They Don't Know about Us

Chapter 36 - A Door Between Two Broken Hearts

Chapter 36 – A Door Between Two Broken Hearts

The building was almost unnaturally quiet at this hour. Mumbai's usual chaos hadn't woken up yet; even the traffic below was nothing more than a faint, sleepy murmur. By the time Armaan climbed the final flight of stairs to her floor, the sky outside was only just beginning to pale with dawn.

It was barely five in the morning, and every step reminded him he'd been travelling all night from Rajasthan. A dull, furious throb pulsed up his right arm with each movement. His fingers were swollen, his knuckles stiff and an ugly mix of purple and yellow—clear proof of the damage he'd ignored the entire journey. He flexed them once, regretted it instantly, and kept going. Only one thing mattered now.

Getting to her.

He stopped in front of Riddhima's door, breathing harder than he should've. His shirt was still slightly damp from the earlier drizzle, hair mussed from the wind, eyes bloodshot from a night of not sleeping. The hallway light flickered once, then steadied, casting a dull glow over the worn doormat with a small Welcome printed on it.

He stared at that word for a second too long.

Welcome.

He lifted his left hand and pressed the doorbell. The key Riddhima had given to him sat in his keyring, next to his car keys. He could have used it, but he knew Riddhim's sister and brother in law would not appreciate him entering, especially given what the situation was now.

Once. Twice.

The chime rang softly inside, followed by silence. Somewhere behind the door, he heard a faint rustle, fabric, maybe. Footsteps. Then stillness. He waited. Nothing.

He pulled his phone out with his good hand and scrolled to her name. Riddhima. The contact that usually made his chest warm now made it ache. He pressed the call button, the ring sounded muffled through the door and in his ear at the same time.

One ring. Two. Three. Four.

His jaw tightened. She declined the call. He grinded his molars, staring at the screen of his phone as it went black. Disbelief mixed with something darker, sharper. He pressed the call again. This time the call went straight to busy. He lifted his gaze back to the wooden surface separating them.

"Riddhima," he said, knocking on the door now with his left hand, voice low, controlled. "Open the door." Silence was so heavy it felt deliberate.

He swallowed, the muscle in his jaw jumping. Tried again, "Riddhima, I know you're inside." No response. His fingers curled around his keys. Heat flared in his chest, rising fast, rising hard. Hurt. Frustration. Fear. All of it mixed until it tasted bitter on his tongue.

He took a shallow breath, then another, then leaned his forehead briefly against the cool wood.

"Fine," he muttered, more to himself than to her. Then he stepped back, straightened, and knocked — not politely this time, but hard enough that the sound echoed down the corridor.

"Riddhima." His tone dropped, quiet but sharp. "Open the door." If it took her neighbours to complain for her to come see him, so be it.

Inside, Riddhima flinched. She had been standing just behind the shoe rack, back pressed to the same door he was knocking, fingers twisting the edge of her shirt. Her heart hammered loud enough she was sure he could hear it through the wood.

She inhaled shakily, eyes squeezing shut.

Go away, Armaan. Please... just go.

Tears pooled out of her swollen eyes. Her phone buzzed again on the coffee table. She bit her lip so hard she almost made it bleed. His knock came once more, three sharp hits. Not violent. But firm. Determined.