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Pratiksha's POV

"Damn you! Focus, Pratiksha." I muttered under my breath, reaching for my water bottle but before I could take a sip, a faint thud on my desk startled me.

My gaze snapped to the source of the sound, and my movements halted as a steaming cup of hot chocolate coffee and a paper bag was put there not so quietly demanding my attention.

My eyes widened landing on the familiar logo stamped on the bag-the one from that shop.

No. Way.

It couldn't be.

That place was clear across the city, and I hadn't been there in months but the wisdom stopped short as the distinct smell of spicy vada pav wafted through my nostrils and my stomach growled loudly in protest, betraying my feigned disinterest about skipping my lunch break with the rest of the office which was seemingly empty now.

"You haven't had your lunch. This should do, I think." Sahil's subtle voice said from above me steady enough to pull me out of my haze while every muscle in my body stiffened like a tightly wound coil.

His presence had been an alarm clock, my invisible leash, and my nemesis lately as I slowly, looked up, already bracing for the emotional whiplash that Sahil's mere thoughts always managed to deliver.

But for a shocker, he did not look how I'd seen him before this morning as he hovered at my desk at the moment, utterly drenched, water dripping from his perfectly styled hair onto the polished office floor.

His expensive suit so immaculate it could've been ironed by angels-was plastered to his tall, lean frame, clinging badly in ways that would've been laughable if not for the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Why are you dripping wet?" The question escaped my mind before J could process the situation. My filter, clearly, had taken an early break.

"I forgot to carry an umbrella." He shrugged slightly, almost sheepish.

I stared at him, trying to piece together what I was seeing. This man-this impossibly composed, infuriatingly perfect man-looked downright human for once. But that didn't explain this.

"You didn't have to go out in this weather." I said, my voice quieter now, laden with the kind of confusion that comes when you're forced to question reality. "You could've just sent someone. Besides, I didn't even need-"

"Would you have eaten it if I sent someone?" He interrupted, and my lips parted, but no sound came out.

He had a point.bA frustratingly accurate point but coming from him, it felt...appalling.

"I don't know," I admitted reluctantly, my eyes flickering back to the food. The smell of the hot chocolate was rich and indulgent, tugging at my resolve. My stomach betrayed me with a low growl, but I ignored it, lifting my gaze to him instead. "But for what it's worth, you don't need to do this pretentious shit, by the way." I spilled out before I could reel them back in, my defenses automatically going up.

It wasn't fair; I knew that.

But fairness had never been a cornerstone of whatever twisted relationship Sahil and I shared.

"Pretentious shit?" He echoed, his voice calm yet tinged with confusion, like he couldn't comprehend my bitterness.

"Yes, pretentious." I confirmed. "A cup of hot chocolate and some greasy snacks from the other side of the city? You showing up here, soaking wet? What is this, Mr. Shrivastava? Guilt? Penance? Or are you just bored playing the heartless boss?"

His expressions dimmed-just a flicker-but it was enough to make my chest wrenched painfully.

I hated that I noticed. Hated that, even now, part of me felt bad for snapping.

"You think this is about guilt?"

"What else would it be about?" I shot back, refusing to let the proximity of our words shake me. "You've ignored me for three years, Sahil. Three. Whole. Years. You barely acknowledged me unless it's to give me an impossible deadline or yell at me in front of the entire office. So, yeah, forgive me if I'm not exactly moved by this sudden act of generosity."

He straightened, exhaling slowly as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

Rainwater dripped from his hair, soaking into the carpet beneath him, and I couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't at least dried off before coming in here. Was it impulsive, this gesture? Or calculated?

"I'm not here to... to fix anything." His voice softer now, almost strained forcing a bitter hollow laugh to escape my trembling lips.

"Good. Because you can't fix what you broke, Mr. Shrivastava. Not with following me around, showing up at my house for a tea party, or acting like you care when you've spent every single day proving the opposite."

His jaw tightened, and I saw the familiar flicker of gutting remorse in his beautiful orbs but he didn't bite back. Instead, ran a hand through his wet hair, sending droplets flying. "I know I've been... difficult."

"That's the understatement of the decade."

"I'm trying, Pratiksha." He began quietly. The gentle undertone caught me off guard. "I know I've done a poor job-"

"Try abysmal, Sahil. You've treated me like a ghost, like I don't exist unless you need something, and now are going to magically erase all of that? Do you have any idea how insulting that is to me and whatever sham of a relationship we have?"

His shoulders sagged; for a moment, I thought he might walk away, might give up and leave me to stew in my anger like before. But he didn't. Instead, he looked at me, really looked at me and not through me, and said, "I don't know how to fix this. I don't even know if I can. But I couldn't just sit there and do nothing anymore."

"I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity." His tone almost pleading. "It's me... trying. Probably badly, but trying all the same." For a moment, I didn't know what to say. This was the man who had reduced my life to a series of unmet expectations and unspoken sorrows, standing in front of me claiming he was trying.

Trying to what? Fix years of radio silence and callousness?

Undo the damage he'd done to my heart, my self-worth? Wasn't it too late to do that?

"Do you even know what that means, Sahil? After three years of making me feel like I was nothing more than a burden-a mistake you regretted?"

"I never regretted-"

"You've made it abundantly clear that our marriage was a mistake. A disaster you'd rather forget than pursue. Do you have any idea how that feels? To love someone who can't even look at you without wishing you weren't there?"

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, but I didn't care. I was done holding back, done pretending that his indifference hadn't gutted me every single day. "I thought..." My voice broke, and I hated the way it made me sound-weak, vulnerable. "I thought maybe, just maybe, you'd see me. Not as your secretary, not as some obligation, but as your wife. I waited, Sahil. I waited for three years. For what?"

His eyes darkened, a flash of something fractured and longing crossing his face. "Pratiksha, I-"

"No," I cut him off, shaking my head. "You don't get to do this out of pity and expect everything to be okay. It's not. It never was." I turned away, needing the distance, the space to breathe. However, before I could take a step, his hand shot out, gently grasping my wrist. The contact sent a jolt through me, as it was the first time he initiated any kind of physical contact between us.

"I know I've hurt you. I know I've failed you in ways I can't even begin to make up for. But please... just listen to me. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm not even asking for another chance for now. I just... I need you to know that I never regretted you. Not for a single second."

His words hung in the air, heavy with a sincerity I wasn't sure I could trust nevertless my heart hammered in my chest.

"Then why?" I asked, my lip wobbled. "Why did you treat me like this? Why did you push me away?"

Sahil let out a shaky breath, hand slipping from my wrist to rake it through his disheveled hair.

"Because I was scared." He admitted the words truly unguarded. "After Nisha... after losing her, I didn't think I could handle loving someone again. I thought if I kept you at arm's length, it would hurt less if I somehow lost you, too."

His confession hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I gaped at him, my mind racing to process his words.

"I am genuinely sorry for your loss, but you think that justifies what you did?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "You think that makes it okay to treat me like I didn't matter as a person to you?"

"No!" He declared quickly, pleading. "It doesn't. I know it doesn't. But I... I didn't know how to stop. Every time I looked at you, I saw the risk-the possibility of losing you. And I couldn't face it. I was shit scared and a pathetic coward." I swallowed hard, tears stinging my exhausted eyes.

"And what about me, huh? What about the risk I took? To wake up every day hoping for a scrap of your affection, only to be met with heartlessness and fleeting moments of passive aggressive care?"

He flinched, his beautiful face crumpling in a way I'd never seen before. "Pratiksha, I-"

"I'm done, Sahil." I said, cutting him off. "I can't do this anymore. I can't keep waiting really for you to decide I'm worth it or if I'll ever be anything to you." He knelt before me then, and for a moment. His broad shoulders, usually so rigid and imposing, were hunched forward, as if the weight of his regrets had finally broken him.

His head hung so low that I could barely see his face through the messy strands of his hair. The sight of him like this-humbled, shattered-felt alien because he was always the unshakable one, and seeing him on his knees felt wrong, yet... heartbreakingly right.

His hands clutched mine desperately, like a man trying to hold on to the last piece of something precious slipping through his fingers.

And then, in a voice so hoarse it threatened to undo me, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Two words. Two goddamn words. How could they carry so much meaning? How could they make me feel so many things all at once?

My stomach twisted, my chest tightened, and I wanted to scream, cry, and laugh bitterly all at the same time.

I wanted to ask him if he thought those two little words could somehow fix the years of hurt, the nights I cried myself to sleep wondering why I wasn't enough for him, the days I spent pretending everything was fine when it wasn't.

But my voice felt trapped somewhere deep in my throat, stuck beneath the storm of emotions threatening to swallow me whole.

"For everything." He continued, his voice cracking like glass under pressure. "For reacting the way I did. For punishing you... for punishing us because of my own fear and guilt. For not choosing you the way you deserved to be chosen-when you're the only thing I've ever wanted in my life."

I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes, but I blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall.

He didn't deserve to see how much his words still affected me.

But damn it, they did.

Every single one of them hit me like an explosion, blowing apart the dam holding back my emotions and dragging up memories I'd tried so hard to bury.

The ignorance.

The silence.

The way he'd looked at me like I was a burden instead of the woman he'd vowed to cherish and love, even out of a misplaced sense of loyalty and not genuine commitment.

"Pratiksha," He choked out, and his voice-God, his voice-was so full of emotion that it physically hurt to hear it. "I'm so fucking sorry. For all of it."

I wanted to yell at him, to demand why he was saying this now, when it was too late. Why he hadn't fought for me before I'd reached the point of no return.

But instead, I just stared at the floor, focusing on the frayed edges as if they could somehow anchor me as I couldn't look at him. If I did, I'd break. And I couldn't let that happen.

"Please..." His voice broke on the word, and it was so hollow it sounded like a cry for salvation that I almost peered despite myself. "Tell me what to do. I'll do anything. You want to punish me? Fine. I'll take it. Whatever you think I deserve, I'll take it. Just... don't give up on us. Please, do not give up on me. You're my wife, Pratiksha, and I can't-" His breath hitched. "I can't lose you."

I closed my eyes, his words ricocheting inside my skull like bullets. Don't give up on us. As if there had ever been an "us" worth fighting for.

As if he hadn't already destroyed what little we had with his inability to let me in. Anger flared up inside me then, sharp and hot, burning through the sadness that had been my constant companion for so long.

"You lost me the day you decided to shut me out of your life."

He flinched, and his grip on my hands tightened as though he could physically hold me together, hold us together. His head snapped up then, and for the first time in what felt like forever, our eyes met. His were red-rimmed, filled with unshed tears and something else-something raw and painful and devastatingly honest.

"I know." He whispered, breaking again. "I know I failed you. I know I... I broke us. But I swear to you, Pratiksha, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you'll let me. I'll do whatever it takes to prove that you're the most important person in my world."

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it, and I hated myself for it. Hated that he could still make me cry. Hated that some part of me-some stupid, vulnerable part of me-still wanted to believe him.

"And what happens the next time you get scared, Sahil?" I demanded, my voice sharp and trembling. "What happens when the fear comes back, and you push me away again? How do I trust you after everything you've done? How do I know this isn't just another promise you'll break?"

He swallowed hard, his throat working as he tried to find the words. "You're right to doubt me." He said finally, his voice so quiet I almost didn't hear him. "You're right to hate me. I deserve that. But I'll fight for you, Pratiksha. For us. I'll go to therapy. I'll talk about everything I've buried-Nisha, my past, all the shit that's been eating me alive. I'll do whatever it takes, no matter how hard it is. I'll show you, not just with words but with actions, that I can be better. That I can be the man you deserve."

God, I wanted to believe him so badly it physically hurt. But how could I? How could I risk my heart again, knowing how easily he'd broken it before?

"I don't know if I can do this..." I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I don't know if I have anything left to give."

"You don't have to give me anything." He proclaimed, "I'll give everything. All of it. Whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. I don't care if I have to crawl on my knees every single day for the rest of my life. I'll wait. I'll prove it to you. That you're the most important part of my life, Pratiksha. Just... please." His voice cracked, and he exhaled shakily, his shoulders rising and falling like he was carrying the weight of the entire world on his back. "Give me a chance."

For a second-just a fleeting second-I almost believed him.

Almost.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

Almost.

Because his words, as bare and genuine as they were, felt like rain falling on dry, cracked earth-nice in theory, but nowhere near enough to fix the damage. Not when the ground had been scorched for so long. Not when I'd been standing in the middle of this drought, waiting for him to show up with water, only to watch him disappear with the bucket time and time again.

I stared at him, at the way his hands trembled as they gripped mine like a lifeline, like letting go wasn't an option. His knuckles were white, the tendons in his wrists tight with effort. His hair was a mess, damp strands clinging to his forehead, like he'd been running through a storm to get here.

And maybe he had, metaphorically and literally speaking.

But all I could think was, Why now?

Why this moment?

Why does it take losing everything for someone to realize what they had in the first place?

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Lots of Love,

ANKITA