't trust this place."
"Wow."
The waitress arrived then, smiling brightly.
"Hi! What can I get for you?"
Harsh looked up politely. "Yeah, we'll—"
But the waitress lingered a little longer than necessary.
Her smile… slightly more directed at him.
"And where are you visiting from?" she asked, her tone a bit too interested.
Meera's eyes narrowed just slightly.
Harsh, oblivious, answered normally. "India."
"Oh, nice," she said, still smiling at him. "First time in London?"
"Yeah."
"Hope you're enjoying it," she added, her tone softer now.
Meera sat back, crossing her arms.
Oh.
So this is happening.
"We are," Meera cut in, her voice sweet—but pointed. "Together."
The waitress blinked, glancing at her briefly.
"Oh—of course," she said, though her attention still flickered back to Harsh.
"And what would you like?" she asked him again.
Meera tilted her head.
Harsh finally noticed the shift in tone.
"…We'll just order together," he said, a little more neutral now.
Meera gave him a look.
Good answer.
After taking their order, the waitress left—but not before giving Harsh one last smile.
Meera watched her go.
Then slowly turned back.
"…Wow."
Harsh blinked. "What?"
"She was very friendly," Meera said.
"Yes," he said carefully. "That's… her job."
"Hmm," she nodded. "Seemed very dedicated."
He almost smiled. "Meera—"
"I'm just observing," she said innocently.
"Of course you are."
She leaned forward slightly. "You didn't even notice, did you?"
"Notice what?"
She stared at him.
Then sighed dramatically. "Unbelievable."
He laughed. "What did I do?"
"Nothing," she said. "Exactly. That's the problem."
"Okay, now you're confusing me on purpose."
She tried to stay serious.
Failed.
A small smile broke through.
"Relax," she said. "I'm kidding."
"Are you though?"
"…Mostly."
He shook his head, amused. "You're impossible."
"And yet," she said, pointing at him, "you're here. With me."
"By choice," he added.
She smiled at that.
"…Good."
Their food arrived soon after, and this time, the waitress kept it quick and professional.
Meera watched very carefully.
Harsh noticed—and couldn't help laughing.
"You're still watching her?"
"I'm making sure she does her job properly," Meera said.
"Right."
He reached across the table, lightly tapping her hand.
"She's not the one I came here with," he said simply.
That shut her up for a second.
"…I know," she muttered, suddenly a bit softer.
"Good."
She looked at him, then smiled again—this time less teasing, more genuine.
"Still," she added, "I didn't like it."
"I figured."
"Just saying."
"Noted."
They both laughed quietly.
And just like that—
the teasing, the jealousy, the warmth—
all blended into something that felt… theirs.
The night air in London felt cooler now, the streets glowing under soft yellow lights.
Meera and Harsh stepped out of the restaurant, walking side by side without saying much at first.
It was that kind of silence—
comfortable.
Unforced.
Their hands brushed once.
Then again.
Until Harsh just held hers properly.
Meera didn't react.
She just let it happen.
They walked slowly, passing quiet streets and small lit-up shops, the city feeling calmer than before.
"This is nice," Meera said softly.
Harsh nodded. "Yeah."
"No chaos. No people fighting," she added, a hint of a smile in her voice.
He glanced at her. "Very specific."
She shrugged lightly. "Just saying."
They kept walking until they reached a quieter stretch near the river again, the reflections dancing on the water.
Meera leaned slightly against the railing, looking out.
"Everything feels… far away from here," she said.
Harsh stood beside her. "Maybe that's a good thing."
She nodded.
"Do you think it'll all still be the same when we go back?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
"Maybe," he said honestly. "But we don't have to be the same."
She looked at him.
That stayed with her.
"You've changed," she said quietly.
"Good or bad?" he asked.
"Good," she smiled. "Less boring."
He scoffed lightly. "Wow. That's what you noticed?"
"And…" she added, softer now, "more… steady."
That meant more than she said.
Harsh didn't joke this time.
He just looked at her.
Then gently pulled her closer.
Meera didn't resist.
She rested her head against him again, closing her eyes for a moment as the breeze passed by.
No overthinking.
No past.
Just… this quiet feeling of being where she wanted to be.
Harsh pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said. "I really am."
🌑 Back Home — Rohan
The room was dim.
Too quiet.
Rohan lay back on his bed, his phone the only light in the darkness.
Scrolling.
Stopping.
Scrolling again.
Then—
He froze.
Meera's Instagram.
A new post.
Her in London.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Close to Harsh.
Another photo.
And another.
Happy.
Like nothing ever happened.
Rohan's jaw tightened.
He zoomed in slightly.
Her smile.
The way she looked at him—
not like she ever looked at me anymore.
His grip on the phone tightened.
"…So this is it?" he muttered.
He kept scrolling.
Every picture felt worse.
Like proof.
Like confirmation.
"She moved on that easily?" he said under his breath, anger creeping in.
His chest felt tight.
Heavy.
Then—
Crash.
The glass on his side table hit the floor, shattering.
He didn't even remember picking it up.
Breathing harder now, he stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered.
But he didn't stop.
He paced the room, frustration spilling over.
"She said she didn't love me anymore and now she's just—what? Happy?" he snapped to no one.
His hand hit the table.
Hard.
Another sharp noise.
He exhaled shakily, trying to steady himself—but failing.
His mind replayed everything.
Her voice.
Her face.
I love Harsh.
"Of course you do," he muttered bitterly.
He grabbed his jacket, then threw it back down again.
Nothing was helping.
Nothing was enough.
Finally—
He walked to the door and slammed it shut harder than necessary.
The sound echoed through the room.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Rohan stood there, breathing hard, eyes still burning with anger—and something else he didn't want to name.
Because underneath all of it—
he wasn't just angry.
He was hurting.
And he had no idea what to do with it.