A Portrait of Love and Regret

The rain poured in torrents that night, drumming against the tiled courtyard as if mourning a love that had long since withered. Rima Choudhary sat beneath the arched veranda, her hands trembling as she cradled a silver frame. The photograph inside had yellowed with time, but the image was as vivid in her mind as the day it was taken - her laughter frozen in a moment of pure joy as she leaned against Aarav Rathore's shoulder. He hadn't smiled in the picture, but his dark eyes had glimmered with something she had once foolishly believed was tenderness.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. How naive she had been.

She traced her thumb over his face, her touch feather-light, as if it might erase the years of longing and regret that had carved themselves into her heart. "I loved you so much," she whispered into the storm. "And you never even looked back."

For nine years, she had been a fool - a woman who loved too deeply, hoped too blindly, and endured too willingly. Every rejection had been a dagger to her pride, yet she had persisted, believing that love alone could conquer his indifference.

She had been wrong.

Love, it seemed, was not a war she could win by herself.
She closed her eyes, memories flooding her mind - moments of joy and pain, laughter and tears. She remembered the way he had once looked at her, not with love, but with irritation. She had been a pebble in his shoe, a thorn in his side, never the woman he wanted by his side.

But now...

Now, the tables had turned.

He was the one who watched her from afar, his eyes dark with longing and regret. He was the one whose heart ached with every beat, haunted by the choices he could no longer undo. He had pushed her away, only to realize too late that she was the one thing he could never replace.
The storm raged on, relentless and unrepentant, as Rama whispered the words she had vowed never to speak again.

"I loved you once, Aarav. But now..."