A cycle of falling in love, marrying, and falling out again leads to love.
Because love is the endgame.
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The Chauhan's are one of the most influential families in India. Having spread their ties to Healthcare, manufacturing, social service...
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"You would like to go visit our new construction site in Panvel. You might find my idiot son there."
Watching Harshvardhan Chauhan smirking towards her thoughtfully, she remembered the other part of the Chinese legend.
No string broke because of one person, it always took the efforts of two people, them stretching and walking in opposite directions that break the string. It would stretch if one tried walking away, but when the other supported his actions and pulled on the thread, it would snap into two.
Rakshit alone cannot be blamed, nor he could solely break what was between them. Not when it was her following him, wherever he decided to walk, she had to follow him and stop from breaking the string for them.
She stared into space, letting her brain trace those moments of courage that she always stored somewhere. She was searching for the buoyancy within her, the need to jump back.
"Any chance you could sign my half day?" She asked the man who sat like a king behind his magnanimous desk.
Harshvardhan smirked like a proud father. "Consider it done, Baccha."
Shooting him with a grateful grin, she sprinted out of his cabin and inside the lift. Catching several pairs of curious eyes behind her, Shreya made a mad dash for her belongings and within another blink, she was standing outside the main gate. Before she could hail a taxi, a car stopped in front of her and the driver hurried to open the backdoor for her.
Her frown questioned the age-old driver that belonged to Harshvardhan Chauhan.
"Bade Sahab asked me to take you to the farmhouse." The man added cautiously "Or anywhere you wish to go."
"Thank you, uncle. Please take me to wherever your Rakshit sahab is." She politely smiled and sat inside, murmuring to herself. "It is time over for him."
In the next hours that followed, her brain created every scenario that could play in those minutes of their meeting. They might have known the other person for years, yet she felt the excitement in her spine to face him, laced with trepidation and a little hope that they still had a chance.
That fate would still play its part in bringing them together rather than tearing them apart.
They had been so much more than friends all those years back until one day they weren't.
She was 15 when she fell in love with this boy who drank whiskey and shared it with her. He wore arrogance and narcissism like his grins and spoke with a tilt of huskiness that often made her follow his lead without a thought. He was a charmer who didn't know when to stop charging. He took her onto rooftops in rainstorms and liked to twirl her hair in his fingers, making her laugh in thunders that kept her awake. He fetched her flowers from her favorite tree to never let her sleep on her despondence. He was graffiti and sunrises, worn jean jackets, and the leathery smell of old books she so closely kept secured in her room.
