chapter 43
Chapter 43 - The Thing He Did Wrong Again
He sent flowers.
The decision was made in the five-second space between seeing them in the hotel lobby and realizing he was already asking the concierge to have them arranged.
White lilies.
Simple.
Elegant.
The kind she used to pause beside when they passed them at formal dinners, gaze lingering one second too long before moving on.
He remembered that now.
Too late, like everything else.
No card.
Then, after a second thought that came slower than it should have-
Aarav.
As if his name alone could do the work of meaning.
They were delivered at 4:20.
Returned at 6:05.
No note.
No message.
No explanation.
Only the arrangement, pristine and untouched, arriving back at Malhotra House with his name still tucked cleanly between the stems.
The houseman carried them into the study with visible caution.
"Sir-"
Aarav looked up.
Then at the flowers.
For one long second, neither of them moved.
"Who sent them back?"
The question came flatter than intended.
The houseman hesitated.
"Ma'am said to return them."
A pause.
"Only that?"
"Yes, sir."
Aarav looked at the arrangement.
At the white card.
At his own name written in neat black script and sent back to him untouched.
No anger.
No message.
No accusation.
Just refusal.
The precision of it landed harder than insult would have.
But he was not offended, he was heartbroken.
This feeling was somehow unfamiliar with him. He rub his chest gently.
He tried to remember when he give the flower to her last time.
No memories, because he never did, he never gifted anything to her. He simply never care.
He remembered, it was kavya who use to send flowers and bouquet to his office but the very next second he use to dispose them like a trash.
Her love to him was nothing.
He smile at himself mockingly.
At least kavya didn't throw them away in garbage.
What was he trying to do by sending it now.
The thought made him even more irritated.
"Leave them."
The houseman set them down and left immediately.
Aarav stared at the bouquet for several quiet seconds.
Then reached out, removed the card, and turned it over in his hand.
Blank on the back.
Nothing hidden.
Nothing unsaid.
He set it down.
The flowers remained on the far corner of his desk until midnight.
At 12:17, he moved them aside without looking at them again.
By morning, they were gone.
He never asked who removed them.
That, too, felt deliberate.
End of chapter 43.