Mansi Verma, a middle-class girl with an unquenchable passion for dance, crosses paths with Teron Hernandez-a young billionaire born into one of the wealthiest families, who owns multiple businesses and brands and is one of Bollywood's most celebrat...
I thought he would forgive me. I thought, like always, we'd find our way back to each other. But I was wrong.
There's a distance between us now. Not loud. Just... constant.
Maybe the damage was too much.
Maybe he just needed space. And that was the only thing I could give him right now. So I'd respect it.
I'd wait.
I'd prove to him that I never meant what I said—that it was fear, not truth.
That I still loved him. Always had.
I just needed to be patient.
He wasn't doing it to punish me. He was protecting himself.
After all, I'd questioned his character.
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Things had changed.
It wasn't one big change. It was the little things.
He was staying at work longer than usual.
The warmth in his voice had faded. So had the way he looked at me.
He used to look at me like I was the only thing in the room. Now, his eyes would find mine for only a second before he'd quietly acknowledge me... and then look away.
The little, unannounced hugs and kisses I used to get from him had disappeared too.
He still held my hand while we crossed the road. But only until we reached the other side. Then he'd let go.
At night, when we lay in bed, he'd still turn toward me. He'd hold my gaze for a moment too long—like he was searching my eyes for the girl he had once believed in. But he kept his hands to himself until I reached for him first.
Then, once I fell asleep, he'd move to the other side of the bed.
He still made me coffee. Still remembered the exact strong brew I preferred.
But he shared less of himself now. He'd start to tell me something, only to stop halfway and say, "Never mind. It's not important."
He listened whenever I talked. He just stopped letting me in.
I was doing everything I could to win him back.
I'd hug him, kiss him, tell him how much he meant to me—how much I still needed him. I'd even tell him the silly imaginary stories I'd once made up about us before we were ever a couple.
But whenever I tried to get closer, he'd gently pull away.
"I don't want to hurt you again."
He insisted he wasn't mad. He just needed time.
But it had already been a week.
I understood now that physical touch wasn't just desire for him.
