The next day, Priya was a bundle of nerves, caught in the relentless storm of her thoughts. Ram's last request had taken root in her mind, refusing to let go. She analyzed it from every angle, questioning herself, questioning him, and yet, finding no solace in any of the answers. The hours passed in a haze, her usual focus shattered. She canceled most of her appointments, unable to muster the energy or clarity to meet her patients.

She spent the morning pacing her office, her mind in chaos. Every few moments, her eyes would dart to the clock, as if hoping it might hold an answer. Then, a sharp knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. She froze, her heart pounding, before managing a weak, "Come in."

The door opened, and there stood Aryan, his usual warm smile lighting up the room. In his hands, he held two packets of lunch. "Hey," he said, stepping inside. "I thought we could have lunch together. And I hope you didn't forget—we're going to the jeweler's after this."

The reminder hit Priya like a jolt. She had completely forgotten about their plans to go ring shopping, rescheduled from the day before. Guilt flooded her. How could she back out now, after promising him?

Forcing a smile, she gestured for him to sit. They unpacked the lunch, but while Aryan dug in enthusiastically, Priya barely touched her food. She pushed the noodles around in the container, her appetite nonexistent. Aryan noticed immediately.

"Priya," he said, his voice soft with concern, "are you okay? You seem... distant. Is something bothering you?"

She glanced up at him, her best friend, the man who had been her rock through so many storms. There was a part of her that wanted to tell him everything—to lay bare the turmoil in her heart, to seek his advice like she had so many times before. But this time, she couldn't. She couldn't drag him into this web of confusion, especially not now.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing another smile. "I just don't have much of an appetite today."

Aryan frowned, studying her. "Did I choose the wrong food? You love Chinese, don't you?"

Priya shook her head. "No, it's not that. I do love it." She hesitated, then added, "Okay, I'll eat. Let's not waste food."

Aryan didn't push her further, though his concern lingered in his eyes. Priya forced herself to finish the bowl, each bite feeling like an uphill battle. When the meal was done, Aryan stood, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "Ready to go?" he asked, his voice light.

Priya nodded, though her heart was heavy. She grabbed her things and followed him out, her mind still swirling with thoughts of Ram. As they stepped into the car, she resolved to focus on the present—to push aside the confusion, if only for a little while, and give Aryan the time and attention he deserved.

But even as they drove toward the jeweler's, the weight of her dilemma sat heavily on her shoulders, a shadow that refused to be ignored.

At the jeweler's shop, Priya felt like a ghost of herself. While Aryan excitedly moved from display to display, picking up rings and showing them to her with childlike enthusiasm, she could barely muster a smile. The brilliance of the diamonds, the soft gleam of gold and platinum—they all blurred together in her distracted mind. She nodded at his choices, gave a faint hum of agreement, but her heart wasn't in it.

She watched Aryan, his face lit with happiness, as he tried to involve her in the process. He held up a delicate ring with a radiant smile. "What about this one, Priya? Look at how beautiful the design is—it's just like you, simple and elegant." His voice was warm and genuine, and for a fleeting moment, Priya wanted to let herself believe it.

But guilt clawed at her, pulling her deeper into the pit of her own thoughts. She felt awful for being so distant, for letting her mind wander when she should have been cherishing this moment with Aryan—the man who had always stood by her, who wanted to give her a future full of love and stability.

She tried to reason with herself. This is your reality now. Ram is your past, and Aryan is your future. A bright, beautiful future. Everything will be good. Aryan is perfect—kind, dependable, everything Ram never was.

And yet, why couldn't she accept it? Why did her mind keep circling back to Ram? She told herself that the Ram she had seen over the past few weeks—the one she had helped heal, the one who had seemed so different—was just a fleeting illusion. Now that he was back to himself, he would undoubtedly revert to the man he had always been.

But then, her thoughts betrayed her, pulling her back to what Ram had told her the night before. He knew about Peehu. He donated blood for her. The memory sent a fresh wave of unease through her. She had never imagined Ram capable of such selflessness, of silently carrying a truth like that without demanding recognition or gratitude.

Was she feeling burdened because of it? Or was it something more?

She clenched her fists, desperate to silence the chaos in her mind. No, she told herself firmly. You've already made your choice. You've moved on. You have to keep moving forward.

But the weight of her turmoil felt unbearable. She wanted to escape—run away from the jeweler's, from Aryan's hopeful gaze, from the heavy questions that pressed on her chest. She didn't want to face any of it anymore.

Aryan turned to her, holding another ring. "Priya? What do you think of this one?"

Priya blinked, forcing a weak smile. "It's... beautiful," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aryan tilted his head, studying her. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little out of it."

"I'm fine," she lied, swallowing hard. "Just... a little tired, that's all."

He nodded, not entirely convinced, but let it go. As he turned back to the display, Priya took a deep breath, willing herself to stay present. But deep down, she knew she was barely holding on, torn between the past she wanted to forget and the future she was struggling to embrace.

Ram stood in his kitchen, his sleeves rolled up and his hands moving with purpose as he prepared for the evening. Every detail had to be perfect. If this is the farewell moment of our relationship, he thought, then I'll make it something she'll remember—a glimpse of the man she once hoped I could be. The caring, thoughtful husband she deserved.

He opened the pantry, meticulously checking every ingredient. His eyes scanned the shelves, picking each item with care. On the counter, vegetables were already arranged neatly. He began chopping with precision, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet kitchen. The aroma of fresh herbs and spices started to mingle, but his thoughts drifted to another time—one that filled him with a deep sense of regret.

It was just a few days after their wedding. Priya, with all her nervous energy and hope, had made dinner for him. She had set the table beautifully, every detail arranged with love and care. But he hadn't come home on time. He hadn't even thought to call her. When he finally arrived in the middle of the night, tired and distracted, he crossed through the dimly lit dining area and saw her.

Priya was sitting at the table, her head resting on her folded arms. She had fallen asleep waiting for him.

Ram had paused for a moment, looking at her. She seemed so small, so fragile in that moment. But he hadn't said a word, hadn't woken her or acknowledged her effort. Instead, he walked straight past her to his room, indifferent.

Now, as he stood in the present, the memory hit him like a punch to the gut. He remembered the look on her face the next morning—how she had quietly cleaned up the untouched meal without saying anything, her eyes betraying the hurt she tried to hide.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head as he set down the knife. How brutal and inhuman I was, he thought. How could I have been so blind to her feelings, so consumed by my own resentment?

Back then, he wasn't ready to accept her as his wife—or even the concept of marriage itself. He had returned home from his studies barely a year before, still figuring out his life, and suddenly, marriage had been forced upon him. He hadn't known how to process it, so he had taken his confusion and frustration out on Priya.

Now, that same realization made him ache. He wasn't that man anymore. Or at least, he hoped he wasn't.

Ram straightened, determination hardening his features. Tonight, I'll make amends—not with words, but with actions. I can't undo the past, but I can show her the man I've become.

He returned to his cooking, pouring his heart into every movement, every ingredient. The dishes weren't just food—they were his way of expressing the love and remorse he had never been able to articulate.

The evening stretched on like a lingering shadow, and with it, Ram's anticipation slowly transformed into a gnawing ache. The table was set, the aroma of carefully prepared dishes wafted through the air, but the plates remained untouched. He glanced at the clock—8:30, 9:00, 9:30—each passing minute feeling heavier than the last.

Ram sat on the couch, the soft glow of a dim lamp casting a muted light over the room. He stared at the door, his mind oscillating between hope and resignation. Why did I even think she'd come? he asked himself, the weight of his own foolish optimism pressing down on him. She has every right to stay away.

He tried to distract himself, flipping through channels on the TV, but nothing held his attention. His gaze kept drifting back to the door, the silence of the room amplifying the pounding of his own heart. It was past 10 now, and reality settled in like a heavy fog.

Ram sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. I was such a fool to think she'd forgive me—to think that she'd let herself walk back into this mess I created.

He stood, his shoulders slumped, and began clearing the table. He moved slowly, the sound of clinking dishes echoing in the empty space. Each step felt like an admission of defeat.

And then, suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Ram froze, the plate he was holding trembling slightly in his hands. His breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the door. Could it be?