My Beating Bleeding Heart

Chapter 3: Day 0

His POV

It's today. She just left that day, without even saying goodbye. I stood by the window, watching the rain trickle down the glass. It was the day after, and the memory of her leaving without a word still haunted me. I had just taken a shower to cool myself down, but the memory of our kiss kept replaying in my mind. I shouldn't have kissed her, but when she said "thank god" and talked about regret, I lost it. How could I ever regret her? She drove me insane.

I've known her since we were 16, back in the same school, the same class, the same debate club. We were even badminton mixed doubles partners. We were good back then—I'd even say we were friends. Back in school, she was honest, too honest for her own good. In our final year of high school, something changed. We started having minor misunderstandings, but it was still fine. Then, we met again in our MBA introductory class. She was still the prettiest—and most frustrating—person I knew.

I kept looking at our graduation photo—MBA graduation. We were sworn enemies, yet somehow we always ended up in the same place, at the same time, even at the same events. So many events and shows we coordinated together, with all the fights between us. I laughed at myself now because I knew why I fought with her so much. I was frustrated with her. Why did she always have to follow the rules and regulations?

Why am I even thinking about all this? I didn’t like seeing her cry. I hated that her eyes were so red and that she was so drunk. The calm, composed person I knew—why was she breaking down that night? My fingers tightened around the glass of whiskey—neat—every time her tearful eyes flashed through my mind.

"Day drinking? Not a bad idea," Rick said as he opened my office door and headed straight for the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

"Need some ice?" he asked, holding a piece with tongs and gesturing toward me. He laughed when I kept staring at the picture, swirling the whiskey in my glass.

"Oh, I forgot. The almighty prefers his drink as bitter as his soul," he joked, sprawling out on my office sofa, still chuckling.

"Can we at least open the curtains?" Rick kept talking. "You know, it feels like a dungeon in here," he laughed. "So, when are we going tomorrow? Before she walks down to the mandap, or... I wish it was a Western wedding. We could object during the vows." He took a sip, still blabbing away. Why would I go to her wedding? She shamelessly invited me a couple of months ago, right after she snatched the Mirrad redevelopment project. Was she happy to see me in pain?

I'm thinking too much. There's a long history of hatred between us, but I can't seem to hate her. I long for her—her voice, her eyes, the way she moves, talks, and handles the world. I wish I could tell her everything I feel, confess it all. But she and I both know it would lead to nothing. The moment she accepted her family's tradition, she was bound by it. Sometimes I wonder why she didn't just walk away, but I guess she loves them that much.

But why him? I’m so much better than him. Why didn’t I realize sooner? Why did I have to be so mean and cruel to her? But then, she wasn’t any better. All her cruelty was reserved just for me. To everyone else, she was the perfect little angel, but with me, there was always a spark, a flare. Every time I look deep enough into her eyes, I feel drawn in... I can’t even explain it. She has a hold on me. I still think if she asked me to die for her, I would.

I smirk and take a sip of whiskey—it burns going down, but somehow, it soothes the ache in my heart. Why didn’t she ask me to die for her? That would’ve been easier than watching her marry someone else. I wish I were a homewrecker. I’d swoop in and take her away. But would she even let me?

"You’re spiraling... again," Rick chuckles.

"Why are you here?" I growl, irritation bubbling up. He always knows how to push my buttons. Just because we’ve been friends since childhood, he thinks he has the right to mock my pain.

"Honestly? To laugh," Rick replies, then bursts into manic laughter, enjoying every moment of my misery.

His phone keeps ringing, and he’s still laughing. Frustration boils over, and I hurl my whiskey glass at him, shouting, "Pick up the damn phone!" Rick’s laughter is abruptly cut off as the glass smashes by the door, shattering into tiny pieces scattered across the room.

"Whoa... are you trying to kill me?" Rick yells back, startled.

"Then pick up the damn phone!" I growl, my anger barely contained.

"Fine... asshole," Rick snaps back, grabbing his phone from the coffee table with a huff.

"Hello?" he answers, irritation clear in his voice. "No, you cannot," he quickly responds, sounding more frustrated by the second.

"He’s busy, can't come to the phone," Rick repeats, his tone growing sharper. I glance over at him, sensing that someone is persistently asking for me. I’m not in the mood to talk or deal with any meetings—I just want to be alone.

"I’m telling you, he's very busy," Rick insists again, sounding more irritated. My curiosity piques as I notice how annoyed he looks. Straightening up in my chair, I’m about to ask who it is when Rick suddenly hesitates.

He walks over to me, holding the phone out, and says, "It’s for you."

For me? I raise an eyebrow in question, but Rick just shakes his head, urging, "Just take it."

I snatch the phone with a growing sense of irritation—who dares to disturb me now? But before I can even say a word, I hear a soft, sultry whisper, "Nani."

My heart stops.

She knows she shouldn’t call me that, knows it’s a name only she’s ever been allowed to use. And now, just hours before she’s about to marry someone else, she dares to say it.

She repeats it, "Nani, can you come to me?" and then the line goes dead.

She thinks she can summon me whenever she pleases.