CHAPTER 17! SAMARTH?
The café was warm, humming with the low, steady chatter of the mid-afternoon rush. The rich scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries filled the air, cutting through the damp humidity of the Mumbai streets outside.
For the last thirty minutes, Kashvi had been doing ninety percent of the talking. Which was normal.
Aadhira sat opposite her, nursing a cappuccino while Kashvi reenacted her dramatic firing from the Milan design firm with the theatrical intensity of a Shakespearean tragedy, complete with sweeping hand gestures that twice threatened to knock over the sugar dispenser.
"And then?" Kashvi demanded, leaning forward over her cup, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Aadhira took a slow sip. "There is no then."
"There is always a then."
"There isn't."
"There is."
"Kashvi."
"Aadhira."
Aadhira sighed, a soft, helpless sound.
Kashvi grinned triumphantly, taking a bite of her macaron.
Then, a shadow fell across their table.
Aadhira looked up. Every muscle in her body went perfectly still.
Not nervous. Not emotional. Still. Like a heavy iron door slamming shut in an empty hallway.
Samarth.
The faint, lingering warmth of her smile vanished instantly.
Across the small wooden table, Kashvi noticed the sudden drop in temperature. Her grin died too. In all the years she had known Aadhira-through university stress, family pressures, and international moves-she had never seen that particular expression on her face before.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't sadness. It was a clinical detachment that felt entirely unnatural on someone as warm as Aadhira.
"Aadhira." Samarth's voice sounded uncertain. Shaky. Almost careful.
Aadhira stared at him.
Expressionless. Her grip tightened around the ceramic coffee mug until the edge bit painfully into her palm. She welcomed the sharp sensation. It kept her anchored. It reminded her she was here.
Not there.
"Who are you?" Kashvi asked, her tone sharp, cutting through the quiet.
Samarth ignored her completely.
His eyes remained locked on Aadhira's face, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides.
"I heard you were back in the city."
Aadhira still didn't blink.
Samarth swallowed hard, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. "I just want five minutes."
Aadhira reached for the sugar sachet beside her cup. Then stopped. Her fingers trembled once.
Only once. She folded both hands beneath the table instead, locking them into her lap.
"No."
"Aadhira, please."
"No."
"Just listen to me once."
"You already had that chance."
The words landed with an absolute, flat finality. No hesitation, no room for discussion.
Something raw flickered across Samarth's face. Pain, guilt, regret-maybe a desperate combination of all three.
Kashvi stood up. Slowly. Deliberately. She slid out of her chair and stepped into the narrow space between the table and Samarth, positioning her shoulder firmly between them to block his line of sight.
"Aadhira and I are talking," Samarth frowned, his jaw tightening as he tried to look past her.
"Interesting."
She folded her arms.
"Because from where I'm standing, one person is talking and one person is trying very hard not to throw hot coffee."
Kashvi dropping her usual colorful humor for a dangerous edge. "you're lucky she's tolerating it. Because if my friend looked even remotely uncomfortable right now, this conversation would've ended very differently."
Samarth took a step back, looking directly at Aadhira over Kashvi's shoulder.
"Aadhira, I know you hate me."
The ambient noise of the café-the clinking of spoons, the laughter from a nearby table-seemed to fade into distant white noise.
Even the barista slowed while steaming milk, the loud hiss dropping to a low sputter as the sudden tension in the corner radiated outward.
"You should be grateful that's all I feel," Aadhira said.
The phrase was lethal. Samarth visibly flinched, his posture shrinking slightly. "Aadhira, I was nineteen. I was stupid. I didn't-"
"So was I," Aadhira's gaze never moved. "Funny how only one of us managed not to destroy another person."
Samarth froze, the words dying in his throat.
"Stop using your age as an alibi," she continued, her voice slicing through the silence. "You knew exactly what you were doing."
The couple at the neighboring table suddenly became very interested in their coffees, shifting slightly away from the fallout.
Samarth lowered his gaze to the floor, his hands clenching into fists. "I've changed. I swear to you, I've changed."
"Good. Then you'll understand exactly why I'm standing here and you're standing there."
Aadhira shrugged, a movement so detached it was chilling. "The world deserves better men. I'm just not interested in watching the transformation."
The hope in his eyes vanished, replaced by a hollow desperation. "I said I'm sorry. I've sent letters. I've tried-"
"You're sorry now because the consequences finally reached you,"
Aadhira said softly. She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since he had approached their table.
There wasn't a single trace of past affection left in her eyes. No lingering hurt, no romantic betrayal, no broken attachment. Nothing.
"You found your voice when it became your pain. You were silent when it was mine."
Samarth looked away first.
His shoulders stiffened, his breath hitching. "Aadhira-"
"Do you know what the saddest part is?" Aadhira's voice remained perfectly calm.
Samarth looked up.
"I don't even miss you anymore. I miss the girl who trusted you."
Samarth flinched as if physically struck. "You keep speaking about it like it was a bad relationship."
"It wasn't," her gaze never wavered, holding him under a terrifying, silent weight.
"It was the day I learned that trust and character are not the same thing."
A muscle jumped violently in Samarth's jaw. The implication hung between them in the air. Unspoken. Dark. Terrible.
Kashvi felt it too. She didn't know the specifics of the history, the exact timeline, or the words that had been spoken years ago.
But suddenly, she understood something foundational. This wasn't a standard heartbreak. This was something else entirely.
Samarth looked shattered, his hands trembling slightly. "Was there really never a chance? After all this time?"
"The fact that you're standing here asking for another chance tells me you still don't understand what you did."
The words hit harder than shouting ever could.
"The worst thing that happened to me wasn't meeting you, Samarth," her voice softened further, carrying an unshakeable, terrifying certainty.
"It was believing you were someone you weren't."
"You keep asking for another chance," Aadhira said, folding her hands neatly on the wooden table, her movements composed and entirely unmoveable.
"I don't trust you with five minutes. Why would I trust you with anything more?"
Silence settled over their corner of the café. Complete and total.
Samarth looked at her for a long moment.
As though searching for the girl who used to love him.
He couldn't find her.
"Do you forgive me?"
For the first time, Aadhira looked genuinely tired.
"Forgiveness isn't something you get to ask me for."
Samarth stared at her.
Aadhira's voice remained calm.
"You don't get to hurt someone like that and then come back years later looking for peace."
His face crumpled.
She continued.
"If you want forgiveness, learn to live without it."
Samarth opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out. For the first time since he had walked over, he seemed to understand that apologies were not keys.
Some doors stayed locked. Whatever safety or trust he had broken had been buried deep by Aadhira years ago, and she had poured the concrete over it herself.
"I hope you become the man you keep claiming to be," Aadhira said. She paused, the boundary settling final and forever.
"This is the last conversation we will ever have."
Samarth nodded once, slowly. Defeated.
He turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the crowded café and out the glass doors without looking back.
Kashvi remained standing for a few seconds, her eyes tracking his departure before she slowly turned around and sat back down in her chair.
She looked at Aadhira for a long moment, her usual rapid-fire commentary completely silent.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Kashvi asked softly.
Aadhira shook her head.
"Okay." No pressure. No questions. Just a quiet, protective presence.
Aadhira stared at the cooling coffee in front of her.
There had been a time when the sight of him would have ruined her entire week. Today, it ruined her coffee. Progress looked strange sometimes.
Her fingers finally loosened around the mug. For years, safety had meant exits. Locked doors. Crowded rooms. Distance.
Lately, it had started looking like a black suit standing quietly outside a hotel room while she slept.
Aadhira immediately took another sip of coffee. Absolutely not. That line of thinking was cancelled. The thought deserved absolutely no further attention.
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