They Don't Know about Us

Chapter 38 - The Taste of Losing Him

The room was dim, washed in the muted grey of a late Mumbai night. The sky outside was a flat, colourless sheet, the kind that made the world feel suspended. Not raining. Not bright from the moonlight. Just... heavy. A quiet that felt too loud.

Riddhima lay curled on her side, tangled in a mess of bedsheets she hadn't bothered fixing in days. Her hair was knotted from restless nights, her eyes swollen, her breath uneven even in sleep. Except she wasn't sleeping. She hadn't truly slept since coming back from Rajasthan.

She clutched her phone in one hand, as if her fingers were fused to it. She didn't unlock it at first — she just held it, staring at the ceiling like she was afraid of something breaking if she moved too quickly.

But eventually, slowly, she opened her and Armaan's conversation. Their chat stared back at her, a graveyard of unsent replies.It began with an avalanche.

He had sent her a dozen messages, the day after Anjali's wedding. Many that included texts like: Riddhima, please open the door, Talk to me please, I'm right here. Dozens of messages. Many Calls. Voicemails that she still hadn't dared to hear.

By the next day, the tone had shifted — still desperate, but quieter. We can fix this and please answer. Many of the same requests.

The day after brought even fewer texts. Even shorter ones. Are you okay? The day after, there was only one message left. I hope you're fine.

A week had passed and for the two last days, there was radio silence. He had stopped texting her, stopped calling her. Not a single call. Not even a missed notification. And that silence — that silence hurt worse than anything anyone could have said.

Her throat tightened painfully. She set the phone down, but it slid out of her trembling hand and dropped onto the mattress with a soft thud.

She turned her face toward the bedside table. The photo frame still sat there.

The one she had forgotten to hide. The one that had been haunting her every morning since she returned. She reached for it with fingers that shook slightly.

The picture was from months ago, when she was off-work due to her injury. Muskaan had captured it without warning. Riddhima was caught mid-laugh, her eyes shining, head tipped slightly back. And Armaan, Armaan wasn't even looking at the camera. This picture was from when Armaan and Muskaan had visited her for dinner once.

He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing. Her vision blurred instantly. As tears pooled in her eyes, she felt a sharp sting in her swollen eyes.

A sob tore up her throat before she could stop it, sharp, sudden, and painful. Her grip faltered and the photo frame slipped from her hands. She tried to grab it but it was too late.

CRASH.

Glass shattered against the hardwood floor, scattering into bright, glittering fragments. The sound sliced through the stillness like a scream. Riddhima's whole body jerked. Something inside her snapped.

Her chest tightened so violently she gasped, grabbing fistfuls of the bedsheet. Air wouldn't come. Not fully. Not enough. Her breathing turned shallow, rapid, desperate.

"No... no, no, no..." she whispered, panic prickling under her skin.

The walls tilted slightly. Her hands went cold, fingers trembling uncontrollably. Her heart pounded too fast, too loud, thudding against her ribs like it was trying to break free.

She pressed a hand to her sternum, the pressure was unbearable.

Images flashed behind her eyes, Sneha's video.The hall full of guests breaking into gasps. Armaan's face in the rain. His voice — "Don't walk away from me." Her own — "Goodbye, Armaan." His scream when he hit the pavement.