•| FORTY FIVE |•
Currently, the three of you were sitting in the bustling university cafeteria after your last class, trays of half-eaten food pushed aside as the noise of chattering students and clinking cutlery filled the air.
Riya was sitting unusually close to Pratik, her elbow almost glued to his arm, while he pretended to scroll through his phone like he wasn’t aware of her dramatic attempts to get his attention.
“Pratik, please,” she whined for what was probably the tenth time in five minutes, stretching the word as she clasped her hands together dramatically.
“It’s just shopping. I’m not asking you to climb Mount Everest.” Pratik sighed, shaking his head with a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Riya, you said ‘just shopping’ last time too. We came back after four hours and I was carrying six bags.” “Correction,” she pointed a finger at him, “you insisted on carrying them.” “Because you looked like you were about to collapse,” he defended himself. “Exactly!” she beamed.
“So you care. Which means you’ll come again.” You watched their back-and-forth quietly, a faint smile forming on your face at their silly argument. Pratik finally threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine. We’ll go. Happy?” Riya gasped dramatically and clapped once.
“Very!” Then Pratik’s eyes shifted toward you. “And Samira? What about you? You’re coming too, right?” The question made your smile falter slightly. You shook your head gently. “I’m sorry… I won’t be able to come with you guys.” Riya’s expression dropped instantly.
“What? Why? Come on, you need a distraction.” “I really can’t,” you said softly. “Mom and Dad aren’t home, and I have to get back early. There’s stuff to take care of.” Pratik nodded slowly, understanding the tone beneath your casual excuse.
“Are you sure? I mean… we can drop you home first. It’s not a problem.
” “N-no, it’s okay,” you replied quickly, waving your hand dismissively.
“I can go by myself. And also…” you leaned back slightly, a teasing glint finally appearing in your eyes, “I don’t want to disturb you two.
” Both of them froze for a second before Riya’s cheeks turned pink.
“Samira!” she exclaimed, lightly hitting your shoulder.
Pratik cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to hide his smile. “There’s nothing like that.” “Oh really?” you raised an eyebrow playfully. “Then why is she begging you like this?” Riya groaned in embarrassment while you laughed softly, the sound easing some of the heaviness in your chest.
For a brief moment, sitting there with them, teasing and smiling, it almost felt like things were normal again—even if deep down, you knew they weren’t.
Everything seemed unusually calm that morning, almost as if the house itself was hoping for things to fall back into place.
Kiaan was sitting beside Krish at the dining table, swinging his legs lightly while eating his breakfast, occasionally glancing at his father as if making sure the fragile warmth between them was still there.
Krish, though still tired, looked softer today—there was a hint of determination in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Mrs. Mehra watched both of them quietly from across the table, stirring her tea thoughtfully before finally breaking the silence.
“Krish,” she began gently, “why don’t you go meet her?
” Krish paused mid-bite and looked up at his mother, her words sinking in slowly.
“Meet her?” he repeated, almost to himself.
Mrs. Mehra nodded. “Yes. You can’t fix things sitting here and overthinking.
Go see Samira. Talk to her face to face.
Sometimes distance only makes misunderstandings worse.
” Krish leaned back slightly, considering her suggestion.
The idea both terrified and comforted him. What if you refused to see him? What if you pushed him away again? But what if… this was the only way to make things right? After a few seconds of silence, a small, hopeful smile formed on his lips.
He nodded. “You’re right, Mom. I should go.
” The moment Kiaan heard that, his spoon dropped onto his plate with a tiny clink.
His eyes widened in excitement, and he quickly slid off his chair before running toward Krish.
“I wanna meet Mummy too!” he said eagerly, climbing onto his father’s lap and wrapping his small arms around his neck.
He pulled back slightly and made his big doe eyes even bigger, trying his best to look convincing.
“Please, Dad?” Krish chuckled softly at his son’s adorable attempt, brushing his hair back.
“Kiaan, you have school, remember? And I’m just going to see her…
nothing else. I’ll talk to her properly.
” Kiaan’s face immediately fell into a pout.
“But I miss her,” he mumbled quietly. Krish’s heart tightened at those words. He kissed Kiaan’s forehead gently.
“I know, baby. I miss her too. But if I go alone today, maybe I can bring her back sooner. And then we’ll all be together again.
Okay?” Kiaan hesitated, his lower lip still pushed out, before slowly nodding his head.
“Okay…” he whispered reluctantly. Krish smiled proudly and tapped his nose lightly.
“That’s like my boy.” Mrs. Mehra watched the father and son with hopeful eyes, silently praying that this step would finally mend what had been broken.
Meanwhile, you stepped out of the university campus with Pratik and Riya walking on either side of you, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the pavement. Students were scattered around the gate, some waiting for autos, some laughing in groups, some glued to their phones.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, trying to ignore the strange sensation crawling up your spine—the feeling that someone was watching you.
For a brief second, you slowed your steps and glanced behind you, but all you saw were random students standing near the tea stall and a few bikes parked along the curb.
I’m just overthinking, you told yourself, brushing it off.
Pratik, however, had been unusually quiet, his eyes scanning the surroundings more than usual.
“Samira, it’s okay… we’ll drop you home,” he said again, his voice firm yet concerned. It was probably the seventh time he had offered. You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Pratik, just look at Riya,” you replied, tilting your head toward her.
“She’s been waiting for this shopping plan all week.
I can take care of myself.” You rolled your eyes slightly, half annoyed, half amused.
Riya nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Pratik, she’s not a kid.
Stop acting like her bodyguard.” “I know, but still…” he muttered, clearly not convinced.
You stopped walking abruptly and turned toward them.
“Yahh, just go already!” you said a little louder than intended, trying to mask the slight uneasiness inside you with stubbornness.
Pratik sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re impossible,” he mumbled under his breath before shaking his head.
“Fine. Let’s go, Riya.” He handed her the spare helmet and wore his own, but just as he was about to start the bike, something in the corner of his eye made him pause.
A few boys were standing a little distance away—too still, too focused.
He subtly glanced again without making it obvious.
They weren’t talking among themselves; their attention was fixed in one direction—your direction.
His jaw tightened slightly. Why are they following her from the first?
he thought, recalling how he had noticed them lingering near the cafeteria earlier too.
One of them quickly looked away when their eyes almost met.
A strange discomfort settled in his chest. He debated for a second whether to call you back, but you had already walked a little ahead, determined and unaware.
Not wanting to alarm Riya without being sure, he kicked the bike to life, though his eyes lingered in the mirror—watching, calculating, and hoping his suspicion was just a coincidence.