Chapter 8: A Door Closes, A Window Opens

Rohan said: “My mom’s always been like that. She raised me alone, it wasn’t easy. Let Ananya give in to her a bit.”

“But...but your mom keeps scolding her. She insists on moving out.”

“Let her move, then. Anyway, moving her back later is just a word from me.”

“Alright, then I won’t stop her.”

Of course, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. But thanks to the scrolling comments, I knew exactly what they talked about. After packing up everything in my bedroom, my best friend Meera helped me call a moving company.

The air was thick with the smell of old furniture and mothballs. Outside, a street vendor’s bell rang, selling kulfi in the heat. Cardboard boxes were taped shut, Meera’s voice on the phone with the movers, and the ceiling fan whirred lazily. The calendar on the wall still showed the wedding month, mocking me. Even the cat watched from the window, tail flicking in boredom.

Meera pressed a cup of strong chai into my hands, her brow furrowed. “Anu, at least eat something, yaar.”

“I’m fine.” I shook my head. “I just want to find a suitable place and move out as soon as possible.”

She suddenly remembered: “My brother has an apartment. He hasn’t lived there since going abroad. You can move in for now, and move out once you find a place.”

The scrolling comments suddenly went wild.

[Our dark, twisted villain is finally coming on stage! It’s a pity the original didn’t give him much plot, but honestly, I love his character design.]

[The message he sent the heroine, she still hasn’t replied, blackening value +10086]

Kabir—the villain. I didn’t even have his WhatsApp, just an old Facebook connection. His Facebook seemed hacked, sending me suspicious links every few months. I’d set it to Do Not Disturb, so I missed the message he sent a week ago—'Do you need help?'

That night, as the rescue team dredged Rohan’s car, my interview went viral on Instagram. Many people mourned Rohan’s untimely death and empathised with me. Kabir’s message was sent that day. I didn’t see it, so didn’t reply. I finally wrote back, politely: “No need, thank you.” He replied instantly: “Alright.”

I remembered the day Rohan confessed to me. He waited for me near the old neem tree behind the assembly hall, nervously rolling a cricket ball between his palms. The wind was strong, blowing my hair across my face. When I glanced up, I saw Kabir watching from the corridor, expression unreadable. For a moment, I wondered if he knew how my story would turn out. I looked away, smiled, and said yes to Rohan. When I looked back, Kabir was gone. Only the tree branches shook in the wind.

Sometimes, when I think back, I wonder—was that the moment the story twisted? Was I always just background in someone else’s romance?