Saisha's pov:

It was just past 6:30 in the morning. I was drained, my eyes puffy from too many late nights, and my mind buzzing with deadlines and corrections.

But today, I wrapped up early , at least by Paris standards. All I could think of was going home and crashing for a bit. Maybe call Pranu. Maybe hear his voice and let myself breathe again.

I reached my apartment, twisting the keys in silence. The place was still and oddly warmer than usual. I kicked off my shoes, threw my bag onto the table, and reached for my phone.

No messages from Pranu.

Strange.
He usually sends me a good morning text no matter how busy he is.

Do you expect him to call and share love messages after you shouted like an idiot,my mind mocked at me.

I dialed his number.

The call connected.

And then-

His ringtone.
Here.
Inside the apartment.

My heart dropped.

"Am I dreaming?" I whispered out loud, still half in disbelief.

I pinched my arm hard.

"Ouch." Definitely not a dream.

The ringtone echoed again. It was coming from the guestroom.

I walked slowly, every step pounding louder than the last. My palms were cold, my breath hitched. I opened the door-

And there he was.

Pranay.

Fast asleep on the small guest bed, his arms curled under his head, the blanket barely covering him. His bag was on the floor, his shoes carelessly flung aside, and his face-

God, he looked so tired.

So... unlike my Pranu.

His brows were creased even in sleep.

His cheeks were pale.

His eyes, though shut, looked heavy with something that stabbed me deeper than any knife could:

Disappointment.

He came here.
To surprise me.
To love me.
And I had snapped at him.

My throat closed up. My legs gave in as I dropped to the floor beside the bed, covering my mouth with my hand to stop from sobbing out loud.

I stared at him, guilt soaking through my bones.

Not once in all these months had he raised his voice at me.
Even when I forgot to call.
Even when I ranted about how tired I was and how he "wouldn't understand."

But me?
I shouted at him the moment he called.
I didn't even let him speak.

And he... didn't even tell me he came all the way here.

He didn't storm out.

He didn't sulk.

He just... went to sleep in the guest room, carrying the weight of my words like a wound stitched in silence.

Tears ran down my cheeks as I sat there, hugging my knees.

"I don't deserve you," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

I looked at him again.

The man who gave me a world I never thought I'd see.

Who never once asked me to become someone else.

Who let me grow, dream, stumble - and still held me with grace.

Without him, I would've still been caged.
Still been scared.
Still been small.

He loved me out of the life I was trapped in.

And I hurt him.

I stood up quietly, wiping my tears. I tiptoed to the kitchen, opened the tiny drawer where I'd kept a small stack of stationery, and pulled out a sticky note.

"I'm sorry for yesterday. I don't deserve your kind of love, but I promise I'll spend my life becoming better for it. I love you, Pranu."

I placed it beside his phone.

Covered him with blanket as it was cold.

Then I went to work on making it up to him.......

The aroma of fresh coffee filled the apartment - rich, strong, slightly sweet, just the way he liked it.

I poured it into his favorite mug. The one with the chipped corner and the faded words: "Lost in the Moment." The mug he used on video calls when I was here in Paris and he was miles away. The mug that made it feel like he was near, even when he wasn't.

Now he was here.
And somehow... it still felt like he wasn't.

I heard the shower shut off.

My heart beat faster.

I straightened my hair, wiped my damp hands on my pajama pants, and stood near the kitchen counter, holding the mug like a peace offering.

He came out, towel around his neck, fresh water droplets glistening on his collarbone. His face was unreadable.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

He didn't hug me back.

My arms dropped slowly to my side.
He walked past me, opened the fridge, took a bottle of water, and sipped.

I held out the mug, voice trembling slightly.
"Pranu... I made coffee for you. Just how you like it. This one's really special..."

He didn't say anything.
He didn't even look at me.

He just placed the bottle back, picked up the mug from my hand silently, took a sip, then walked to the balcony.

I stood there, hands still frozen mid-air, as if they were still holding the mug.

The silence was louder than any scream.

He wasn't punishing me.

He was hurting.

And that broke me more.

Even when we were thousands of miles apart, our souls never felt the distance. But now, with just two feet of air between us, I'd never felt him so far away.

Night crawled in like a slow ache.

We had barely spoken all day.
I had tried. God, I had tried - talking about silly things, asking if he wanted to go out, offering to cook, playing music he loved.

He smiled politely once.

But that smile... it didn't reach his eyes.

I watched him quietly make his bed in the guest room again.

"Pranu," I said gently, "you can sleep in my room tonight... it's been months. Please."

He didn't respond.

He lay on the guest bed.

I couldn't take it anymore. I followed him, slipping onto the bed beside him without saying a word.

A moment later, he got up.

And spread a blanket on the floor.

The floor.

"Pranu!" I sat up, voice almost breaking. "Don't... don't sleep on the floor because of me. Please. You've already done so much for me... endured so much. I don't deserve even this bed if you're going to hurt like this."

He didn't look at me.

He just lay down, back turned, quiet.

I slowly got off the bed, tears clouding my eyes.

"I'll leave the room," I whispered.
"I should. I was the one who made the mistake. But I promise... I will fix this."

I stepped out of the room, closing the door behind me like it was the lid on my own guilt.

The silence was thick.

But my resolve was thicker.

I hurt the one person who loved me beyond limits - the one who never let me feel unloved, even for a moment.

Now it was my turn to show him.

Even if it meant pouring all of me into earning one hug, one smile, one whispered "It's okay." again.

Tomorrow, I would begin.

______________________________________

I placed the coffee mug on the table between us.
His favorite blend. A little extra cinnamon. Just how he liked it. Just how I remembered.

He was standing near the window, back to me, shoulders slightly hunched forward. I could see the tension in the way his fingers rested on the railing - stiff, unmoving.

"Pranu..." I said softly.
He didn't respond.

My voice trembled as I tried again.
"I made coffee for you..."

Still nothing.

The silence in the room wrapped around me like a cold wind. My chest felt heavy.

He turned finally,slowly and walked toward the table. I straightened, forcing a hopeful smile.

He didn't meet my eyes.

He didn't say a word.

He picked up the mug, took a small sip, and walked past me like I wasn't even there.

I stood there, frozen. My hand reached out instinctively - to touch his arm, to stop him, to do something.

But I pulled it back.

Because even without a word, his silence screamed.

The hours passed painfully slow. I was in the kitchen preparing lunch, cutting vegetables that blurred behind my tears. I heard the fridge open and close. The clink of a spoon in a glass. Water running. All his movements. Familiar... yet distant.

I turned to speak.

He walked away before I could even open my mouth.

Not angry.
Not cold.

Just... absent.

Later that evening...

He was scrolling through his camera roll. Sitting on the couch, legs crossed, flipping through photos we once clicked together.

I walked up slowly.

"That one," I said quietly, pointing at the screen. "You took it on my first solo shoot, remember?"

He locked the phone. Quietly. And stood up.

Walked into the guest room. Closed the door softly behind him.

I stood there, hand still mid-air.

My heart cracked a little deeper.

Night fell.

I knocked gently on the guest room door.
No reply.

I opened it slowly and peeked in. He was lying on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

I walked in.

"Please... sleep in our room," I whispered. "It's been so long, and I've missed you so much. Don't punish me like this."

He sat up, pulled the blanket off the bed, and spread it on the floor.

"Pranuuu, please!,I'm sorry,you are everything for me,my world begins and ends with you....I'm nothing without you" My voice broke.

He didn't look at me. He just lay down, on the floor.

No anger.
No bitterness.

Just pain.
A quiet, suffocating kind.

I couldn't take it.

I sat beside the bed, near the edge. My hands clutched the blanket that had covered both of us during countless sleepy nights on video calls, shared meals, and whispered dreams.

Now it lay between us like a wall.

"You always gave me so much," I whispered. "Even when I didn't know how to ask. And I... I shouted at you. Pushed you away. And now you're here - and it feels like you're a hundred oceans away."

Still, he said nothing.

I stood up.
Walked out of the room slowly.

"I'll earn back your smile, Pranu. Even if it takes every last piece of me."

I didn't know if he heard that.

But I'd make sure he felt it - soon.

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