Days turned into weeks, and weeks blurred into months, yet Ritika never once mentioned when she would return home. She barely called, and most of the time, it was Ahaan who dialed her number, clinging to the fragile hope that today—maybe today—she would finally say she was coming back.
But every time he asked, her response remained the same, cold and distant.
"I’ll return when I feel like it."
It was 9 PM when Ahaan returned home from the office, exhaustion weighing down his every step. He unlocked the door, stepping into a house drenched in darkness and silence. A suffocating emptiness greeted him—one he had never felt before.
Earlier, when Ritika was here, she would always wait for him on the sofa, a warm smile on her face, ready to chat about their day over dinner. But now, all that remained were memories, ghosts of laughter and conversations that once filled these walls.
A sad smile tugged at his lips as he stood in the middle of the dimly lit living room, lost in the contrast between then and now.
Dragging himself to the kitchen, he settled for a simple meal—cold roti and dal. He didn’t even have the energy to heat it. There was no one to ask if he had eaten properly, no one to remind him to take care of himself.
Later, as he entered his bedroom, his tired gaze landed on the calendar. With a deep sigh, he picked up a pen and crossed out today’s date.
Three months.
It had been three whole months since Ritika left. And he had no idea when—or if—she would return.
His eyes drifted to the empty side of the bed, where her scent still lingered faintly in the sheets. It was a cruel illusion, a reminder of what once was. He lay down, staring blankly at the ceiling, his vision blurring as unshed tears welled up once again.
But really… what reason did she have to return to him?
He had nothing to offer her.
He didn’t have a big house like her parents—just a modest 2BHK flat. He wasn’t wealthy, nor did he have a high-paying job that could fulfill her every dream.
And now, he had taken away the one thing she wanted most. The one thing she had longed for—a child.
A broken chuckle escaped his lips, laced with sorrow.
What did he even have left to give her?
He wasn’t handsome or charming like other men. His dusky skin contrasted sharply with her fair complexion—she was beautiful, radiant, everything he was not.
Maybe she had finally realized that she deserved better.
Maybe she should divorce him, marry someone who could give her everything he couldn’t—a beautiful home, a secure life, a family. A man who could give her a child, fulfill her every wish, and make her truly happy.
After all, what was he?
Just an infertile man.
A man good for nothing.
Maybe that’s why his parents had left him alone in this world too.
A loud, heart-wrenching sob tore through the silence of the empty room. His chest heaved, his body trembling with the weight of emotions he could no longer hold back. His fingers dug into the pillow, clutching it as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
His heart clenched painfully with each sob, the ache deepening, suffocating him.
Yet, despite everything, he missed her—missed her terribly. Every breath felt heavier, every second lonelier. The emptiness of the house, the silence that once felt peaceful, now clawed at his sanity.
He wanted her back.
Not just her presence but her warmth, her voice, her touch. He longed to rest his head on her lap and break down—let his pain flow through the tears he had been holding back for so long. He wanted her fingers to run through his hair, to tell him that everything would be okay, that they would face this together.
After all, he loved her.
A love so deep, so unwavering, that no distance, no silence, no pain could ever diminish it. His love for her would never fade—not today, not tomorrow, not until his last breath.
But love alone wasn’t enough.
He had hoped—prayed—that she would understand, that she would stand by him just as he had always stood by her, through every storm, every struggle. But she had left.
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