Chapter Ten: The Goodbye She Never Heard
362 Words
Pakhi’s POV
Pakhi stared at her phone.
She had read the message three times now, and each time, it felt colder than the last.
Rehaan:
Just been tired. A lot of things happening at once. I’ll catch up with everything by this weekend.
No warmth.
No apology.
No explanation.
And yet — she had asked him if something was wrong.
Not just out of courtesy.
But out of quiet care.
She hadn’t expected a full confession. She didn’t want his life story handed over in bullet points. But she had hoped — maybe foolishly — for honesty. Or at least the kind of closeness they used to share. Before silence replaced connection. Before words became tasks and time became distance.
She locked her phone and exhaled slowly, steadying her breath against the ache in her chest.
It was enough.
It had to be.
He wasn’t hers to ask more of.
And now, she wouldn't.
That evening, as her parents discussed a new family they’d spoken to — a software engineer from Delhi, kind, grounded, and “perfectly aligned” — Pakhi didn’t argue. She didn’t stall like she used to. She didn’t make excuses about work, timing, or readiness.
Instead, she nodded.
“I’ll meet him,” she said softly, spooning dal onto her plate as if the weight of that sentence hadn’t shifted something deep inside her.
Her mother smiled, surprised but relieved. Her father looked up, hopeful.
“Just a casual meeting,” they assured her. “No pressure.”
But they didn’t know the real reason she agreed.
It wasn’t because she was ready.
It was because she was tired —
of waiting for a message that never came,
of building imaginary futures out of stolen conversations,
of hoping for a man who had already chosen silence.
If Rehaan had drawn a line, she would not cross it.
From this moment on, he would be just a client. A voice on the phone. A task in the inbox.
And if she was going to say yes to anyone in this lifetime, she would start with the one who showed up — not the one who slipped away without goodbye.
- Writer
