Chapter 4
FOUR
Advik
“Again?” I ask, trying to hide my exasperation. My hand tightens over my phone.
“Yeah, man. One last hurrah before the farmhouse.” Vikram chuckles. “You’re coming, right?”
My brother. The hopeless romantic who somehow made it work. He’s finally getting married. To Ishika, no less. The two of them are proof that love survives. That it endures.
Mine didn’t.
Not just because I couldn’t hold on to it.
But because she’s gone.
It’s been nearly two years since Greesha disappeared.
Vanished.
Like she’d never existed.
So afterwards—I burned through every connection, every resource, every rupee I had chasing answers. But she left nothing behind. No digital trail. No paper trail. No clues. Nothing.
Until three months ago.
Pratham uncle—the DGP—finally came through.
The email was simple. No greeting. No preamble. Just a subject line:
Greesha Das: Docket
I’d stared at it for a full minute, not breathing. My hands had trembled as I opened it, praying for something—anything—that didn’t start with “was.”
But the contents?
They gutted me.
I still open the PDF sometimes. Like a masochist. Like an idiot. Hoping that maybe the words will change if I look at them long enough.
They never do.
No one talks about her. Not anymore. Vikram used to. He asked the day after that horrible night I lost Greesha.
Asked how I was holding up.
Another blow to the chest. Because what he meant was—
“How are you feeling now that Aarohi’s left the country?”
Not Greesha.
Rohi.
And I didn’t hesitate. My shame didn’t wait either. I told him everything. The fight. The fallout. That Greesha left. That I couldn’t find her.
His response?
Still burns.
“Uh... Viko, I’m sorry but, I thought you really liked Aarohi. I thought Greesha was just... you know. Someone you’d move on from eventually. I’m so sorry, man.”
How badly had I fucked up that even my brother thought the love of my life was disposable?
I stare at the docket again.
It always starts the same way.
Name: Greesha Das
Residence: Apartment 213, J4PF+PXH, Rajouri Garden, New Delhi, Delhi, 110064, India
Date of Birth: 17-07-1996
Date of Death: 04-03-2024
Cause of Death: Unknown
That’s usually where I stop.
The rest blurs.
My vision had gone white the first time I saw it. I’d thrown up everything I’d eaten that day. Dropped to my knees and just... stayed there.
She was gone.
Gone.
And she’d been dead for nearly a year before I even knew.
While I was still searching, still hoping, still begging the universe to give me something—she had already become a statistic. A cold, quiet line in a confidential file.
She didn’t get a funeral.
Didn’t get closure.
And neither did I.
And then—like some cosmic joke—Aarohi came back.
For Vikram’s wedding.
But she wasn’t just Rohi. She was heartbroken Rohi.
I hadn’t told Vikram about Greesha’s death. I couldn’t. Not because I was protecting myself, but because we never really talked about her. Not in the way that mattered. So when Rohi showed up, freshly dumped and emotionally raw, Vikram saw... potential. A replacement. A safe fallback.
She wasn’t.
She isn’t.
Ishika gave me the whole run-down over lunch one day—how Rohi’s boyfriend had dumped her, how she was only in India for a few weeks, visiting from Toronto. How she wasn’t sure about a job she’d been offered.
But Ishika was in matchmaking mode.
“You’re both single, Viko! First time in eight years! She’s here, you’re here. What more do you need? This is your fucking chance!”
She was excited. Hopeful. Desperate for everyone to have a happy ending. But that’s not why I slipped into the Rohi bubble.
It wasn’t her presence.
It was her eyes.
That night at the bar... she looked lost. Cracked open the same way I’d seen her before—many, many times, years ago. Breakups always gutted her. And me? I’ve always been the idiot trying to patch her up.
But this time—I didn’t want to feel anything.
So I let it happen with a numbing ache. All while forcing the smiles that I hoped reached my eyes.
I recited the lines Ishika and Vikram fed me. I flirted the way I barely remembered how, curved my lips when I was supposed to, laughed when I could see others doing it.
And the whole time, I wondered...
Would Greesha have even cared?
Would she give a damn that I was letting someone else touch the wreckage she left behind in her death?
Probably not.
Because I wasn’t looking for a happy ending. Not really.
There wasn’t one. There was just me.
And this heart that hadn’t beaten right in two years.
I did what was expected. Faked my excitement for Vikram’s wedding. Played the role of the groom’s brother.
I also realized that Vikram genuinely believed Greesha was my past and Rohi was my future. But one look at Rohi—and I knew she belonged to someone else’s future.
Not mine. Because my future wasn’t anyone. My future had been dead for a year.
That same night, her ex-boyfriend showed up near the bar we were at.
I didn’t need to ask questions.
One look at the way she looked at him—how he looked at her—and I knew.
I stepped back immediately.
I didn’t confront it. Didn’t push. I just... let her decide.
Let her drive our interactions. Let her decide what she wanted. I stopped initiating, stopped leading. Let her chase whatever illusion she thought we had.
Because I didn’t have the energy to do it anymore.
Did I feel attraction? Sure. Rohi’s always been beautiful, magnetic. But attraction isn’t connection.
And connection isn’t love.
What I carried—what I still carry—is the weight of a mourning that refuses to loosen its ghostly grip.
I’ve been grieving for months, and still... it’s not enough. It never will be.
My body itches to keep searching for her. Because I refuse to address the result staring at me. My fingers still twitch toward my inbox every night, toward that PDF file with her name on it. Her death on it.
That line of finality.
So no—I wasn’t a lover.
I wasn’t just a celibate ghost waiting on a miracle.
Instead of resurrecting the woman I loved, I became something else:
A brother.
A brother-in-law.
A warm body for someone else’s comfort.
A placeholder.
Because that’s all I was capable of.
Rohi needed something. Maybe a distraction. Maybe validation. Maybe just someone who wouldn’t break her more than her ex had.
And I?
I was already broken.
Detached. Done.
And if the subtle pressure from Ishika hadn’t been enough, Vikram gave me a direct order—softened as brotherly advice.
“Just be there for her, Viko. She’s hurting. You know her.”
So I did what I always do.
I deadened every rational instinct and let her take what she needed—if she needed it. I showed up for someone else while my own heart bled out quietly.
While it still lay somewhere... buried with Greesha.
??????
It’s been a couple days since we arrived at the farmhouse for Vikram’s wedding.
Rohi’s been oddly calm.
Maybe not happy. But settled. Even with her ex here.
Lucian—the Lucian. The man who shattered her, who chased her halfway across the world, from Toronto to Delhi. He’s been hanging around like a ghost that won’t leave.
And I don’t think he plans to.
There’s guilt in his eyes. Heavy. Crippling. The kind I recognize—because I’ve been wearing the same expression for two years.
Like he’s one wrong word away from shattering.
Like the pain is too big to contain anymore.
And yeah—maybe I’m jealous.
Because at least he gets to look at her.
Talk to her. Try. Do something.
He gets the chance to fix what he broke.
I don’t.
Rohi, for all her attempts at moving on, isn’t looking at Lucian like she wants him back.
I don’t think she wants him to fix things. Not anymore. I don’t even know how he fucked up.
She wants to believe she’s moving forward—maybe not toward me, but still... forward.
But the truth is—she can’t move toward me either.
Because I’m not whole. I haven’t been for a long time. And no one deserves the half-man version of me that’s left behind.
So when the Sangeet function ends, I slip away quietly. Yet she finds me in the silence, pulling me into her orbit again, I don’t resist.
When her fingers brush against mine, I let it happen. I let her lead.
Maybe, for once, I can still be useful in this empty fucking life. Still save someone even if I can’t save her anymore.
But every time Rohi talks about our past—every innocent mention of some old thread connecting us—my heart sinks.
Because I missed it. I missed the clear signs of my stupidity. I missed the chance to see what was right in front of me, and it cost me everything.
It cost me Greesha.
Rohi speaks so casually, like we had some invisible bond all along.
And maybe we did.
But her words feel like razors now.
Every sentence is a reminder that I’m still bleeding. That I’ve been bleeding since the day Greesha walked out of my life.
And what makes it worse is knowing I can’t say any of it out loud.
I can’t scream. Can’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.
I’d look insane. As insane as I’ve felt for the past two years.
Because while Rohi reaches for a future, and Lucian begs for a second chance—
I’m still stuck in the wreckage of a goodbye I never got to say. And Greesha’s ghost hasn’t left me since.
“I’m going back to Canada in a few weeks,” she says, breaking the silence, her gaze fixed on our entwined hands.
I nod. “I know.”
This—this—is what Ishika and Vikram wanted, wasn’t it? Rohi, finally initiating something that might help her move on.
They just don’t realize that I won’t be moving on with her. Not because I’m noble or emotionally mature.
Because I’m... empty.
Sometimes I wonder why no one questioned how I’ve stayed uninvolved, untouched since Greesha disappeared. Then it hits me—maybe they think I was just waiting for Rohi all along. That I’ve been biding my time for this so-called perfect alignment of stars.
But I wasn’t waiting.
I was done. Static. Frozen in time—reliving the night I lost her. At 2:13 a.m. in the haze of alcohol.
“What if us... kissing, ruins our friendship?” she says softly.
Her words pull me out of my spiral—and cut straight into what’s left of me.
Friendship?
Is that what she thinks this always was? Just friendship?
I want to scoff, even scream. Not at her—but at the past. At myself. At the cruel joke of it all.
This “friendship” already cost me everything.
And maybe it was innocent for her. But for me? It was never that simple. I can’t let her live under that illusion anymore.
“Don’t take this the wrong way but...” My throat tightens around the words. “Ours is the type of friendship that’s never been just friendship, Rohi.”
And it never will be.
Because I’m done carrying this weight—the ghost of what was almost something. The unspoken feelings that lingered like smoke. A cosmic error that made my mistakes seem valid.
I’m done letting it haunt me—and done letting it have any power over what I lost. Over who I lost.
“So whatever this is... it stays here?” she asks, her eyes almost hopeful.
Here? Where? Like it’s a time capsule that will contain the tainted reality of my limbo? Like I can even pry my way out of this ruinous spiral?
Her ‘here’ is not the same as mine. Because I’m nowhere anymore.
I force the grin, make it look easy. “Like a wedding favor. But with more sexual benefits.”
Burn it.
Whatever this is. Whatever it was.
She laughs. “Advik!”
“I’m kidding.” I’m not. “Sort of.”
Minutes later, we’re in the room assigned to me and Vikram. He’s still off somewhere, possibly with Ishika.
I stand inside the doorway, frozen.
Rohi looks up at me, and for a split second, her face blurs into another.
Into hers.
‘You’ll always want her, Advik. Maybe not out loud. Maybe not enough to chase her.’
But I didn’t chase Rohi. I chased Greesha.
And I’d chase her straight into the afterlife if I had to. But if I do this—if I cross this line—I won’t deserve her. Not even in death.
I can’t do this.
Fuck, I can’t do this.
My whole body is locked up, rigid, cold.
Then Rohi steps closer. Her fingers graze my chest, then trail up to my jaw.
“We won’t overthink this,” she whispers. Her voice trembles, and so do her eyes. There’s too much pain in them—and too little recognition.
She doesn’t see me.
She sees comfort. She sees distraction. She sees survival.
And I don’t see her either. I see the mirror. I see absolution. I see... destruction.
So I guess I can be that. Just a body for her to land on while she’s falling. While I fall into nothing.
I’ve gotten good at hiding the storm anyway. Too good.
“Wedding favor, Rohi,” I rasp.
My smile cracks as I try to hold it in place.
And then—
I burn it.