The night before had been quiet almost too quiet. Kavi had fallen asleep curled into Kiaan's chest, one hand resting over his heart like he was afraid it might stop beating.
Kiaan had watched him for a long time, his fingers tracing idle circles against Kavi's back. He didn't want to move.
But eventually, he'd slipped out of bed, quietly enough not to wake him. He stepped out onto the porch, phone in hand, and made a single call.
The driver picked up on the first ring one of the Chandra family's trusted employees. Discreet. Professional. The kind who never asked questions. Never gossiped. The rule was simple care for the passenger, speak only when spoken to, and never mention one Chandra's business to another.
Kiaan hated himself for making that call. His thumb had hovered over the dial for too long. But the illusion was over.
Their little world, this temporary bubble of joy and softness they both knew it couldn't last. So he told the driver to come early. Quietly. Just like before.
By morning, the silence in the house was thick, almost eerie. Even the birds that usually filled the trees with noisy chatter seemed to know what was coming. There was no song. Just stillness.
Kavi was the first to wake up. He stayed in bed for a while, eyes open, unmoving, as if staying still could somehow slow time. He wished for something ridiculous, that the clock would stop, or the world would just… end. Anything but this.
Eventually, he got up. Everything he did was slow. He brushed his teeth, showered barely realizing he was crying until the warm water mixed with the salt of his tears. He didn't try to stop them.
He dressed in the soft, oversized cotton shirt Kiaan had lent him, paired with his own faded jeans. Then he folded the two saris Nahala had gifted him and slipped them into a small backpack. That was it. No other clothes. No charger. No toiletries. He hadn't come with anything, and he was leaving with just memories.
When the familiar beep of the Mercedes echoed from the front yard, it didn't sound intrusive or loud. It was respectful, like the car itself knew what it was interrupting. But Kavi flinched anyway. His heart sank.
By then, Kiaan was awake. He stood quietly in the hallway, arms at his sides, watching Kavi close the backpack. He didn't say anything. Didn't force a smile. He just looked at him long and hard like he was trying to memorize every inch of his face.
They'd spent the past several days in a rhythm that didn't need words. Cleaning, dancing, swimming, kissing, crying.
Sometimes all in one afternoon. Kavi had let his guard down in ways Kiaan had never seen before. There had been sexes, yes but it wasn't just that. It had been slow, intentional, full of pauses and touches and silent reassurances.
A kind of lovemaking that said, I see you. All of you.
Kiaan walked out to the porch just as Kavi stepped onto it. Neither of them reached for words. There were none left.
Instead, Kiaan pulled him into a hug. A real one. The kind that holds your whole body together when your heart is threatening to come apart. One hand at the back of Kavi's head, the other gripping his waist tightly. Kavi clung to him like he was afraid the moment would vanish before he could hold onto it properly.
"I don't want to go," Kavi murmured into his shoulder, voice cracking.
"I know," Kiaan whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I don't want you to either."
Kavi pulled back, eyes glassy. "But we haven't figured it out. You're still supposed to marry my sister. We keep pretending we have time, but… time's up. And we've done nothing but hide."
Kiaan didn't argue. He didn't have the words to make it better. He just leaned forward and rested his forehead against Kavi's, eyes closed.
The kiss that followed wasn't a goodbye. It was an ache, stretched between two people who knew they didn't have the ending they wanted.
Then Kavi turned, walked toward the car, and climbed inside. The door shut with a dull thud.
Kiaan stood there and watched the car until it disappeared down the long dirt path. He didn't cry. Not then. Just stood there like a statue, rooted in place.
Inside the car, Kavi leaned his head against the window, trying not to blink too much, because every blink felt like a crack in the dam.
But it didn't take long. The tears came once they passed the bend near the stream, the trees slowly thinning out in the mirror.
His chest ached. His throat burned. He didn't sob loudly just quiet, broken sounds. The kind you make when you're exhausted from trying to be okay.
His mind ran in loops how Kiaan had held him after sex, how he was the first to notice he barely eat. How he had handled the cereal incident. How he'd danced like a fool in the living room just to make him laugh.
Everything came back like a movie he wasn't ready to finish.
And just like that, it was over.
Back at the farmhouse, Kiaan didn't stay long. The air inside already felt different. He walked into the garage, started his car without thinking twice, and drove off.
He didn't look back.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he couldn't afford to.