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unwind with - Phir Mohhabat by Arijit Singh, Mohammad Irfan, Saim Bhat
Warning : Mention of Self Harm.
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The door clicked shut behind me and the sound echoed like a shot through the hollow silence of the penthouse. No lights were on. No warmth. Just darkness stretching endlessly before me like the inside of a grave. I stood there frozen at the entrance, unable to move, unable to swallow the concrete weight sitting in the middle of my chest. It felt as if even taking a single step forward would shatter whatever fragile thread was still holding me together. The city outside was loud and alive but inside this place, my so called home everything felt dead. Soulless. Sterile. Like a museum built around memories that never stopped bleeding.
I dropped my keys somewhere near the door, not caring where they fell or what they hit. My shoes felt heavier than lead yet I dragged my feet mechanically across the marble floor, heading toward my room like a ghost rehearsing its way back into its coffin. The silence pulsed in my ears, louder than thunder, sharper than knives, carrying the weight of all the words I never said and all the truths I buried alive. When I pushed open the door to the bathroom, everything inside me felt numb. My hands, my breath, even my heartbeat. I reached for the tap of the bathtub without thought, turning it on and listening as water began rushing violently into the porcelain. A sound that should have been comforting instead felt like a scream held underwater.
I sat at the edge of the tub, elbows on my knees, head hanging low. My reflection in the tile across the wall looked like a stranger, hollow eyes sunk deep in bruised skin, hair dripping from earlier rain, shoulders tense and trembling. I lifted my hand and touched my face as if confirming I was still made of flesh and bone and not just the memory of someone who once existed. But even that felt unfamiliar. I did not know this version of myself. This broken shape of a man.
Aaravi.
Her name alone was enough to suffocate me. My mind pulled me mercilessly back into that café. The explosion of silence when I saw her for the first time after three years and six months. The time that had mangled both of us in separate hells. The way she stood there, trembling with fury and agony, her chest rising and falling like she could not decide whether to scream or sob. She was not the girl I left behind, the one who loved like fire and laughed like monsoon rain. That girl had sunlight woven into her skin, brightness in her eyes, softness in her voice. But yesterday I saw a woman carved out of steel. Hardened. Sharp. Unbreakable and bleeding beneath armor no one was allowed to touch.
