The next morning, I woke up with a half-smudged eyeliner wing and a headache I didn't deserve.
My phone had ten unread messages from Noah. One of them said, "Did I say something wrong? Why aren't you replying?"
Another had a selfie of him holding a cup of coffee and a sign that said "Good morning, Ms. Grumpy."
I didn't reply. Not yet.
I kept thinking about Ethan. The way he stormed off last night. The way his voice cracked when he asked if I made him drink. And the look on his face—confused, betrayed, scared.
I didn't get it.
I mean, sure—I spiked his drink a little. But not maliciously. I thought he was one of those billionaires who drank aged scotch like water.
But he didn't.
And I didn't know why that made me feel like crap.
I got ready in silence. No witty playlists. No sarcastic inner monologues. Just… guilt.
Downstairs, I found him at the hotel's café, sitting at a corner table with black coffee and a jawline sharp enough to cut through my shame.
He didn't look up.
I sat across from him anyway.
"Morning," I said.
Nothing.
"I didn't know you didn't drink," I offered.
Still nothing.
"Okay, I get it. You're mad. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"I don't care."
That one stung more than I expected.
He finally looked at me. His eyes weren't angry. Just… distant.
"I'm not mad," he said flatly. "I just don't want to talk."
"Okay, well… too bad," I said, forcing a shaky smile. "Because I'm a talker."
"I'm aware."
I fiddled with a sugar packet. "Why don't you drink?"
"Because I don't," he said. "Some people don't eat peanuts. Some people don't like crowds. I don't drink."
"But… was it that bad? You were just a little dizzy—"
"I wasn't dizzy, Sana," he said sharply, voice cutting through the air. "I was having a panic attack."
I froze.
He blinked like he hadn't meant to say that. Like it slipped out.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Oh."
That was all I managed.
He looked away, fingers tightening around his coffee cup.
"I shouldn't have said that," he muttered.
"No. I'm… I'm glad you did," I said softly.
He didn't respond.
"I wouldn't have joked about it if I knew," I added. "I thought you were just being dramatic. Which, I now realize, is very rich coming from me."
He gave a half-smile. Almost invisible.
I leaned forward. "You don't have to tell me why. But if you ever… want to…"
"I don't."
That was that.
We finished breakfast in silence.
But something had shifted.
A fracture in the ice.
A crack in the steel.
A glimpse of something softer beneath all that control.
The next three days went by in a blink. Ethan remained the picture of calm, as if nothing had happened. But something had. He was... distant. Personally ignoring me was one thing—I'd gotten used to that—but now it felt like he was purposefully keeping me out of work too. Sure, I still had tasks, but he didn't keep me around like before. Our interactions were brief. Cold. He'd listen, nod, walk away. No sarcasm. No scolding. No comments on my wardrobe. Just... silence.
He'd listen, nod, and walk off.
And I hated it.
I was confused. Exhausted. Was this some kind of silent treatment? Because if it was, it was the most infuriating version of it. With only one day left before we returned to Bangalore, I told myself I'd had enough. I was in Chennai—a whole city to explore. I wasn't going to waste another night trapped in my hotel room, overthinking.
I texted Noah everything. He replied with the usual calm: It's all gonna be fine. Just breathe.
I headed out, aimless, hungry. Landed in a little hotel—not the fancy five-star kind Ethan would tolerate—but the food? Pure magic. Warm, spicy, comforting. Exactly what I needed.
At the next table, a bunch of college students laughed over samosas and soda. One of the girls leaned over and smiled. "Hey, saw you sitting alone. Wanna join us?"
And for once, I didn't overthink it.
"Yes," I said.
They made space immediately. Names were exchanged, along with overlapping introductions and chaos. When they asked what I was doing in Chennai, I blurted, "Studying in Bangalore. Here for a competition. Fought with my boyfriend. So… escaping."
They gasped. Then, in the most supportive way possible, they unloaded their own breakup stories, all while sharing fries.
A guy stood up dramatically. "Sana, don't worry. Guys in Chennai? We don't break hearts. In fact—one might be standing right in front of you!"
veryone hooted. He kept going.
"I can play guitar too, FYI."
I laughed—actually laughed.
He pointed. "That's a yes, right?"
"Nope."
He grinned. "Well, I read that when a girl laughs at your lame jokes, she's secretly into you. So now you have to come dance with me."
He leaned forward, offering his hand.
"Absolutely not," I said, amused.
But he took my hand anyway.
I started to protest, "Okay, no—"
And then—bam.
The guy stumbled backward, holding his cheek.
Ethan.
Punching people now, apparently.
"What the hell!?" I shot up. "Ethan, what is wrong with you?!"
The guy blinked, dazed. "Bro, what's your deal?!"
Ethan looked just as confused. "I thought he was messing with you—"
The poor guy clutched his face. "Is this the boyfriend who broke your heart? Bro's punching people as if he's 30."
He turned to Ethan. "And what's with the outfit? You look like a 9-to-5 corporate villain. Are you their manager or their dad?"
Ethan looked down at his clothes. "I'm not—"
I jumped in quickly. "He's my classmate. He… um… manifests being a CEO. Wears dress pants to class. They're fake, cheap. From Saravana Stores."
Laughter erupted.
I grabbed Ethan's arm. "We need a moment."
Outside, I hissed, "Don't ruin this."
"What is THIS? Who are these people? Are you sane?"
"Why are you even here?" I snapped.
He exhaled. "My guard said you went missing. I tracked your location."
I blinked. "Your company tracks people now?! Ethan, I'm an adult. I'm fine. You can leave."
"You're with a bunch of random kids. That's not fine."
"They're students. Calm down, Iron Man."
He rubbed his temple. "Just… what even is this place?"
"A restaurant. On Earth. You can leave. Unless you want to play along. But here, you're not my boss. And this? This isn't a place for your expensive shoes."
I turned on my heel and walked back in.
A few seconds later, he followed.
One of the girls leaned over. "Resolved your fight?"
I smiled. "Yep."
"Awww," they all chimed.
Then they started ordering drinks. Ethan looked like someone had asked him to jump into lava.
"Wait—are you all even 21?"
No one answered. He didn't drink.
After a while, someone shouted, "Bus's here!"
"Bus?" Ethan echoed, confused.
I stood. "They're going on a trek-slash-field trip. I'm joining."
"Have you lost your mind? You have work."
I shrugged. "I'm taking leave. A person needs a break. Maybe you should try that sometime, robot."
He didn't get on the bus.
At first.
Then, as the singing started, as the guitar strumming echoed, and as I leaned out the window to catch the breeze—
He got on.
It was chaos. Singing. Dancing. Pillow fights. At least three couples had dramatic makeups and breakups in the span of two hours. It was a movie.
We reached a small coastal village by dawn. It was peaceful, green, and somehow louder in its quiet than the city. Turned out they were all medical students here for fieldwork—to treat patients in rural areas.
That's when we started arguing again.
"You came all the way here without knowing where you were going?" he muttered.
"I didn't need to know. I'm not on a leash."
"This is not safe, Sana. You don't even know these people."
"They're students, not serial killers. Calm down, CEO of Paranoia Inc."
"You just blindly follow strangers now?"
"Better than following someone who treats me like I don't exist."
He exhaled sharply, jaw tight. "This is ridiculous."
"Oh look!"
We stopped at a seaside cliff.
Sunrise.
A pink-orange sky melted over the waves.
A sunrise so beautiful, I forgot to be mad. I clicked a photo. Sent it to our "4+1" group.
Ethan glanced over. "Enough. I'm calling the car. We're leaving."
"No."
"What do you mean no?"
"You go. I'm staying."
"You don't know anyone. You don't speak the language."
I stared at him. Then turned and walked away.
"Hello? Sana! You're being rude. Answer when people talk to you!"
I didn't.
He followed me anyway.
We ended up at a small roadside dhaba. The menu was in Tamil.
I pointed to something random.
Ethan sat beside me. "Do you even know what you ordered?"
Silence.
Two plates of spicy, cylindrical idlis arrived.
The server smiled. "Kanchipuram idli."
We dug in. It was heavenly, all the flavours hit the spot. I paid at the counter and left.
Outside, Ethan said, "Sana, can you just talk to me? We're supposed to go back to Banglore today."
I turned to him. "Stop bossing me. Just leave. It'll be easier."
Then under my breath, "Ugly robot."
"I'll come with you then."
"Your choice."
"Where are we going?"
"No clue. Just follow without questions if you really wanna come."
We wandered the village. People were kind. We changed into casuals—Ethan looked like a different person without his sharp suit.
At the shore, we saw a group of fishermen preparing nets. I asked if we could join.
One of them asked, "Honeymoon?"
I nodded. "Yes."
They let us on the boat.
The boat glided across the water. Wind in my hair. Blue stretching all around. Ethan even loosened his top button. Progress. The water sparkled. The air was crisp. I clicked photos. The fishermen asked if we wanted to try fishing.
We did.
I caught the first fish.
Everyone cheered.
And before I realized what I was doing—I turned and hugged Ethan.
His hands hovered behind me, surprised.
Of course, that triggered something.
"I caught the first one," I smirked.
"But I caught more," he countered.
"First one counts more. I was faster."
"You've got delusional confidence."
"Oh, like you're humble?"
We kept at it—bickering, laughing. My cheeks hurt by the end of it.
As the sun set behind the water, they brought us back to shore.
A fisherman named Ahemad invited us to dinner. "You haven't eaten until you've eaten what you catch."
We cooked by the shore. They sorted fish to sell, and we grilled the rest on open fire. It was smoky, hot, delicious.
Ahemad said " you guys missed the last bus back", he didn't know I had no plan of catching a bus. Ahemad looked disappointed. "You rich people okay with small house?"
I smiled. "It's perfect."
We arrived at his tiny, warm home. His three kids swarmed me immediately.
Ethan, meanwhile, paced. Checked the sky. Again. And again.
He looked worried. Really worried.
Finally, Ahemad's wife tucked the kids in. The lights dimmed. The wind outside howled just a little louder.
Ethan and I was given the same bed, I didn't wanted to address any issue and e looked like he had something bigger on his mind anyway.
I lay down, listening to the wind whistle through the windows.
And then—I heard it.
Distant thunder.
Ethan's breathing changed. He was still. Frozen.
I turned.
He looked pale. His hand trembled.
Then, without saying a word, he reached out—
And held my hand.
Tightly as if his life depended on it.
Like he needed it to breathe.
"Ethan?" I whispered. "Are you okay?"
"Don't say anything."
He didn't ask.
He just laid his head on my lap.
I sat there, confused, heart pounding.
Minutes passed.
I peeked down. he was asleep.
Just… asleep.
On my lap.
Like a child.
No way.