Chapter 7: The Birthday Party and Goodbye

The next day, Rohan came to pick me up as promised. He looked the same as always—hair perfectly in place, watch gleaming. But there was a tightness around his mouth, a restlessness in his eyes.

As soon as we arrived, his phone buzzed—a WhatsApp ping, then a call. He glanced at the screen, face unreadable, then let go of my hand: “You go in first, I’ll take this call.”

It was rare to see Rohan hesitate. Usually, he’d take calls with a smile, never worried. This time, he looked almost…afraid.

I forced a smile, walking inside alone. The air inside was cool, perfumed with jasmine and sandalwood, laughter echoing off the high ceilings. I perched on a sofa, pretending to scroll through my phone, the bass thumping through the floor, but all I could hear was the echo of my own heartbeat.

Someone’s voice drifted through the open door: “Who’s Rohan bhai talking to?” Another answered, “Ananya, I heard her name. She’s coming back to Delhi.” Someone whistled. “Finally, yaar! Poor guy’s been waiting for this since forever.” The sense that something big was happening was inescapable. Everyone loves a good love story, especially when it isn’t theirs.

When Rohan came back, he pressed his lips together, looking upset, faintly irritable. But seeing me, he hid it, came close, squeezed my hand, and smiled: “Having fun? Cut the cake with me later.”

I nodded, though my throat felt tight. “Of course.”

After the cake, I took the initiative to break up. I waited until everyone was distracted—music blasting, people dancing—and pulled him aside. My voice was steady, my heart was not. “Rohan, let’s end this here. No drama, no regrets.”

He stared at me, but didn’t protest. I think, in his own way, he understood. Sometimes, letting go is the only kindness left.

In the end, I didn’t cut the cake with him. I slipped away before anyone noticed, blending into the crowd like a ghost.

Because not long after, someone brought in a gift—a fancy box, everyone crowding around. It was from Ananya. Her name on the tag, written in perfect cursive. The room buzzed with excitement. Inside, a Patek Philippe—the brand Rohan always wore. I remembered him saying Ananya had the best taste, could always find the perfect gift.

Coincidentally, I’d also given him a watch—just a Titan, within my means. He glanced at mine, had someone put it away. Ananya’s, he looked at for a long time, holding the strap tightly. Then he slid it onto his wrist, fastening the clasp. Something inside me cracked.

Someone took a photo, posted it in their WhatsApp group: 'Ananya has great taste, no wonder Rohan bhai missed her all these years.' The notification popped up, laughter erupted. Next to me, Rohan’s cousin grabbed my hand, showing her phone. “Look, Meera di! See how cute they look together! Perfect na? Like in those Karan Johar movies!”

I forced a laugh, but inside I compared myself to the side heroine who never gets the hero. On the screen, Ananya replied: [As long as he likes it. Watch over him for me, don’t let him drink too much.]

The message was simple, affectionate, heavy with history. People started clapping, pushing me to the back. Someone shouted, “Speech, speech!” The crowd erupted in applause, and I found myself edged out, barely visible. I clapped too, easier to pretend. At the bottom of the box, a card in neat handwriting: [Though far apart, our friendship is as deep as the clouds and sea.]

Rohan’s hand holding the card stiffened, knuckles white. For a second, I thought he might cry. Then, as if remembering something, he searched the room until his gaze fixed on me through the crowd. I smiled calmly, mouthed: “Happy birthday.” Only then did he seem to relax, but he didn’t ask me to cut the cake again.

He had many friends, all lively. Soon, they were drunk, dancing, singing old Bollywood songs. No one played with me, so I just watched from the side. The chaos was comforting, in a strange way.

At the end, his brother helped him upstairs. I didn’t follow. I planned to leave directly—breaking up doesn’t have to be face to face. Sometimes, it’s kinder to leave quietly.

As I was about to leave, his brother chased after me, handed me a room card. “Rohan bhai is waiting for you on the top floor, go keep him company.”

Kunal’s eyes were softer than usual. For a moment, I wondered if he cared about me, even a little. But he always looked down on me, always believed I was just another girl passing through. “It’s always been Ananya. No one else matters.”