Chapter 11: The days after

Monday Morning

The sun rose again — soft and golden — but Roshni didn’t.

She lay still; her eyes open long before the alarm.

Her dress from yesterday clung to her like an old grief. The white fabric, once full of hope, now looked dull and tired, just like her heart.

It was Monday.

But thankfully a public holiday.

A day that usually meant lazy morning, warm tea, and good aromas from the kitchen.

But today, the silence felt sharper.

It wasn’t peaceful.

It was cold.

She sat up slowly.

Her body ached from sleeping in one position, her face puffy, lips dry.

The first thing she did — instinctively — was reach for her phone.

Still no message.

She dialed his number, her breath hitching in her throat.

"The number you are trying to reach is currently switched off or out of coverage area."

Again.

She stared at the phone, her eyes stinging.

She got up, walked to the window, and stared out blankly at the morning.

She smiled bitterly.

She did her routine as she does every day when there is no college.

She tried to distract herself — arranged her books, changed the bedsheets, even helped Meher over a zoom call with her assignment.

But her eyes kept darting to her phone.

He’ll show up… maybe by evening.

Maybe he’ll climb in through the balcony like those silly heroes she mocked in films.

And in her head, she played it out.

She would act mad.

Not look at him at first.

Then finally throw a pillow at his chest, shout “How dare you stand me up!” and maybe cry a little while hitting him with all the drama she was capable of.

Then, maybe, forgive him.

Because he would have tears in his eyes too.

Because he would say “I am sorry. Something urgent came up. My phone switched off.”

He will hold his ears and cutely say,

“please forgive me, I am sorry..I am stupid …”

And she would say, “Yes ..You are.”
And they’d both laugh, holding each other like nothing else mattered.

She waited.

All evening.

Till the moon rose and the world turned black.

No knock on the window.

No shadow by the balcony.

No message.

Nothing.

That night, her hopes shattered again.

she cried again.

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Tuesday

Anger.😠

That’s what woke her up this time.

Not the pain, not the sadness — but the raw, hot anger that bubbles up when your heart finally gives up waiting.

She slammed her wardrobe shut.

Threw her clothes on the bed. Got dressed with force, tied her hair tight, and looked in the mirror with a fire in her eyes.

“I am not some stupid 16-17 year old girl who will allow a stranger make her life hell…”

“He’s not worth crying for,” she muttered to her reflection.

“Not today.”

She ignored her phone.

Didn’t check messages.

Didn’t call.

At breakfast, she even smiled at her aunt.

Faked a laugh when Meher sent a meme.

Went out to the street market besides the college, took a stroll in nearby garden with her headphones blasting music that made her feel powerful, untouchable.🎵🎧

The world wouldn’t see her broken.

But beneath that anger… something still pulsed.

A crack she couldn’t seal.

_______________________________

Wednesday

It began with worry.

Roshni woke up with that strange tightness in her chest again — the kind that makes it hard to breathe, like a hand pressing gently but constantly against her ribs.

She sat up in bed, hugging her knees, eyes scanning her phone out of habit.

Still nothing.

No missed calls.

No messages.

No voice notes explaining where he was.

No jokes, no anger, no excuses.

Not even a single blue tick.

The questions returned, stronger now, each one stabbing at her calm like little needles:

What if something happened to him?

What if he’s hurt?

What if he’s… no. No, don’t think like that.

But she couldn’t help it.

She paced around her room, chewing the edge of her thumb.

Her thoughts were spiraling.

Maybe he got into an accident?

Maybe he fought with someone and got ..hurt?

Maybe he just didn’t care and this was all nothing to him…

Her steps slowed as her eyes fell on the corner of the room — the bed side table with the small idol, the diya, and her mother’s framed photograph.

She stood there, staring at it.

And before she knew it, her legs moved on their own.

She knelt.

Folded her hands.

Closed her eyes.

“Please, God…” she whispered, voice barely holding itself together.

“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why he’s not answering… but please…”

She inhaled shakily, the air catching in her throat.

“Please make him safe.

Wherever he is…

whatever’s happened…

just… make him safe.”

She opened her eyes slowly.

The diya flickered softly, as if it had heard her.

Tears slipped down her face — not of heartbreak anymore, but of helplessness.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t dramatic.

She wasn’t waiting for an apology or an explanation.

She just wanted him to be okay.

And for the first time in days… she admitted to herself how afraid she really was.

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Wednesday night at 8:00 PM

Roshni was in her room…standing in her room balcony, staring at nothing in particular.

“Where are you, Rudra?” she whispered.

Her voice broke.

“I don’t care if you were late. Just… be okay.

Please be okay.”

She closed her eyes.

“Don’t come to me if you don’t feel for me anymore… I won’t mind,” she lied, her throat tightening. “Just… let me know you’re okay.”

A silence followed.

She waited, still.

Later that night at 11:45 PM

Her phone buzzed…

She sat up from her bed in a daze, heart lurching.

A message.

From Unknown Number:

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked it.

Roshnnnn..sory
plz
dont…
i wil…
wait…
come…

That was it.

Seven broken words.

Scattered.

Incomplete.

Confusing.

Like they were typed in a hurry.

Or pain.

Or fear.

She stared at them, reading and rereading.

Was it him?
yes it was his number…. Rudra!

 Why was it so jumbled?

Her heart thumped.

She typed back instantly:

“Rudra? Is that you?”

“Where are you?”

“Please answer me.”

“Please…”

No reply.

Minutes passed.

Still nothing.

She called…

“The number you are calling is Switched off…”

She stared at the message again, trying to make sense of it.

Was he in trouble?

Was someone stopping him?

Was this even real?

Or was she just hallucinating?

The screen dimmed.

Her room fell silent.

But her heart… her heart beat louder than ever — in fear, in hope, in a helpless cry for answers that wouldn’t come.

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One Month Later

It had been thirty days.

Thirty mornings waking up with a name on her lips.

Thirty nights staring at a silent phone.

The message from the unknown number still lived in her inbox — untouched, re-read again, but never forgotten.

She had memorized every broken word.

She stopped calling and messaging after few days.

What was the point?

There were no calls.

No follow-up texts.

No answers.

It was like Rudra had disappeared — vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but a storm inside her.

Everyone around her assumed it was just a breakup.

A boy walking away.

A girl trying to move on.

But it was never that simple.

Because Rudra wasn’t just anyone.

And this… this didn’t feel like goodbye.

It felt like a pause.

A gap.

A breath held for too long.

Something was wrong.

Something was still wrong.

She had tried to focus on her studies, her classes, even her friends — but nothing reached her completely.

She laughed sometimes, yes. Smiled when needed.

But her soul was quiet, like a song that had forgotten its own tune.

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Three Months Later

Time just made the pain quieter.

Three whole months of silence.

90 Days

No message.
No call.
No sign of Rudra.

And somewhere between waiting and breaking, Roshni had changed.

She no longer stood by the balcony every night.
She no longer checked her phone with every buzz.
She no longer whispered his name in prayer.

Not because she didn’t care anymore.

But because she had slowly started believing… he might not come back.

Her eyes had lost that search, that flicker of hope. Now, they carried something else—disappointment.

Stillness.

A quiet surrender.

People said she looked pale these days.

A little thinner, a little less lively.

She told them she was just tired.

They believed her.

She went through her days like a routine.

Studied. Walked. Slept. Woke up.

But something in her had gone cold.

She didn’t hate Rudra. No.

She didn’t even feel anger anymore.

Just a strange emptiness.

So she stopped waiting.

She folded up the memory of him and placed it somewhere deep inside—safe, untouched, but not in reach.

Because maybe love isn’t always a forever.

Love…

in past months…

she would laugh sometime….

then she starts crying in between….

she would slap herself to snap out of this stupidity…

How could just two months of a so-called relationship break her this much….

Love…

Maybe it’s just a storm that comes,

changes everything,

and leaves you staring at broken skies.

Maybe Rudra was never meant to stay.

And maybe… that was her closure.