They were an unbreakable couple since school. Still, he cheated on her.
She loved him with all of her. Still, he broke her into millions of pieces.
She has no one except him. He has someone other than her.
She was tolerating bad behavior of his fami...
Ek chand tha mera jo badalon main kho gaya Maine badal hatne ka intezaar kiya Toh woh chand kisi aur ka ho gaya
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It had been a week.
Seven long days, and something still didn't feel right.
Mishti sat cross-legged on her bed, her back resting against a pile of pillows, the soft yellow glow of her bedside lamp casting shadows on the walls. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat between her and Riya, but Mishti hadn't touched it in minutes. Her fingers kept picking at one kernel, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger before letting it fall back with a soft plop. Her eyes, unfocused, flickered toward the window and then back to the popcorn like she couldn't settle.
Her voice broke the silence, quiet and uncertain.
"Riya, I don't know what's happening with Raj..."
The words trailed off, barely holding themselves together. Mishti's shoulders sank, her chest heavy under the weight of everything unsaid.
Riya turned toward her, sensing the shift instantly. She tucked one leg under the other and leaned in, her face softening. There was no teasing tonight, no light remark to defuse the air—just quiet concern.
"What happened?" she asked gently, her brows pinched with worry. "You look... tired. Not just the physical kind."
Mishti gave a slow nod, biting the inside of her cheek before speaking. Her eyes remained fixed on her lap, where her fingers now tugged at the hem of her kurta.
"It's like he's slowly disappearing," she said, her voice hollow. "He's here, but... not really. I can feel him slipping through my fingers and I—I don't know how to hold on."
Her voice cracked at the end, and she immediately dropped her gaze, as if ashamed for feeling this much.
Riya's heart clenched. She scooted closer until their shoulders touched, grounding her in the present. "Since when?"
Mishti exhaled sharply, like she'd been holding her breath for days. "It started last week. Every day he's out. Doesn't tell me where. Comes back late. And when I try to talk, he just says the same thing—'I'm tired, Mishti. Let's talk next time.' Every. Damn. Night."
Her words came faster now, more desperate. She lifted her hands, palms open, as if pleading with the air. "And what hurts most? He used to care. He used to make time. Even when he was busy, he'd call just to hear my voice. Now it feels like I'm talking to a wall."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Like I don't matter anymore."
Riya pursed her lips, brows furrowed in thought as she watched Mishti's eyes cloud over. Instinctively, her hand reached out, fingers curling around Mishti's arm in a soft, grounding touch—just enough to say I'm here. Her tone, light but careful, broke the heavy silence.
