Two months had passed.
And everything seemed… fine.
At least, that's what Yashika kept telling herself.
But it had been two full weeks since Chirag last called.
No sudden show-ups at the orphanage.
No missed calls.
Not even a "Little, how are you?"
It wasn't like him.
He had always made time.
He had always shown up — unannounced, with a stupid grin, a story, or just his presence.
But now? Just... nothing.
Yashika was confused, and beneath that confusion was a deepening ache she refused to name.
That day, after school, she took a different route.
Her steps were heavy, her heart uncertain — but still hopeful.
She stopped by the basketball court, her eyes scanning eagerly for him.
But the court was filled with strangers.
Chirag wasn't there.
She approached a few of his teammates, trying to keep her tone light.
"Is Chirag coming today?" she asked.
One of the boys shook his head. "He hasn't shown up in weeks."
"Yeah," another chimed in. "Even in school, he's been weird. Distant."
Yashika's chest tightened.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
Without thinking further, she walked toward the one place that always felt like a last safe thread —
Chaturvedi House.
Raghuveer uncle opened the door, surprised but smiling.
"Yashika? You're here after so long! Chirag isn't back yet. Do you want to come in and wait?"
She hesitated, heart pounding.
"No uncle… maybe later," she said softly.
"Alright, beta. See you then," he replied, gently.
She walked away slowly.
Her mind was a blur. Her thoughts kept circling.
She couldn't sit still. She couldn't breathe right.
So she took a turn…
And went to Lord Ganesha's temple —
A place she only visited when she needed answers.
Her eyes were shut tight in devotion, her whispered prayers trembling in the air:
"Please... if he's hurting, show me. If he's okay, let him speak. If I'm supposed to walk away, just give me the strength..."
She stayed there for some time, longer than she'd planned.
And just as she turned to leave—
She saw him.
Chirag.
Far across the street.
Sitting alone on a public park bench, head bent, hands in his lap.
He looked like a ghost of himself.
His eyes were sunken with dark circles.
His hair was messy, as if he hadn't touched a comb in days.
His face was pale. His eyes… red.
He looked broken.
Without thinking, she ran.
"Chirag!" she called out.
He looked up for a moment—
And flinched.
Then, without a word, he stood up and started walking away.
Yashika's chest burned.
"Chirag, stop!"
She started walking fast, catching up with him.
"Tell me what's wrong!"
He kept walking.
"Why are you avoiding me?! Say something!"
He didn't even look back.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she shouted, her voice louder than she'd intended. "Stop your attitude, Chirag!"
That was the moment.
He stopped.
His shoulders stiffened.
And then—slowly—he turned.
Yashika froze.
He walked back toward her, eyes tired, but full of fire.
"You want to know what happened, right?"
His voice was low but sharp.
"Fine. I'll tell you the full story."
Without giving her a chance to speak, he grabbed her wrist—gently but firmly.
"Come with me," he said.
And she followed, stunned.
They reached the old secret hideout.
Their bench. Their memories.
And they sat.
Not like before.
Not in comfort.
But in silence that hurt.
Chirag took a deep breath.
They sat in silence for a moment.
Chirag's hands were trembling, resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the ground.
Yashika quietly looked at him, unsure if she should speak.
"Chirag…" her voice was gentle, barely above a whisper. "Please… tell me what's going on."
He didn't look at her.
A few seconds passed before he finally muttered, "She left me."
Yashika's heart skipped. "Kanika?"
He gave a small, broken laugh. "Yeah. Kanika."
He finally turned toward her, eyes red. "She broke up with me."
Yashika's breath caught. "What? Why?"
"She said…" he paused, trying to swallow the storm inside him. "She said I gave more attention to you than her."
He let out a bitter laugh. "She said it was just attraction between us... and that I was never really in love with her."
Yashika opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"I was in love with her, Yashika. I swear I was. I gave her everything." His voice cracked. "I chose her over you, didn't I?"
Yashika looked down, a lump rising in her throat.
Chirag stood up abruptly, his voice getting louder. "But it was all because of you. It's your fault."
She stared at him in disbelief. "What…?"
"If I hadn't met you—if you weren't always there—I would've been fine. She wouldn't have left me. I wouldn't have ruined everything."
"That's not fair," Yashika whispered. "I didn't do anything."
He turned to her sharply, shouting, "You know exactly what you did!"
He looked like he wanted to scream or cry or both.
She took a step closer, "Chirag—"
"Don't!" He jolted his shoulder away as she reached out to him. "Just don't touch me!"
She flinched.
"Are you happy now?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the empty park. "Did you want this to happen?! You got it!"
Yashika took a shaky breath. "But what did I do? Why are you saying this to me?"
"You ruined everything!" he snapped, pointing a trembling finger at her. "I don't want to see your face again. Just… leave. Get lost!"
And with that, he turned, stormed toward his bike, kicked it to life, and sped away without another word.
Yashika stood frozen in place. Her legs felt numb, her heart felt torn, and her eyes couldn't hold it in anymore.
A tear slipped down.
Then another.
And another.
And suddenly, she broke.
Her knees gave in as she collapsed back onto the bench, her hands clutching her sleeves, and her cries echoing under the darkening sky.
Minutes passed.
Maybe more.
After a while, with her face stained with tears and eyes swollen, Yashika stood up slowly and began walking toward the orphanage.
As she stepped through the orphanage gate, Ms. Kavita was waiting, arms crossed with worry etched all over her face.
"Yashika! Where were you? You didn't go to tuition. You didn't even call. We were all so worried!"
"I…" Yashika mumbled, voice hoarse. "I was with Chirag."
Ms. Kavita stepped closer, lowering her voice, "Is everything alright?"
Yashika forced a smile. "Yes, ma'am. I'm fine."
Milli peeked from behind. "Yashika, we were so worried! What happened?"
"It's fine," she said again, her voice flat now. "I just... I was with Chirag. That's all."
Kavita still looked concerned. "You should change."
Yashika nodded and quietly climbed up the stairs to her room.
She entered, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it. Her back slid down the wood slowly until she was sitting on the floor, staring at the ceiling in silence.
No more tears left to cry.
Just emptiness.
______
Two weeks had passed.
But it didn't feel like just days passing by — it felt like pieces of Yashika fading away one by one.
She didn't speak much anymore.
She didn't laugh.
She barely ate.
Her routine was just a blur: school, tuition, home, silence. The world outside her window kept moving, but she had stopped somewhere within.
Some evenings, she wandered quietly to her secret hideout, or just stood still in front of Lord Ganesha's temple, her eyes quiet but swollen, her lips trembling in prayer — though she no longer knew what to ask for.
Every night after everyone fell asleep, her pillow absorbed her heartbreak.
Tears came like rain, silent and stubborn.
She had cried so much, even the moon outside had stopped peeking into her window.
And then… came the fever.
102 degrees.
Two days in a row.
Miss Kavita panicked. So did Milli. They tried everything — medicines, wet cloth on her forehead, soft words — but Yashika remained weak and distant. Barely speaking. Barely living.
Worried, Miss Kavita called Raghuveer Chaturvedi.
The moment he heard it, he showed up the next afternoon at the orphanage with a warm tiffin in his hands.
Her favourite food.
Her smile, however, was nowhere to be seen.
"She didn't eat properly for the last two weeks," Miss Kavita told him quietly, "We're trying our best, but she just…"
"She just isn't her," Milli completed softly.
Raghuveer sat by her bedside, trying to joke, trying to make her smile — "Chirag couldn't come, beta… he's caught up with a school event," he said gently. "But look I made this... you love it, right?"
Yashika just nodded, then slowly turned her face toward the wall. Not a word left her lips.
Raghuveer sighed and patted her head with fatherly warmth. "Take rest, okay?"
He placed the tiffin by her side and quietly left.
Miss Kavita followed. "Rest, Yashika. I'll be downstairs," she said gently, brushing her hair away from her forehead.
Milli stayed behind.
She sat on the edge of the bed. The silence between them was heavy, but Milli broke it like always.
"I know it's something with Chirag."
Yashika's eyes remained fixed on the wall. "No, dear. It's nothing like that."
Milli crossed her arms, frowning. "Don't you dare act like I'm a fool. I know you, Yashika. You haven't even seen him in weeks. You think I'm stupid? You've cried so much I can see your dark circles before you even speak. You've stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped being you."
Yashika slowly turned, and the next thing Milli knew — she was in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I can't— I don't know what's happening, Milli," she whispered in gasps. "I feel like I'm disappearing…"
Milli held her close. Tight. As tight as Yashika's broken heart needed.
"Okay… okay… I'm here, na? I'm here. Don't cry now. Shhh, I'm here."
She wiped every tear that fell. Stayed by her side. Hummed a tune from their childhood.
Held her hand until her breaths became calm, soft, steady.
Until Yashika finally closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep — fragile, but a little less alone.
Milli kissed her forehead and slowly tiptoed out of the room.
She didn't say anything to anyone.
But she knew:
Something had broken inside Yashika. And it wasn't going to be easy to fix.
The next day.
The sun had risen, but for Milli, there was no light. She had seen Yashika break. And she couldn't take it anymore.
She didn't go to tution that afternoon.
She went straight to Chirag.
He was walking near the basketball court, earphones in, looking lost. That's when she walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder.
Before he could say a word—
SLAP.
Atight one. Right across his cheek.
Chirag stood stunned, staring at her in disbelief.
"What the hell—"
"Shut up!" Milli snapped, her eyes blazing.
"What are you doing, Chirag? Have you completely lost your mind? Do you even know what kind of girl she is?!"
Chirag blinked. "What are you even talkin—"
"She's a little girl. Just thirteen. And you, being her senior, what the hell have you done to her?"
"Milli, what—"
SLAP. Again. This one harder than the first.
"She cries every night because of you!" she yelled. "She doesn't eat, she barely sleeps, she has fever, and you? You're busy being a selfish, idiotic, blind fool who has no idea what you've done!"
Chirag froze. His lips parted slightly, but no words came.
"She thinks it's her fault. She thinks she broke something. And the truth is? It's YOU. You broke her. And if I ever see you around her again…" she pointed a finger, "I swear, Chirag. You'll see a side of me you won't forget."
And just like that, she turned and stormed away, leaving Chirag standing there like someone who'd just been hit by a hundred truths at once.
Later that evening…
Chirag came home, quieter than usual. His mind hadn't stopped spinning from Milli's words.
As he entered, Raghuveer uncle looked up from the dining table. His eyes followed Chirag, then called:
"Chirag. Come here."
Chirag hesitated. "Yes, Papa?"
Raghuveer gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
Chirag sat slowly, the weight of the day heavy in his chest.
"What's happening between you and Yashika?"
"Wha—Nothing. What do you mean?" Chirag replied quickly, avoiding his gaze.
Raghuveer leaned forward slightly. His voice was lower now, but sterner. "Do you think your father is a fool?"
Chirag said nothing.
"She hasn't come here in weeks. And you haven't gone to meet her either. You know what her condition is?"
Chirag frowned.
"She has a 102 degree fever. She barely eats. Her eyes are red, and she's got dark circles like she hasn't slept in days. I went to check on her. And you?" Raghuveer's voice shook with restrained anger. "You don't even know what's going on?"
Chirag opened his mouth, then shut it again. He turned away, guilty, confused, hurt.
"I asked you something," Raghuveer said sharply. "Can I know the reason?"
"There's nothing, Papa…" Chirag muttered, barely audible.
Raghuveer stood up slowly. "Fine. If you say so."
He took a step forward, then paused.
"But let me say one thing." His voice was quieter, but it struck louder than any shout.
"If this is your fault… your mother will never forgive you."
The room went silent.
It had been two whole years since Chirag had last heard his father mention her name.
Not even once.
Not even in passing.
But now… those words hit harder than any slap.
Chirag looked up, stunned — but Raghuveer was already walking away.
Leaving his son in a cloud of regret, guilt, and unspoken memories.