The airport was buzzing with people, luggage rolling, announcements echoing overhead.
Meera stood near their bags, trying to close one that clearly had no intention of cooperating.
"Sit on it," Harsh suggested.
"I am sitting on it!" she snapped.
He crossed his arms, watching. "You packed your entire wardrobe, didn't you?"
She looked up. "Excuse me, I needed options."
"For 15 days?"
"Yes."
"Were you planning a fashion show?"
"Maybe," she said, unapologetic.
He shook his head, smiling. "Unbelievable."
Finally, the suitcase zipped shut.
Meera stood up triumphantly. "See? Perfect."
Harsh glanced at the slightly bulging bag. "That doesn't look perfect."
"It is perfect," she insisted. "You just don't understand fashion."
"I understand overpacking."
She pointed at him. "You wore the same jacket three times."
"It's a good jacket."
She rolled her eyes. "Exactly my point."
They started walking toward the check-in area, side by side, still lightly arguing.
After a moment, Harsh glanced at her. "You know, instead of packing half your closet, you could've packed a few books."
Meera stopped mid-step.
"Did you just—" she stared at him. "Did you just bring up studying at the airport?"
He smiled. "Just saying."
She groaned dramatically. "Can you think about anything else?"
"Sometimes."
"Name one thing."
He looked at her.
"…You."
She paused.
Then immediately looked away, trying not to smile.
"Okay, that was smooth," she admitted.
"I know."
They kept walking, a little closer now.
After a second, Harsh added, more genuinely, "But seriously… I'm proud of you."
She looked at him again. "For what?"
"For actually focusing," he said. "For improving. That B didn't just happen."
Her expression softened.
"…Don't make it a big deal," she said, quieter.
"It is a big deal," he replied.
She didn't argue this time.
Just smiled a little.
"Still not studying today though," she added.
He laughed. "Of course."
They reached the waiting area and sat down, their bags beside them.
Meera leaned back, stretching. "I don't want this trip to end."
"Same," Harsh said.
"But…" she added, glancing at him, "coming back isn't that bad either."
He nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "We'll handle whatever's there."
She looked at him for a second—
then leaned her head lightly on his shoulder.
"Together?" she asked.
"Always," he said.
📱 Back Home — The Ripples
Meera's post was blowing up.
Likes.
Comments.
Reactions.
But not all of them were harmless.
Rohan stared at the screen again, the caption hitting harder than the picture.
"Exactly where you need to be."
His jaw tightened.
"So that's me out of the picture completely now," he muttered.
Across town, Kitty saw it too.
She smiled at first—
then her expression faded slightly.
Because she still hadn't told Meera everything.
And now?
It felt even harder.
Meanwhile, Aryan saw it… and exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," he muttered to himself. "Things are definitely not simple anymore."🌑 Rohan — Impulse
The room felt suffocating.
Rohan stood there, staring at Meera's post again on his phone.
Her smile.
Harsh beside her.
That caption.
"Exactly where you need to be."
His grip tightened.
"Yeah," he muttered bitterly. "Clearly not with me."
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then something snapped.
He grabbed his keys.
No plan.
No thinking.
Just… movement.
Within minutes, he was out, walking fast, almost reckless, like if he stopped, he'd have to actually feel everything.
"She just moves on… like nothing happened?" he said under his breath.
His steps slowed only when he reached a familiar street.
Harsh's place.
He didn't even realize he'd come here until he was already standing outside.
A pause.
A chance to turn back.
He didn't take it.
He rang the bell.
Once.
Twice.
Harder.
🚪 The Door Opens
Harsh opened the door, clearly not expecting him.
For a second, both of them just stood there.
Silent.
Tense.
"…Rohan."
"Yeah," Rohan said, his voice already edged with anger. "We need to talk."
Harsh stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
"About what?"
Rohan let out a short laugh. "Don't act like you don't know."
Harsh's expression hardened slightly. "This isn't a good time."
"No, it's a perfect time," Rohan shot back. "You think you can just walk into her life and—"
"Stop," Harsh cut in, firm. "Don't start that again."
"Oh, I'll start it," Rohan said, stepping closer. "Because you clearly don't get it."
"I get it perfectly," Harsh replied, his voice controlled. "She chose to move on."
"She was mine," Rohan snapped.
That landed wrong.
Harsh's eyes sharpened instantly. "She's not something you own."
Rohan scoffed. "Easy for you to say. You got everything handed to you."
"I didn't get anything 'handed' to me," Harsh said, stepping closer now too. "I was there when she needed someone."
"And I wasn't?" Rohan challenged.
"You weren't enough then," Harsh replied bluntly. "That's why she left."
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Rohan's fists clenched. "You don't know what we had."
"And you don't know what you lost," Harsh shot back.
That was it.
Rohan shoved him.
Hard.
Harsh staggered back slightly—but didn't fall.
"Seriously?" he said, anger rising now. "We're doing this again?"
"You think this is a joke?" Rohan snapped. "You think I'll just stand there while you—"
"She's happy," Harsh cut in sharply. "That's what matters."
"Not to me," Rohan said, his voice low and raw.
For a second, it looked like it might turn into another full fight—
But this time—
Harsh didn't swing.
He just stood his ground.
Breathing hard.
Choosing control.
"That's your problem," he said quietly. "You're still thinking about what you want."
Rohan froze for a split second.
Then anger rushed back in to cover it.
"You act like you're better than me," he said bitterly.
"No," Harsh said. "I'm just not trying to drag her back into something she walked away from."
That hit deeper than anything physical.
Rohan's expression flickered—
anger, hurt, something almost uncertain.
But he covered it quickly.
"…This isn't over," he muttered.
Harsh didn't respond.
Rohan stepped back, shaking his head, frustrated beyond words.
Then he turned—
and walked away.
Fast.
Like before.
⚠️ Aftermath
Harsh stood there for a moment, exhaling slowly, running a hand through his hair.
This wasn't done.
Not even close.
Because this time—
it wasn't just about the past anymore.
It was about what Rohan was willing to do next.