Chapter 18
“I’m asking you one last time—why the hell didn’t I receive the project file last night?” My voice was cold, clipped. “Do I need to remind you how important this meeting is? Or is this your new way of getting yourself fired?”
Justin was skating on dangerously thin ice today. With the board meeting in less than thirty minutes and no complete data in sight, I was two seconds from detonating.
“S-sorry, sir… I had an emergency. I’ll send over the records right away—give me one minute,” he stammered through the line.
“No need,” I snapped, slamming the fridge shut and disconnecting the call.
“All good?” Kartik’s voice drifted in, calm as ever. I turned to find him standing in the kitchen doorway, coffee in hand.
“Yeah… apparently, family emergencies are more important than board meetings now.”
“Don’t stress. I’ve got it covered,” Kartik said, stepping into the room. “The final sales report is done. Data’s prepped.”
“Fire him,” I said flatly, the glass in my hand trembling just enough to betray the tension coiled in my shoulders.
“Who?” Kartik frowned, pausing mid-sip.
“Justin.”
He blinked. “Are you serious? He’s your right hand. You can’t just fire people for breathing wrong.”
“Yes, I can. And if you don’t stop nagging, I’ll fire you next,” I snapped, the anger bubbling too fast, too hot.
What the hell is wrong with me today?
Oh. Right.
Her.
The girl who’d spent the past few weeks unraveling the tight seams of my carefully controlled life… was gone.
Just like that.
No explanation. No goodbye. Just a stupid note on the bedside table.
Not that I’d been expecting flowers or fireworks, but damn—a note?
After last night?
That kiss was never supposed to mean anything. It started as a challenge. A tease. But the second her lips met mine, everything flipped. Her hands, the way she clung to me like she didn’t want the moment to end, the sound of her breath tangled with mine—it undid something in me.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was like her hand had slipped into a part of me I’d sealed off long ago. A place I didn’t let anyone touch.
I knew she couldn’t sleep alone—no matter how confidently she tried to lie her way through it. Her mouth spoke one thing, but her eyes… they always gave her away. I practically had to drag her to my room just so she’d close her eyes for more than five minutes.
We laughed over her ridiculous theories about life, my apparent vendetta against sleeping in shirts, and her Dadi’s over-the-top birthday prep. She told me stories—messy, funny, personal. She gave me her whole heart in fragments.
Everything. Everything—except the part where she was leaving.
Today.
Without saying goodbye.
“Good morning, Hothead,” Meeta’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts as she strolled into the kitchen, yawning like she’d fought off a bear in her sleep.
“Hmm,” I grunted, barely acknowledging her. Talking wasn’t on the menu today—not unless it involved snapping someone’s head off.
Meeta raised a brow as she slid onto a stool. “Wow. You’re more unbearable than usual. Where’s your girlfriend? At least she makes you semi-human.”
“How the hell should I know?” I muttered, slamming my glass into the sink with enough force to make her jump. “And stop calling her my girlfriend.”
“Okay, damn.” She blinked. “Didn’t know being touchy was trending this morning.”
Before I could respond, Kartik stepped in, arms folded, giving me that I know you're being an idiot look.
“Manav,” he said calmly, “you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I need to punch you and drag it out?”
“Nothing is going on,” I snapped, dragging a hand through my hair. “And I’m not apologizing for not bursting into song to brighten your goddamn morning.”
“Don’t make me break your nose, Manav,” Kartik muttered, stepping closer, arms crossed like he meant it.
I had a million things demanding my attention. A board meeting. Unsent reports. An inbox begging for mercy. I didn’t have time—or the energy—to waste on pointless emotions.
Especially not for the girl who thought a scribbled note on my nightstand was enough.
“What the hell is this?” Kartik asked, lifting the paper off the counter. He read it aloud, slowly.
Hey,
I didn’t know how to say goodbye, so I’m writing instead.
Please stop spoiling me with your cooking—I’ll miss it more than I can admit. I’m heading back to India.
Thank you… for everything. The rescues. The laughter. The dares. And yes, the kiss.
The Cape House is even more magical than I’d imagined—thank you for bringing me here. I’ll never forget it.
Also, my book is finished. It says thank you, too.
Take care,
Kiara
Kartik let the paper drift back onto the counter. His voice was low. “Holy shit… She left? And she didn’t even tell you?”
From the other end of the kitchen, Meeta froze, jaw tightening. “Wait—what? She just left? Like that? I knew it. She was too good to be true!”
I stayed focused on the coffee machine, punching buttons like it might reveal an escape hatch.
“Why would she stay?” I said quietly.
“Manav, enough!” Meeta snapped. “What is wrong with you? You know she liked you.”
I sighed, stepping away from the machine before I threw it out the window. “So what?” I muttered. “People don’t stay—not just because they like me.”
I flipped open my laptop, pretending to read through emails—any excuse to avoid eye contact, to dodge the pity clinging to the air.
Meeta exhaled sharply, then crossed the space between us and pulled me into a hug—sisterly, warm, and completely unwelcome. “Can I make you some coffee?”
“No. Just leave me alone.” My voice came out calm, flat, and detached—Controlled. Like always.
She lingered for a moment, then whispered something to Kartik on her way out. I didn’t hear it. Maybe I didn’t want to.
I buried myself in half-written replies and flagged emails I’d never send, until finally, I shut the laptop with a snap, as if closing it might silence everything I didn’t want to feel.
When I looked up, Kartik was still there—arms folded, gaze steady, face a quiet mix of confusion and concern.
“What?” I snapped. “Don’t you have work to do instead of staring at me?”
He didn’t flinch.
I got up, walked to the fridge, and pulled out a beer. The cold against my fingers felt grounding, even if it did nothing to quiet the chaos inside me.
“You don’t drink in the mornings,” Kartik said cautiously, eyes flicking from the bottle to my face.
“Rules don’t apply when nothing makes sense,” I muttered, twisting the cap like I needed it to scream for me.
Kartik’s gaze darkened. “Manav… the last time you had alcohol before breakfast was two years ago. When Shivanya left.”
“Stop. Talking.” My voice dropped, low and dangerous. My grip on the bottle tightened like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
“Why?” Kartik pressed, gentler now but still firm.
He dropped onto the stool across from me, arms folded.
“You never talked about what happened. You buried it. You shut everyone out. And now it’s happening again.
I’m not just going to sit here and watch you destroy yourself over another goodbye you didn’t see coming. ”
“This conversation isn’t helping either,” I muttered, pressing the cold bottle to my forehead.
Kartik didn’t answer right away. He stared out the window, the silence stretching before he finally spoke. “Do you remember when you beat the crap out of me in London?”
“Yeah. You want to return the favor?” I replied flatly, still staring at the counter.
“No. Remind me why you did it.”
“I don’t have time for nonsense.”
“You flew across continents just to punch me. Doesn’t sound like nonsense.”
“You needed an intervention,” I snapped. “You needed a fucking friend to tell you—”
I stopped, hand clenching so hard I could feel the glass strain in my grip.
“Tell me what, Manav?”
“That you don’t get to hurt every person in your orbit just because you’re scared!” My voice rose, thick with fury. “And you especially don’t get to hurt someone who loves you so damn much—”
“Go on,” Kartik said, eyes locked on mine. “Say it.”
“And you need to tell people how you feel before you push them away. Before you assume the worst. You were hurting because you were too damn afraid to admit you loved Meeta. And if you ever hurt her again, I will break your nose—again.”
I hurled the nearest glass against the floor. It shattered like my insides had already done hours ago. And for a brief, breathless second… it felt good.
Kartik didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You need to tell Kiara.”
“She’s gone,” I growled, voice cracking. “I have a meeting in two minutes.”
“No, you don’t,” he said evenly. “I’ve got it covered. Go.”
“Kartik—”
“You’re Manav Oberoi. You could ground every flight in the country if you wanted to. You could damn well catch one before she landed.”
I stared at him, heart pounding, logic and longing in a war neither could win.
He stepped even closer, his voice quieter now, but unwavering. “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering if she would’ve stayed. Go. Before this becomes another regret you can’t undo.”
And he was right.
Fear had controlled me for far too long—fear of loss, of being abandoned again, of what it meant to let someone truly see me. But Kiara wasn’t just someone.
She’d broken down my walls without even trying. She’d made me believe in things I never let myself hope for.
And the thought of never seeing her again was unbearable.
It wasn’t just losing her.
It was losing the version of myself she made me believe I could be.