The rain had stopped, but the air still clung to Diya's skin like a whisper of everything left unfinished.
She sat stiffly in the taxi, fingers curled around her phone, watching the hostel—the place that had become home, the place where he had become home—shrink into the distance through the fogged-up window. Harsh had been kind, walking her to the gate with a joke on his lips and concern in his eyes, but his presence hadn't filled the hollow space in her chest.
The space where Maddy's goodbye should have been.
He came.
That thought alone made her throat tighten. He'd been sick, fever-bright and shivering, but he'd stood there in the downpour anyway, waiting for her beneath the old gulmohar tree like some tragic hero from the novels she used to devour. And what had she done?
She'd left.
Not because she wanted to. Not because she didn't care. But because panic had clawed up her throat at Harsh's insistent calls, because responsibility had yanked her forward when her heart begged her to stay.
Five minutes.
That was all it had taken.
Five minutes for her to realize her mistake, to drop her bags and run back through the rain, shoes slipping on wet pavement, breath coming in sharp gasps.
Five minutes for him to vanish.
Now, the taxi hummed around her, the city blurring into streaks of grey and gold as dawn crept over the horizon. Her phone felt heavy in her hands, the screen dark, the silence louder than the engine's steady purr.
Call him.
Her thumb hovered over his name.
What would she even say?
I'm sorry?
I didn't mean to?
I came back for you?
Would it matter?
She pressed call.
It rang.
And rang.
And—
Nothing.
Her stomach dropped.
Again. Same result.
A third time. Silence.
Her breath hitched, fingers trembling as she stared at the unresponsive screen. Had he—
No.
He wouldn't.
Not like this.
Not after everything.
The phone buzzed suddenly, startling her so badly she nearly dropped it. But the name flashing across the screen wasn't Maddy's.
Rahul.
Maddy's quietest friend, the one who rarely spoke unless it mattered.
She swiped to answer, her voice unsteady. "Hello?"
"Diya." His tone was sharp, edged with something she'd never heard from him before—anger. "What the hell happened?"
Her pulse spiked. "What?"
"Maddy. He waited for you. Sick, Diya. Fever, chills, barely standing, and he stood in the rain for you. And you just—what? Walked away like it meant nothing?"
The words struck like blows.
"No," she choked out. "No, I didn't—I came back. Five minutes later. He was already gone—"
"He cried." Rahul's voice cracked. "In front of us. Then he smashed his phone and blocked you."
The world tilted.
Blocked.
The word echoed in her skull, hollow and final.
"Please," she whispered, tears spilling over. "Rahul, please. Let me talk to him."
A pause. Muffled voices. A rustle of movement.
Then—
"Diya?"
His voice. Rough, raw, but his.
She pressed the phone closer, as if she could reach through it and touch him. "Maddy."
A shaky breath. "I thought you left because he called." The words were quiet, fractured. "Like you always listen to him first."
Her chest ached. "I wasn't thinking. I just—I didn't want to miss my flight. But I didn't want to miss you either. That's why I came back."
Silence stretched between them, taut and fragile.
Then, softly—
"It hurt, Diya." A pause. "But… I believe you."
The tears came harder, silent and relentless.
"Just get home safe," he murmured, voice fraying at the edges. "We'll talk when you land. I'll unblock you."
A promise.
A thread.
Something to hold onto.
She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the cool glass of the window. The ache hadn't disappeared. The confusion still lingered. But the sharp, jagged fear that they'd shattered beyond repair?
It dulled.
Because even through missed moments and broken timing, even through rain-soaked goodbyes and words left unspoken—
They hadn't let go.
Not entirely.
And sometimes?
That was enough.