Chapter 5: The Bet and the Shadow

When did things start to change? Maybe it was a slow drift, maybe it happened all at once. Sometimes you only notice the cracks when the pieces are already falling apart.

Probably when I saw that photo. It was just an ordinary afternoon, sunlight streaming through the windows, laughter echoing in the hall. Then someone handed me a phone, and the world tilted a little.

That was our fifth month together. Five months—longer than most people had bet, but suddenly it felt like time was running out.

Rohan had many friends. On his birthday, everyone wanted to celebrate with him. They started planning weeks in advance—renting a farmhouse, coordinating gifts, making sure every detail was perfect. Only Delhi’s rich could pull off something like this.

Preparations started more than ten days in advance. WhatsApp groups buzzed, guest lists argued over, food discussed endlessly. I watched from the sidelines, feeling both included and oddly invisible.

I took charge of decorations, picking out marigold garlands and fairy lights. For a while, it felt like we were building something together. After spending more time with them, I realised they never avoided talking in front of me. They gossiped freely, voices carrying over loud music. Sometimes, I felt like just another one of the boys, privy to their secrets.

Gradually, I learned Rohan had once been serious about love—seriously proposing, carefully choosing a ring, picking an engagement venue. Someone told me, in hushed tones, about the ring he designed himself, rehearsing his proposal speech in front of the mirror. It was hard to imagine the Rohan I knew acting that way for anyone.

But in the end, over a small matter, the girl still felt he didn’t love her enough. After a big fight, both were exhausted, one left in anger, the other didn’t try to stop her, and that was the end. They almost got married.

At the end, someone showed me a photo, not hiding anything: “You know, you look a bit like Ananya. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have started that bet because of you.”

The phone screen was smudged, but the image was clear: Ananya, standing under a banyan tree, smiling like she owned the world. For a moment, it felt like I was looking at myself. Her eyes were bright, her smile carefree. I wondered if she’d ever felt as lost as I did now.

It hit me—the reason Rohan drew me like that, the way he saw echoes of her in my face, my mannerisms. I wasn’t unique; I was just familiar.

When I first learned about the bet, I thought they were just bored. Now, looking back, I think the real fool was me. The truth felt like a slap.

Everyone knew he couldn’t let go of his first love after breaking up. It was common knowledge, whispered over drinks and laughter. I was the only one who hadn’t seen it.

He still followed her updates. Every year on her birthday, he’d have someone send her the most expensive jewellery. If anything went wrong, someone would tell him, and he’d go, quietly fix it. Once, I heard he flew to Mumbai just to replace her broken phone, never letting her know it was him. Another time, he arranged the best specialist for her father when he fell ill, all anonymously.

He didn’t let her know, didn’t contact her, but never let go. That hurt most. He loved her from a distance, quietly, stubbornly. It didn’t matter who stood beside him; Ananya was always just out of reach.

Only I naively thought I was truly different. In the end, I was just a placeholder, a shadow of someone else.

Someone joked: “After Ananya left, Rohan bhai kept dating girlfriends, but we all guessed he was just trying to force Ananya to come back.” The room burst into laughter. I managed a weak smile, but inside, I was crumbling. It was as if my love for him was nothing more than a plot device in someone else’s story.

After that, everyone laughed. Rohan came back from a call, sat next to me, squeezed my palm, and laughed softly: “What are you talking about? So happy.” He tried to act normal, but there was a question in his eyes. I wondered if he sensed how much I wanted to disappear.

I looked at him, feeling cold, and said blankly: “Talking about your first love.”

He froze, rarely distracted, and never said her name, just said lightly: “What’s the point of bringing her up?”

That was the first time I thought of breaking up. A chill settled in my bones. I realized I was tired of fighting for scraps of affection, tired of pretending I didn’t care.

Actually, I should thank his friends for not keeping me in the dark. Because they didn’t care about my feelings, they told me the truth, so I could wake up and see it clearly.

Letting me understand I was just a passer-by to Rohan, a tool for him to love someone else.

My role was clear now: the stand-in, the rehearsal for someone else’s happy ending. I couldn’t be angry at him for loving her, but I could choose not to be part of his story anymore.