.The soft rustle of the curtain danced with the early evening breeze, filtering sunlight into golden streaks across my room. I stood barefoot on the fluffy rug in front of the full-length mirror, absently fixing the collar of my magenta shirt. It wasn't just any shirt - it was his favorite color on me. Kunal always said it made me look "confident and warm," whatever that meant.

I tilted my head, studying my reflection with the kind of detached curiosity one has while watching strangers in a café. The shirt was casual, oversized in a comfortable, effortless way. Paired with my favorite wide-leg jeans and the off-white tote bag I threw over my shoulder, I looked exactly like someone meeting their boyfriend for a regular Tuesday coffee date.

Except nothing felt regular anymore.

I smoothed a loose strand of hair behind my ear and sighed. My room - softly lit, warm, filled with the scent of vanilla and eucalyptus - felt like a safe shell. My sanctuary. The mirror leaned neatly against the wall, framed in a muted gold arch, reflecting not just my outfit but the carefully curated calm I surrounded myself with. A vase of pampas grass stood tall beside it, next to a basket of folded blankets I never used but kept anyway - because it made the space look lived in, soft.

And still, under all the cozy layers and aesthetic calm, something in me was unsettled.

Kunal had been distant lately. Busy, distracted, always on the edge of ending a call. Maybe I was overthinking. Or maybe I was beginning to see things I didn't want to.

I grabbed my phone from the vanity and glanced at the time. 6:47 PM. Our usual meeting spot was just twenty minutes away - enough time to walk slowly, maybe pick up an iced coffee on the way, pretend everything was normal.

I took one last look in the mirror. Lips glossed. Bracelets stacked on my wrist. Perfume, subtle but sweet. The kind of "effortless" look that, ironically, took real effort.

"You've got this," I whispered to my reflection, then smiled faintly.

But the thing about mirrors?

They reflect what you want to see. Not what's waiting on the other side of goodbye

_______________________

.It was one of those evenings that felt too perfect - the sky mellowing into soft amber, the breeze just light enough to dance with the trees, and the city humming quietly beneath the surface. Srisha walked into the café, a small smile playing on her lips, her fingers lightly gripping the strap of her tote bag. There was hope in her heart, no matter how cautiously it beat.

She spotted him instantly.

Kunal.

Sitting at their usual table by the glass window, dressed in a soft blue shirt with the sleeves folded casually at the elbows, paired with beige trousers and that effortless air of charm he wore like cologne. He looked up, and his face lit up with a smile that reached his eyes - warm, easy, disarming.

"Srish," he said as he stood, pulling the chair out for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Gentleman. Always.

Her cheeks flushed, just slightly. No matter how many times they met, something about the way he looked at her made her feel seen - special. Like maybe all the heartbreak in the world couldn't touch her here, in this moment.

"You look... really nice," he said, eyes scanning her magenta shirt, a faint dimple appearing as he grinned. "I love when you wear colors like that."

Srisha laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know. That's why I wore it."

They ordered - two iced coffees and a slice of cinnamon cake to share - and the conversation flowed easily, like it always did. He asked about her new design project, and she lit up talking about fabrics and silhouettes and messy color palettes. He listened, really listened, his eyes fixed on her like nothing else in the world mattered.

And maybe in that moment, she believed it.

He talked about work, friends, some business trip he'd just returned from. Everything sounded normal. Everything felt normal. And that was the dangerous part.

Because when someone's betrayal wears a smile and speaks in sweet tones, it's easy to ignore the cracks.

"I missed this," he said suddenly, gently brushing her knuckles with his thumb.

Srisha blinked. "You mean us?"

He nodded, lowering his voice as if the world wasn't supposed to hear. "Yeah. You and me. I know I've been a little distant, but... things have been crazy. You believe me, right?"

And she did.

Of course she did.

Because when someone you love looks you in the eye and says the right words, you want to believe them - even if your gut whispers otherwise.

Srisha smiled, small and soft, the kind of smile that only trust can create. "Yeah," she said. "I believe you."

And just like that, he had her again. Wrapped in unspoken promises, in touches that meant too little, and words that would one day mean nothing.

But for now, Srisha sat across from him, sipping her coffee, laughter spilling from her lips like petals in the wind.

___________________________

He knew her order without asking.

"Double cheese, thin crust, no olives," Kunal said to the waiter, with that calm confidence that made him seem older than he was, wiser even. Srisha blinked at him, surprised.

"You remembered?" she asked, her eyes soft with affection.

Kunal smiled and leaned back in his chair, arms resting lazily on the sides. "Of course I did. It's your comfort food."

It was such a small thing. But it made her heart ache just a little. People always thought of grand gestures, elaborate displays of affection - but sometimes, it was just someone remembering how you liked your pizza. That was enough to make her feel like she mattered.

The pizza arrived in warm, cheesy glory, filling the small café space with the scent of oregano and memories. Srisha picked up a slice and took a bite, moaning in approval. "This is still the best."

Kunal chuckled, watching her with something unspoken in his gaze. Not desire, not just affection. Something deeper. Or at least, it looked that way.

"You always eat like it's the first time," he said, eyes trailing over the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, her rings clinking against her coffee cup.

She shrugged playfully. "I believe in giving food the respect it deserves."

He laughed, low and easy. "That's one of the things I admire about you, Srish. You live in the moment. You actually... feel things."

It made her pause.

No one ever said that to her. No one ever noticed that about her.

A blush crept onto her cheeks. She looked down, suddenly shy. "That's not always a good thing. Feeling too much."

"It is," he said gently. "You see beauty in little things. You make people feel heard. You made me feel heard, even when I didn't know I needed it."

She didn't speak for a while. Just smiled to herself, eyes on the melting cheese, heart doing that reckless thing again - trusting.

Because in that moment, Kunal wasn't the man who sent her short replies or canceled plans last minute. He wasn't the man who left her overthinking in the middle of the night.

In that moment, he was kind. Attentive. Present.

And that's all she ever wanted.

They stayed there for over an hour. Talking about dreams that didn't make sense, about music they'd outgrown, about nothing and everything. Kunal listened like her words were poetry, nodding, responding, even teasing her now and then just to make her laugh.

He looked like the man she imagined a future with.

And that's the thing about gentle betrayals - they never feel like storms at first.

They arrive quietly. In slow, honeyed sentences. In the curve of a smile.

And Srisha, wrapped in the illusion of love, didn't know she was already losing something.

"Baby..."

His voice was low and slightly hesitant, but it always curled around her like a secret.

Srisha looked up from his shoulder, where her cheek had found its favorite place. They were sitting on the floor of his apartment, the empty pizza box beside them, the playlist he made for her playing faintly in the background. His arm was around her waist, fingers drawing invisible shapes along the hem of her kurta.

She blinked, half-asleep in that cozy haze only Kunal could lull her into.

"Hm?"

"I need to tell you something," he said, and even though the words weren't sharp, they made her sit up straighter. He pulled her hand into his.

"I have to leave for a week," he began, brushing his thumb against hers. "It's a business trip. France."

Srisha paused. "Oh."

She didn't know what to say. It wasn't shocking - Kunal often spoke about expansion, his startup, how things were finally moving the way he wanted them to. But France. That felt far. Far and suddenly real.

"For how long?"

"Ten days, max," he promised, like a soft oath. "And I'll text you every day. Promise."

Srisha nodded slowly. "That's... that's great, actually. I mean, big deal and all."

He grinned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "You're not mad?"

"No," she lied. "Of course not."

Because how could she be mad at someone who was holding her so gently? How could she be mad at someone who just called her baby like it was the most natural thing in the world?

"You're proud of me, right?" he asked, voice playful now, like he was fishing for reassurance he didn't need.

Srisha wrapped her arms around his waist again, resting her head on his chest.

"Always," she whispered.

And the evening melted into one of those golden ones - the kind that made you forget that life could ever be cold.

They spent the next hour watching an old romantic film, laughing at the clichés, stealing glances when the couple on screen kissed like they'd never have to part.

He fed her chocolate from a box she didn't even know he had, wiped a smudge from the corner of her lips, called her beautiful like he didn't need a reason.

When she yawned, he pulled her closer, kissed her temple, and whispered, "Sleep, baby. I'm right here."

And in that moment - with her curled beside him and his arm strong and sure around her - she believed him.

Because lies don't always come with thunder.

Sometimes, they come in whispers.

Sometimes, they sound a lot like love.

⋆.˚ ────୨ৎ──── ⋆.˚

That's all.

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