A/N: If you stop reading or get bored at any point in the chapter/story, I'd love to know. Just a simple, 'Hey, this is where I stopped,' would do if nothing else so I can fix them before publishing next year. TYSM for your help. ❤❤

Having printed off a copy of his book and left it on the dining table with a note, 'Junkiri, please let me explain', Shashank had ambled back to bed around three in the morning; got under the covers and fell asleep holding her tight, knowing that come daylight, he may never get this chance again, to hold her like she was everything in life.

What he hadn't expected was to find her sat in her chair with an unreadable expression on her gorgeous face, wearing nothing but his shirt, which sat large on her lithe frame. She was staring at him. The loose, bulldog clipped pages of his half-written manuscript sat on her lap.

His stomach to swooped and roiled in terror. Had she already read it yet? Did she hate him? Was she about to rip his heart out and leave him, like Shetal? Though what he felt for Shetal paled in comparison and this was not a comparable situation, but still.

"You're up early," he managed, sitting up and running a hand over his face.

An excruciating moment passed between them where Jun remained silent, eyeing the pages on her lap, and apprehension scraped the back of his neck like a sickle.

"Can we talk?" Shashank's heart was in his throat as he left the bed and edged towards her in that cosy room. "Please. Let me explain."

Jun nodded imperceptibly, running a hand over the title, which stupidly enough he'd named '10 Things I Hate About Jun — Working Title'. She sniffled and chased a teardrop down her cheek. "It's good. Your fans will love it."

"Junkiri... it's not..." He reached out to touch her, angry at himself for ever starting the thing, forever thinking it was a good idea. Watching her cry was shredding him from the inside, and he hated to think how she was feeling.

Betrayed.

"I'm sorry. I—I don't know what I was thinking. I was just so lost, and then you came into my life like—"

She eyed the messy bed behind him. He could read the questions on her face as clear as day: Was that what last night was about? Your confession? That you liked me? Was any of it real?

He couldn't help but glance at the bed, the volcano of guilt rumbling just under the surface. "No. That's not what that was. That was—last night was" real, the realest I've ever been, with anyone.

"At least you're writing now, right?" Her tears flowed freely.

His heart ached. A thousand little pieces stabbing at his chest. I'm losing her and I barely even had her, all because of that damn book ... and he couldn't stop her tears even if he tried.

"I was going to tell you. I've wanted to tell you, for weeks now, but—" Shashank raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He had wanted to tell her for days and weeks, so why hadn't he? Why had he told her last night? Before anything ever happened? Why hadn't he done it a thousand other times he could have, instead of letting it get to this?

Because I'm a fucking moron!

"I was too afraid... that you'll leave... me..." He rubbed his face and dropped to his knees in front of her. "Please believe me. I never intended to write this at all. Or to hurt you... or let it get this far... tara..."

"Tara ke?" She peered at him with her red-rimmed eyes. She'd been crying for a while, he suddenly realised. How long? When did she wake up and find that stupid book he stupidly printed off and left on the dining table because some primitive part of his brain thought that was a good idea?

Tara, I couldn't help it? Tara, I was an idiot? Tara...

But, but, but.

When he remained silent, unable to find the words that would erase his folly, she licked her lips and nodded. In the way one does when they've made up their mind. He braced himself, because in his gut, he knew it. Knew it. I fucked up.

"Jun ..." He reached out again. Desperate to keep this bridge from going up in flames. "I was going to tell you... that's why I printed the copy, to let you read it once I told you how stupid I've been." She twisted away from his reach and he raked a hand through his hair again, ready to pull it out. Why was I so stupid? "It's just. I already had two extensions, and weeks left to submit the finished manuscript, and I accidentally sent it to the editor when I was drunk and she loved it, and then I just couldn't stop it, even if I wanted to. You know I hadn't written since Shetal—and then you came—"

"Right into you life. A muse." She closed her eyes and scoffed.

"I should have told you or I shouldn't have continued this."

"It's not that you wrote it." June laughed, rising from the seat. "It's like you said in one of your interviews, 'A writer can and will use any experience from their life to breathe a story to life.' It's that, that's what I am to you. A real life walking, breathing character. A story.

"And here I thought we were friends... or maybe something..." She sighed and thrust the book into his chest, then. "We had sex last night. All I ask is that you imagine someone else when you write it. Don't forgo it on my account. Hajur ko fans will love it."

"Jun. Please."

She went to leave her room, but paused, hurt eyes meeting hurt eyes. "I just have one question, though. Mero ke hunthyo, once you finished it? Finished with me? Please give me some time to find another place? I would appreciate..."

"Jun." Shashank shook his head. "I would never—"

"You know what? It's your house. I'll try to get out of your hair as soon as possible."

"Jun. That's not what I want." Chad tried to reach for her again, but she slunk away from his touch. Leave? Jun wanted to leave? He'd imagined it, thought about it, but to actually hear her say it. A wrench in his heart, that's what it was. "It was a stupid exercise, to get out of my funk at first. I'll change it. All of it. I'll write a whole new book... just don't—"

"Your editor is waiting for it though." She eyed the door as if wanting to flee, wanting to be anywhere other than near him. Her eyes screaming, 'You used me.'

"I never wanted to hurt you. You mean more to me than the stupid book. I swear on Ma, I love y—"

"Please stop. Before you say something, you really don't want to say." She held her hand up. Her eyes grazed the manuscript in his hand as she reached for the door. "You need to write, and I need to get ready for work."

#

Once he was alone in the house, Shashank frantically paced the floor, trying to come up with a way to make up for it. Make up for his being an insensitive dick. All he could think about was throwing the story in the literal trash and lighting it on fire just so Jun would know he was serious when he said she meant more to him than his book. But would she buy that? Would she trust him again? Would she stay? God, he wanted her to stay. More than anything, he wanted her to stay. She didn't have to choose him. She could date others and flaunt them in his face, but the thought of her out there again, worried, made him sick.

He rushed to the bathroom, despite being empty-stomached, when his phone rang.

"You home?" Jyo asked as soon as he picked up.

"Yes, though I'd rather be anywhere else right now." He groaned over the toilet in the laundry. "I fucked up, Jyo—"

"I fucked up too! Fuck, I fucked up so bad, I need your help."

"—I totally fucked up and—" wait. His head snapped up, registering the panic in her voice. Was she hurt again? Did someone try to harm her in broad daylight? "What's wrong?"

"Can you come with me somewhere?"

Shashank suddenly pushed all his worry aside and rose to his feet. "Where are you?"

"Outside."

"And where are we going?" He popped out of the laundry to see her silhouette waving at him through the window, her pause far too long to make him comfortable. But there was also a part of him that was relieved that he wouldn't have to stay with his thoughts alone all day, and that perhaps, Jyo could offer him some ideas on how he could smooth things over with Jun, because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he'd do anything to have a do-over again, especially last night.

When he came home hours later, forget about do-overs, Shashank didn't even get to say goodbye. As he slipped into the empty house, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, telling him something was wrong. So very wrong.

"Jun?" He scrambled upstairs, two at a time, with a lump in his throat. He knocked on her door. "Jun?" When no response came, he pushed the door open to find the room empty of all things Junkiri Baral.

She was gone, and the reality of it squeezed his heart such that for a moment, he couldn't breathe at all.

What the hell did you do? You stupid, stupid man, what did you do?! his heart screamed at him.

He took out his phone from his pocket and called her. She cut his call after the first ring. He tried again and again, only to get the same response. The fifth time, it went straight to voicemail—'You've reached Junkiri. I'm not here right now. So leave a message'.

She'd turned her phone off.

Shashank dropped onto her mattress like lead.

Why didn't you tell her ages ago, like Terry told you to?

He punched the mattress, again and again, until the rage he felt at himself dissipated and his arms tired. Then he lay on her bed where her smell lingered still.

That's when he saw his manuscript, sitting on the desk he'd bought for her, and he felt worse. The hollowness in his chest widening into a gaping chasm, nausea churning bitterly within.

June's gone, and it's your fault.

He walked over to grab it, to bin it, to shred it to pieces, when he saw it, a letter.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the folded piece of paper with his name scrolled on top in a neat cursive writing. 'Shashank'. Not Shashi. Shashank. His gut squirmed. He didn't need to read it to know he'd hurt her.

She thinks you used her.

He opened the letter with nausea knocking on his chest.

"Dear Shashank," it started.

"You once helped me when I needed a place to stay. Your ma ambushed you. Didn't give you a choice. But you never made me feel like I was unwelcome. Thank you for that. I always wondered how I was ever going to repay your kindness, since you refused to accept rent—instead you asked me to help your ma. So this is the only way I can think to thank you. Write your story.

Like you said, what happens in a writer's life is up for grabs. I realised it on my way to work. This isn't just my story. It's yours too, and you have every right to write it. But I can't stay. The longer I stay in front of you, the longer I'll be fooling myself. That last night meant as much to you as it did to me. We both made mistakes. I, for letting you think all this time, I wanted my ex back, for not saying to you that night, I like you too — perhaps this would have been a different story. Us.

But, wherever I go, I go, knowing you were there for me when I needed it the most. So let me be there for you when you need it the most — in the pages of your story. I wish you luck."

The words "I wish you luck" burned in his mind like a flame.

Where did you go, Jun?

Shashank's heart shrank as he stared at the letter. Did she have a place to stay tonight, so abruptly? Did she go to a friend's? Or did she just leave in anger, without a plan?

I have to find her before she does something silly.

He couldn't have her thinking last night meant nothing to him. That it was all for his book. This was not how things were supposed to go. Not like this.

"Jun." He dialled June's number again, only for it to go to voicemail again.

He dialled again.

And again. Slowly losing his mind.

Where'd you go, Jun?

Thank you for reading JUST ANOTHER LOVE STORY. Don't forget to comment, react, vote, or follow me to see where this story ends up in 2025! 🖤