The evening sky was painted in hues of orange and deep purple when the car finally pulled up in front of the house. Ritika stepped out, her fingers tightening around the handle of her trolley bag as she took in the sight before her. The house stood still—dark, lifeless, almost as if it had been abandoned. A shiver ran down her spine.
Has Ahaan not returned from work yet? she wondered. But as she reached the door and turned the handle, her heart clenched. It wasn’t locked. Just closed.
Slowly, she stepped inside, her footsteps echoing in the heavy silence. The air inside felt cold, stagnant—like time had frozen in her absence. No laughter, no warmth, no traces of the home she had left behind.
The entire house was engulfed in darkness except for a faint glow seeping out from the kitchen. A dim, flickering light. She swallowed hard.
With each hesitant step she took towards the kitchen, her pulse quickened. The sound of utensils clinking softly reached her ears.
And then she saw him.
Ahaan stood by the kitchen counter, his back facing her, silently going through the motions of preparing a meal. His posture was stiff, his movements robotic, lacking the effortless grace he once had.
Ritika felt her breath hitch. A lump formed in her throat as her mind replayed his last words from the day she left—words spoken with a heartbreaking plea, words she had ignored for far too long.
It had been one whole year since she had walked out of this house, out of his life. And now, standing here, seeing the man she had left behind.
Her breath hitched when he finally turned around.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze as their eyes met.
But what she saw in his gaze made her heart sink.
Nothing.
She find nothing in his eyes.
No warmth. No excitement. No relief. Just emptiness. A blank stare, as if he were looking right through her rather than at her. He didn’t even flinch, didn’t move a muscle, just stood there, staring at her with an unreadable expression.
She had imagined this moment countless times during her time away—how he would react, how he would hold her, how he would cry in relief upon seeing her again. But this? This silence, this hollowness in his eyes—she hadn’t prepared for this.
"Ahaan..." she called him softly, her voice cracking under the weight of emotions.
Seeing him after so long, standing in front of him, made the guilt hit her all over again.
But he didn’t respond.
Didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
And then, as if she wasn’t even there, he simply turned away and went back to what he was doing.
Like she never left.
Like she never even existed.
Her heart ached watching him like this.
This wasn’t the Ahaan she had left behind.
The Ahaan she knew would have scolded her for leaving, would have held her tightly and never let go. He would have fought, cried, asked her a thousand questions. But this man in front of her—he was nothing but a shadow of the person he once was.
She walked fast toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his back as if trying to feel his heartbeat, trying to find any sign of the warmth she once knew.
"Ahaan, I’m back... I’m back, Ahaan…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I missed you so much." Her tears soaked the fabric of his shirt, but he remained still, his body rigid under her touch.
He stopped moving, listening to her words. But he didn’t react.
"I know you’re angry… no, more than angry, you’re hurt. And it’s my fault. I hurt you, Ahaan," she sobbed, tightening her grip around him.
"I was so blinded by my own pain… I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t see you."
Silence.
Not a single word from him.
"Say something, Ahaan… please." She sobbed harder, her voice breaking.
She froze when instead of responding, he slowly unwrapped her arms from around him, one finger at a time, removing her touch like it meant nothing.
Then, without sparing her a glance, he turned back to making his dinner.
"Ahaan?" she whispered brokenly, watching him pick up the rolling pin with mechanical precision, his hands moving like a man who had done this a thousand times before.
Her eyes filled with tears as she saw the state of his roti—uneven, torn at the edges, resembling more of an Indian map than a proper round shape. He was struggling. He didn’t know how to do this properly.
And yet, he didn’t ask for help.
He didn’t say a word.
Her vision blurred when she saw him accidentally burn one roti. The edges turned black, smoke rising from the pan. But still—no reaction.
She quickly took the pan from his hand, 'Kya kar rahe ho Ahaan..yeh toh jal jaa rahi hain ..mein kar deti hu...chodo isse..aise koi jali roti khati hain kya '
She with force took it from his hand.
'Aise hii toh khaate aa raha hu ek saal se..mar thodi hi gaya kya??' he asked with blank stare.
'Ahaan !!!!' she gasped looking at him.
'Mar toh nahi gaya na?? Toh don't worry ajj bhi nahi marunga' he said blankly before concentrating again in his work.
'Kyu aise anap shanap baate bol rahe ho Ahaan..' she sobs hearing his painful words.
He turned off the gas and leave from there taking the roti in his plate. She looks at his retreating figure.
And in that moment, Ritika realized one thing—she hadn’t just hurt him with her actions.
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