Chapter Twenty: The Hours Between Us
831 Words
Zara’s POV
It was always the nights that haunted her the most.
During the day, there were distractions — the facade of routine, calls from her mother, lists of things to do, conversations about outfits and wedding halls. Everyone around her moved with the same excitement, the same assumption: Zara and Rehaan — it’s happening.
Except… it wasn’t.
Not yet.
And maybe — just maybe — not at all.
That night, as the Saturday breeze whispered through her balcony curtains in Kozhikode, Zara sat cross-legged on her bed, a cup of cold coffee untouched beside her and her fingers curled tightly around her phone.
She had been watching him for over an hour now.
Rehaan Shaikh — online.
He wasn’t replying to her messages.
He wasn’t calling.
And yet, he wasn’t asleep either.
She checked the clock. 11:12 PM.
Her eyes scanned the same screen over and over. His profile picture — that blurry skyline from a business trip months ago. His bio still the same: Less talk. More execution. Typical Rehaan.
But tonight, those words mocked her.
Because he was talking. Just not to her.
She clicked on his chat window. Nothing new.
The last message from her was from Thursday — a simple:
Hope your meeting with the Bangalore client went well.
He had read it.
He hadn’t replied.
Not even a thumbs up.
That silence was now screaming in her ears.
Her heart thudded as she opened i********:, scrolled through stories — nothing. No posts. No tags. She wasn’t even sure if he was the type to chat on i********:. He rarely used it.
She returned to w******p. Still online.
Who was keeping him up this late?
Her throat tightened as her mind — uninvited, cruel — whispered: What if it’s someone else?
And then the name came back like an itch she couldn’t scratch.
Pakhi.
Pakhi Sharma. That was the name Rehaan had mentioned once — maybe twice — in the middle of some work story. Vendor team. Smart, sharp, someone who “knows her stuff.”
She remembered the shift in his tone when he’d said it. Just a flicker. But she had noticed.
At the time, she had smiled it off. She and Rehaan were practically engaged. Their families were entwined. Their future, assumed.
But lately, Rehaan had started pulling away — gently, but undeniably. Messages delayed. Calls shorter. Eyes drifting during their conversations.
He wasn’t cold. That would have been easier.
He was careful.
Kind.
And distant.
Zara was many things — elegant, self-assured, patient.
But she was not someone who took rejection lightly.
11:56 PM. Still online.
Zara stood from the bed, walking over to the mirror.
Her reflection stared back at her — long, dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, kohl-lined eyes sharp with emotion. She looked… beautiful. And tired.
Tired of guessing.
Tired of waiting.
She grabbed her phone again.
Opened Rehaan’s chat.
Typed:
Are you awake?
But she didn’t hit send.
Instead, she deleted it and wrote:
It’s really late. You should rest.
Backspace. Delete. Again.
What was she doing?
This wasn’t her. She had never begged for attention. She never had to.
But this strange woman Rehaan had become — this version of him she no longer recognized — was unmooring her. Making her question things she once believed were certain.
And worse, someone else might be the reason.
12:21 AM. Still online.
She clicked open Google. Typed: Pakhi Sharma — Ahmedabad — design — vendor.
She knew it was ridiculous.
But she also knew what she was feeling wasn’t just suspicion.
It was threat.
She found a LinkedIn profile. She wasn’t sure if it was the same Pakhi, but the location matched. The industry matched. The photo — a woman with curious eyes and a soft smile — looked annoyingly intelligent.
She felt her jaw clench.
Zara shut her laptop with more force than needed.
Who was this girl?
Why did Rehaan never talk about her again?
Was silence the giveaway?
1:02 AM. Still online.
Her fingers trembled now. The desperation was becoming a drumbeat beneath her skin.
Maybe she wasn’t wrong to worry.
Rehaan’s behavior had changed. Since that pause in their relationship. Since her.
If he wouldn’t give her answers — maybe she’d find them herself.
She typed again:
Zara:
We should talk. Soon.
She stared at it for a moment.
Then saved it in drafts.
She wouldn’t send it. Not yet.
Not until she was sure what she wanted to say.
Because the next time she spoke to Rehaan — she wouldn’t plead.
She wouldn’t ask.
She would decide.
The clock struck 1:37 AM.
He finally went offline.
Zara sat in silence, the blue glow of the screen fading to black. But in her mind, a darker determination settled in.
He belongs with me.
He will realize it — one way or another.
Because if she couldn’t win his heart with love…
She was prepared to take it with fire.
- Writer
