Ishan

Part 3

Shubman chuckled bitterly when no reply came from the person sitting on the footpath. His laugh, though quiet, was filled with a mixture of mockery and old bitterness. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning the familiar face with a sharpness that barely masked the confusion beneath.

"I thought you always stuck with your almighty husband," Shubman said, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. The sarcasm in his tone hung in the air, cold and biting.

Ishan, the person on the footpath, looked up slowly. His eyes, red and puffy, betrayed the tears that had likely been falling for some time. Shubman noticed but decided against asking. He didn't care. Or, at least, that's what he told himself.

"I... I... I'm looking for him..." Ishan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud made them even more painful.

Shubman leaned against his bike, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Looking for your husband, huh? That's new info. Where'd he go? Not like he's a child or something."

Ishan's lips trembled, trying to form words, an apology perhaps, something that wouldn't feel so hollow. "I... I am sorr—"

But Shubman cut him off, his voice sharp. "Oh, let's not talk about that. I already don't care." His words were harsh, but beneath them was something more—something he refused to acknowledge.

Ishan's voice cracked as he tried again. "Please, Shub—"

"Cut it." Shubman's tone shifted, more forceful now, as if he needed to end the conversation before things spiraled any further. He wasn't ready for this—whatever this was. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, and then he straightened up, grabbing his helmet.

"I'm leaving. Bye." His words were final, and with that, Shubman turned on his heel, putting distance between them.

As he mounted his bike and revved the engine, the sound filled the empty street, drowning out the silence between them. He didn't look back at Ishan, even though a part of him—buried deep beneath layers of defenses—wanted to. Instead, he sped off into the night, leaving the scene behind, but unable to shake the weight of it.

Behind him, Ishan sat there, staring at the space Shubman had occupied just moments ago, feeling the crushing sense of abandonment. The wind picked up again, swirling around him, carrying away the unsaid words that lingered between them.

Ishan stood up, his legs feeling shaky as he glanced up at the night sky. The moon, which had been a silent witness to everything, offered no comfort, only a cold, distant glow. His fingers reached for his phone out of habit, but when he pulled it out, the screen remained black.Dead.

 He sighed deeply, the weight of the night pressing down on him. Between the fear gnawing at him over Shashank's whereabouts and the unexpected reappearance of Shubman, a familiar sense of dread stirred in his stomach.

Everything felt surreal, like a bad dream he couldn't wake up from.

As he began to walk, his steps slow and aimless, memories began to flood his mind. Some were sharp and painful, others blurred around the edges but still haunting.

Shubman, the name echoed, bringing with it images of their college days—the rivalry, the tension, the occasional awkward encounter when Shashank tried to pull them together. And now, seeing Shubman after all these years, still cold, still dismissive, had left him feeling hollow.

"Shashank, I'm really missing you... where are you?" Ishan whispered into the night, his voice barely audible, as if the wind might carry the words to someone who could answer. But there was only silence, and he walked on, head bowed.