Meera sat in her dimly lit room, the canvas in front of her an unspoken testament to her pain. The painting of Shourya, vibrant and alive, stared back at her—a cruel reminder of the man she couldn't forget.
She had poured every ounce of her love into each brushstroke, capturing his piercing eyes, his determined jawline, the faint curve of his lips that once held her world together.
Her fingers grazed the edge of the painting, trembling as tears streaked down her cheeks.
"Shourya," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I thought… I thought we had something no one could break. But now…"
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as the memory of the article flooded her mind. The image of Shourya and Vedha at the Radha Krishna temple, garlanding Tulsi, played like a cruel torment.
"You were with her," she said, her voice rising with the weight of her heartbreak. "Smiling, happy. You've moved on, haven't you?"
Her knees gave way, and she collapsed in front of the painting, pressing her forehead against the canvas as if trying to reach him through it.
"I thought you'd never forget me," she sobbed. "But you… you've let me go. While I'm still here, holding onto a love that's slipping away."
Her grief turned to anger, her tears to fire. She pushed herself up, her gaze locking onto the painting, now crumpled where her hands had gripped it too tightly.
"How many days will this last, Shourya?" she demanded, her voice cold and resolute. "This happiness, this togetherness with her—it won't last. I'll make sure of it."
She stepped back, staring at the painting as though it were a mirror of her anguish.
"You'll come back to me," she vowed, her voice low but steady.
"You'll see that no one else can love you the way I do. I'll destroy everything if I have to."
The painting bore witness to her pain, the vibrant colors now a haunting reminder of what she had lost—and what she was willing to do to reclaim it.
The night was calm. Shourya and Vedha sat together in their room, the warm glow of the bedside lamp casting a gentle light. Vedha was scrolling through her phone when it rang, breaking the silence.
"Pooja," Vedha said softly, glancing at the screen.
Shourya looked up. "Put it on speaker," he said casually.
Vedha hesitated for a moment, then tapped the speaker icon.
"Hello, Vedha," came Pooja's voice, lacking its usual lively tone. The teasing, playful energy Vedha had overheard before was gone, replaced by a dullness that felt unsettling.
"Pooja, are you okay?" Vedha asked, concern creeping into her voice.
"Can you… can you come to my house tomorrow?" Pooja's voice cracked slightly before she added, "Alone."
Vedha paused, glancing briefly at Shourya. "Okay," she replied cautiously.
The call ended, leaving an odd silence in its wake. Vedha set her phone down.Shourya's gaze lingered on her for a moment, his mind already spinning with thoughts.
Without saying a word, he leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing slightly. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice quiet but deliberate.
"Does she live with her family?"
Vedha looked at him, surprised by the question. "No," she said, her voice soft. "Pooja is from a small village. She came here for her higher studies, and she's been living on her own."
Shourya nodded, his mind still racing. He didn't voice his concern, but the unease that lingered in him was palpable.
She's asking Vedha to come alone... something doesn't feel right, he thought to himself.
He wasn't about to show his worry yet, but his protective instincts were undeniable.