DONT WANT TO LEAVE
I kept rolling on the bed, turning restlessly from one side to the other before finally burying my face deep into the pillow, pressing it harder against myself as if I could somehow smother the feeling rising inside me, as if I could silence the storm building in my chest just by hiding from it.
But it didn’t go away.
It only grew heavier.
The guilt wrapped around me slowly, tightening with every passing second, settling deep inside my chest in a way that made it hard to even breathe properly, like something invisible was pressing down on me, refusing to let me escape.
I had hidden this before.
From my grandpa.
From Vihaan.
And back then, it never felt like this.
It never felt so suffocating, so unbearable, so painfully real.
But hiding it from him—from Adithya—felt completely different, like I wasn’t just lying to another person, but betraying something within myself that I didn’t even fully understand.
I shut my eyes tightly, my fingers clutching the bedsheet beneath me as my thoughts refused to slow down, replaying everything over and over again, every word, every look, every moment from today.
Because the worst part wasn’t even the lie.
It was the way he believed me without hesitation, without questioning, without even doubting for a second, like my words were enough for him, like I was enough for him to trust without proof.
And that trust—
It weighed on me more than anything else.
I let out a slow, uneven breath, my face still half buried in the pillow as I tried to calm myself, but my mind refused to listen, wandering back to him again and again.
I knew him well enough to understand that he wouldn’t show it, wouldn’t say anything even if he was worried, wouldn’t sit there and express his emotions like others would.
But still—
A small, stubborn part of me kept whispering something I didn’t want to accept.
That he would feel something.
Maybe not love.
Maybe not pain.
But at least… something.
A faint hint of sadness if something happens to me.
The thought alone made my chest tighten again, a strange ache spreading through me as I slowly turned my head to the side, pulling the pillow away just enough to breathe properly.
My eyes drifted toward the floor.
He was there.
Lying down, scrolling through his phone as if the entire day had been nothing.
The soft sound of videos playing from his phone filled the quiet room, a simple, ordinary noise that should have comforted me.
But instead, it only made the silence between us feel louder.
“Adithya…” I called out, the name rolling off my tongue in a way that felt unfamiliar, almost strange, because I had never called him that before, always hiding it behind ridiculous nicknames, always keeping things light, always avoiding something as simple and real as his name.
I shifted toward the edge of the bed, slowly leaning forward until my head hung upside down from the mattress, my hair falling freely as I looked at him lying on the floor.
“Don’t call me that,” he said immediately, his voice low, almost uncomfortable. “It feels strange.”
I let out a soft chuckle despite everything.
“Isn’t that your name?” I asked, tilting my head slightly as I watched him.
He put his phone aside and looked at me properly this time, his eyes holding mine in a way that made my breath pause for just a second.
“You’ve never called me that,” he said.
There was something in his tone—
Something quiet.
Something I couldn’t name.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
And then—
“Will you… can you please cry at my funeral?” I asked, the words slipping out softly, but carrying a weight that didn’t match my calm tone.
He didn’t respond immediately.
He just looked at me for a second longer—
Then closed his eyes, like he was already tired of hearing it.
“If you want to talk about dying and your funeral, then I’m not interested,” he said, his voice firm now, as he pulled the blanket over his face, shutting himself away from me.
Something inside me twisted.
I leaned down further, reaching out without thinking, and grabbed the blanket, pulling it away from his face in one quick motion.
“What?” he snapped, his eyes opening immediately, irritation clear on his face as he looked up at me.
I stayed like that, half hanging from the bed, staring at him upside down, my expression unreadable for a moment before I spoke again.
“You didn’t answer me,” I said quietly.
His jaw tightened.
“I told you I’m not interested in this conversation,” he replied, his voice colder now as he tried to take the blanket back from my hand.
But I didn’t let go.
“Just answer,” I insisted, my tone softer this time, but stubborn in a way he was starting to recognize.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he sat up slightly, clearly annoyed, clearly trying to control something beneath that irritation.
“Why do you keep talking like that?” he asked, his voice low, almost strained. “What do you even get by saying all this?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because I didn’t have a proper answer.
Or maybe I did—
But I didn’t want to say it out loud.
“Because it’s going to happen,” I said finally, my voice quiet, matter-of-fact, like I was stating something obvious.
He laughed once.
A dry, humorless sound.
“And who decided that?” he asked, his eyes locking onto mine. “You?”
I looked away for a second.
Silence stretched between us.
“You’re just sick. Then we’ll treat it.”
I shook my head slightly.
“It’s not that simple.”
I swallowed, my grip on the edge of the bed tightening slightly.
“It can be treated… just think positively,” he said, his voice firm but softer than before.
My eyes burned instantly.
I looked away.
Fast.
Before he could notice.
I blinked rapidly, forcing the sting back, forcing everything back, because crying in front of him was something I couldn’t afford—not now, not when I was already losing control over everything else.
But it didn’t go away.
Because the thought hit me all at once—
Leaving him.
It came suddenly, heavily, like something crashing straight into my chest, making it hard to breathe for a completely different reason.
And for the first time—
It didn’t feel like just another decision.
It felt unbearable.
Like something inside me was being pulled apart.
All this time, I had lived without a reason.
Dragging myself through years that felt empty, meaningless, exhausting.
There was nothing I was holding onto.
Nothing I was afraid to lose.
But then—
He happened.
Somewhere between the arguments, the stupid nicknames, the careless conversations, the quiet nights and small moments—
I had started feeling something I didn’t even realize when it began.
Something warm.
Something unfamiliar.
Something… dangerous.
And now—
In just a few days—
I had to sign the divorce papers.
I had to walk away from him.
Like none of this ever mattered.
Like he was just a phase in my already broken life.
My chest tightened painfully.
“Can we be friends after divorce?” I asked quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed after quickly wiping my face, making sure no trace of what I felt was left behind.
He looked up at me from the floor, his expression unreadable for a moment, like he wasn’t expecting that question at all.
“Even if we were friends… how would we even meet?” he said after a pause, his voice low, practical as always. “You’ll be busy with your life.”
I nodded slowly.
Busy with my life.
A life that I wasn’t even sure how long would last.
A life that felt like it was already slipping through my fingers with every passing day.
I looked down at my hands, my fingers curling slightly as a quiet thought settled inside me.
I didn’t know how long my body could handle all this.
I didn’t know when it would give up—
When my lungs would fail me,
When my heart would get tired,
When everything inside me would just… stop.
I had no control over that.
No certainty.
Nothing.
But one thing I knew—
I wanted a little more time.
With him.
Not as something complicated.
Not as something defined.
Just… time.
“I won’t be that busy,” I said softly, my voice losing its usual teasing edge. “I can make time.”
He didn’t reply immediately.
He just looked at me, his eyes searching my face like he was trying to understand something deeper than my words.
“You’re planning everything like you’re leaving for somewhere far,” he chuckled.
My breath caught for a second.
I forced a small smile.
“Maybe I am,” I said lightly.
He frowned.
“I don’t like the way you’re talking,” he muttered, looking away.
“Adithya… do me a promise,” I said quietly as I slid down from the bed and settled beside him on the floor, close enough to feel his presence, but not close enough to make it obvious.
“What?” he asked, turning slightly toward me, his tone casual—but his eyes already cautious, like he didn’t trust what I was about to say.
I pointed toward the little palace in the corner, where the kitten was curled up inside.
“Don’t abandon little Sinclair,” I said softly.
“And…” I continued, forcing a small chuckle as I looked away, “remember the deal we made. You have to kneel down and give the rose.”
He groaned instantly, running a hand over his face.
“God… I regret that already,” he muttered.
A faint smile slipped onto my lips.
“Too late,” I said. “A promise is a promise.”
He shook his head, clearly annoyed—but there was no real anger in it.
“And you should invite me for your marriage,” I said, forcing the words out even as my eyes burned, even as something inside me resisted every syllable, like my own heart didn’t agree with what I was saying.
He went still.
For a moment, he just stared at me—
Like he couldn’t believe I actually said that.
“At least invite Vihaan if I die—”
I couldn’t even finish it.
Because the next second, his hand was on my mouth.
Firm.
Immediate.
Stopping me before another word could come out.
“Just… stop saying that,” he said, his voice low, strained, like he was holding something back with effort.
His palm was warm against my lips.
My breath hitched slightly, my words dying against his hand as I looked at him.
His eyes weren’t calm anymore.
There was something else in them now—
Something sharp.
Something unsettled.
Slowly, I reached up and pulled his hand away from my mouth.
“You can’t stop me from saying the truth,” I muttered, my voice softer now, but still stubborn.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.
“I don’t even know if I ever get married,” he said suddenly.
“Why are you planning to be a monk till death?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“I used to say I want to be single till life, but I think God took it seriously,” he said dryly.
A pause.
Then he added, “No girl would find me appealing.”
“Don’t say that,” I muttered, hugging my knees closer.
“You are handsome and till I know you, you are such a good guy,” I said softly.
He stared at me for a moment.
Then let out a short chuckle. “Stop joking.”
“If I compliment someone, it’s a very big thing.” I said, serious now.
That made him laugh a little more.
“Girls will wait in queue for your character,” I said confidently.
“For my character?” he asked, raising a brow.
I nodded immediately.
He stared at me for a second longer, like he was trying to figure out if I was serious or just saying things to fill the silence.
Then he leaned back slightly.
“…Queue?” he repeated, still amused.
“Yes,” I nodded firmly. “Long queue. Very organised. Token system also.”
That made him actually laugh this time—quiet, but real.
“Now I know you’re definitely lying,” he said.
“I am not,” I insisted. “I’m just predicting the future.”
“Based on what data?”
“Experience,” I said confidently.
He raised a brow. “What experience?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
“…General observation,” I corrected quickly.
That earned another small chuckle from him.
For a moment, the air felt lighter again.
Like the earlier heaviness had stepped back a little, waiting somewhere we couldn’t see.
He glanced at me again, more softly this time.
“You talk like I’m some good person,” he said quietly.
“You are,” I said immediately.
“No,” he shook his head. “You just… don’t know me properly.”
I frowned slightly.
“I know enough,” I said.
He said nothing at first—just stared at me like I was a question he didn’t want to answer too quickly.
“What type of wife do you expect?” I asked.
“Why are you so interested in my future wife?” he asked back, tilting his head slightly.
“Just answer,” I said firmly.
“Someone normal,” he said immediately.
“Define normal,” I pushed.
He thought for a second, then his lips curled slightly.
“Someone who won’t name a rose plant, paint a cardboard box, and call it a cat’s palace,” he said, looking straight at me.
There was a beat of silence.
Then I grabbed the pillow and threw it at him.
It hit his shoulder.
He barely flinched—just caught it lazily and chuckled.
“Hey,” he said, still amused, “I didn’t lie.”
“You insulted my entire personality,” I said, offended.
“That wasn’t an insult. That was a summary,” he replied.
I scoffed and reached for another pillow like I was preparing for war.
He chuckled softly and tossed the pillow aside.
“You should also invite me to your wedding,” he said casually.
My chest tightened instantly.
I stared at the floor for a second too long.
“I won’t get married,” I said flatly.
He didn’t even hesitate. “You will find the love of your life.”
No.
I don’t want to.
The words sat in my throat, heavy and unspoken.
I forced a smile. It didn’t work.
“After our divorce… if my brother calls you saying I want to meet you, please come and meet me,” I said instead.
His brows furrowed immediately. “Why are your words so puzzled?”
I avoided his eyes.
“If you want to meet me, you can directly call me. Why your brother?” he asked, clearly confused now.
“You won’t understand, dumbass,” I muttered quickly.
Before he could say anything else, I stood up and turned away, climbing onto the bed and burying my face into the pillow.
The tears I had been holding in all this time soaked into the fabric as I stayed still, hoping he wouldn’t notice… hoping the room wouldn’t feel this loud.
Because I don’t want to leave him.