'Ishan Oberoi' - The name that echoes success, power, and resilience. A rising billionaire who carved his empire with his own hands, refusing to ride on his father's wealth. Yet, he never turned his back on his responsibilities as a son. Balancing h...
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ISHAN'S POV :
Before she could step inside, my trembling hand reached out, catching her wrist. My breath came in short, uneven bursts, each one scraping against my throat. I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my ears loud, relentless. A single bead of sweat trailed down my temple, tracing the anxiety burning beneath my skin.
And then, feeling that familiar hold on her hand—she turned. Slowly. Hesitantly. As if afraid that looking back would shatter the fragile illusion of peace she’d built for herself.
For a fleeting second, it felt like even she was praying this was all a dream.
Her gaze met mine, and the world stilled. A shiver rippled through her body, her wide eyes locked onto mine. Shock flooded her features, disbelief, hurt, and something unspoken that twisted deep within me. She hadn’t expected me to be here. Not now. Not after everything.
This wasn’t the right time. I knew that. But I’d already spent so long waiting… waiting only to ruin everything again and I couldn’t let that happen one more time. Not again.
A tear slipped down her cheek, silent and slow, glinting under the soft light. She closed her eyes, as if doing so could hide the ache that had already escaped. Despite the storm raging inside her, she stood frozen still, cold, her small hand trembling in my grasp.
I could feel it, the weight of everything unsaid, the pain stretching like glass between us. Every tear she shed told a story: of wounds too deep, of nights too long, of love that turned into scars carved on her soul.
And my own tears, they carried guilt. Regret. The kind that burns, the kind that never truly fades.
Pain poured from both our eyes, yet it was different. Mine came from longing, hers from seeing me here, because maybe she never wanted to again.
The noise of the world faded, swallowed by the silence that wrapped around us. She was here. My Dhriti was here. And for a moment, it felt like we were trapped in a fragile, cruel stillness bound by memories that refused to die. Neither of us knew what to say, or even how to breathe.
Her hand still in mine, I slowly reached up, my thumb brushing away the tears staining her cheeks. The second my skin touched her, she closed her eyes again, this time, not in resistance, but in surrender. Letting herself feel it, just for a second. The warmth. The ache. The past.
