The night was merciless.

Tara lay on the bed, her knees pulled to her chest as the room seemed to close in around her. Silent sobs wracked her body, her throat raw from crying until there was nothing left.

Each tear felt like a drop of herself slipping away, leaving her emptier than before.

Her confrontation with Matt replayed in her mind, each word cutting deeper with every repetition.

The way he looked at her—not with love, but indifference. The words “we’ve grown apart” and “stuck in the past” echoed in her ears, hollow and cruel.

She clutched the pillow tighter, the engagement ring no longer on her finger but still seared into her memory. She could still feel its weight, the reminder of promises now broken.

When the tears finally stopped, it wasn’t because she felt better. It was because she had no more energy to cry. Her breaths came out in shallow gasps, her body trembling as exhaustion began to take over.

The first rays of morning sunlight slipped through the curtains, brushing over her face. But Tara didn’t move. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her eyes burning and her chest aching.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

“Has anyone seen Tara today?” Shubman asked, glancing around the breakfast lounge. His tone was casual enough, but the furrow in his brow betrayed the concern simmering just beneath the surface.

Virat, sitting at the head of the table with his coffee, looked up with mild curiosity. “Tara?” he asked, setting down his cup. “No, not since last night. Why?”

“She hasn’t answered any of my texts,” Shubman replied, his voice tightening slightly. “I knocked on her door earlier too, but... nothing.”

“Maybe she’s sleeping,” Ishan offered casually, piling his plate with pancakes. “It was a big day for her yesterday. She’s probably just tired.”

Shubman shook his head, his jaw clenching. “It’s more than that. She was quiet last night—too quiet. I don’t think she’s just tired.”

Virat leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting to something more serious. “What do you mean, Gill?”

“I mean...” Shubman hesitated, pressing his lips together as he searched for the right words. “She didn’t seem okay. I don’t know how to explain it, but something’s wrong.”

Virat studied him for a moment, his sharp gaze assessing. “You sure you’re not just overthinking it? Sometimes people need a little space, especially after something emotional like a birthday.”

“She doesn’t just disappear like this,” Shubman replied firmly, his frustration breaking through. “Tara’s the kind of person who says something—even if it’s just a ‘leave me alone.’ But this? This silence? It’s not her.”

Virat set his coffee down slowly, folding his arms. “Fair point. But Gill, you’re wound up tight over this. You look like you didn’t sleep either.”

“I couldn’t,” Shubman admitted, his voice quieter now. “I kept thinking about how she looked last night. The way she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The way she was just... sitting there by the bonfire, lost in her own world.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It felt wrong, and now it feels worse.”

Virat’s brow furrowed, his expression softening. “If your gut’s telling you something, trust it,” he said simply.

Ishan, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up, his earlier playfulness replaced with curiosity. “You’re really worried about her, huh?”

Shubman nodded, his gaze fixed on the table. “Yeah, I am. I don’t know why, but... I just feel like I need to make sure she’s okay.”

Virat exchanged a look with Ishan before turning back to Shubman. “Go check on her,” he said firmly. “If you’re this worried, sitting here isn’t going to help.”

Shubman didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed his chair back and stood, grabbing his phone as he nodded to Virat. “I’ll let you know if she’s alright.”

“Gill,” Virat called as Shubman turned to leave.

Shubman paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Just be there for her,” Virat said simply, his voice steady but kind. “Sometimes that’s all people need.”

Shubman nodded, his chest tightening as he walked away. The weight of his concern pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Tara needed him now more than ever.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

Back in her room, Tara hadn’t moved from the bed. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, lighting up with a message from Shubman.

Shubman: Hey, just checking in. Let me know if you need anything, okay?

She stared at the screen, her fingers twitching as if to reply. But what could she say? How could she explain the hollow ache in her chest, the way her world had come undone in the span of a single night?

The phone buzzed again.

Shubman
Tara, I’m here if you want to talk.

The kindness in his words only made her chest tighten further. She couldn’t bring herself to reply—not yet.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

Downstairs, Shubman sat in the hotel lounge, his leg bouncing anxiously as he stared at his phone. The untouched coffee in front of him had gone cold, but he didn’t care. His thoughts were elsewhere.

“She still hasn’t replied?” Ishan asked, slumping into the chair across from him with a curious glance.

“No,” Shubman said curtly, his tone clipped and strained.

Ishan frowned, the teasing glint in his eyes fading as he noticed the tension in Shubman’s expression. “Maybe she just needs space? It’s not like she’s ignoring just you, right?”

Shubman’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on his phone. “This isn’t like her,” he muttered. “Tara doesn’t just vanish. Even when she’s upset, she lets people in. She doesn’t... disappear like this.”

Ishan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied his friend. “You’re really worried about her, huh?”

“Of course I am,” Shubman snapped before exhaling heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “You didn’t see her last night. She was quiet—too quiet. And the way she looked at the bonfire, like she wasn’t even there...” He trailed off, his chest tightening.

Ishan softened, leaning forward. “You care about her,” he said gently.

Shubman hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t answer, but the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes was enough.

“You won’t feel better until you check on her again,” Ishan said with a sigh. “So go. Do what you need to do.”

Shubman didn’t need to be told twice. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he grabbed his phone and headed toward the elevator.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

When Shubman knocked on Tara’s door again, he braced himself for the same silence that had greeted him earlier. But this time, he heard it—the faint shuffle of footsteps from the other side.

The door opened slowly, revealing Tara.

Shubman’s heart sank at the sight of her. She looked like a shell of herself, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks pale and blotchy.

She wore an oversized hoodie, the sleeves pulled over her hands as if she were trying to shrink into herself. Her hair was unkempt, and her shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.

“Tara,” Shubman said softly, his concern evident in his tone.

She didn’t respond, avoiding his gaze as she stepped aside, silently letting him in.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight. The bed was unmade, her phone lay face-down on the nightstand, and a glass of water sat untouched on the desk. The air felt heavy, oppressive.

“Tara,” Shubman tried again, his voice gentler now. “What’s going on? Please, talk to me.”

Tara didn’t answer. Instead, she walked to the far side of the room and sank onto the floor next to the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Her movements were slow, like every step took immense effort.

Shubman followed, lowering himself onto the floor beside her. He rested his arms on his knees, turning to look at her with a mixture of worry and helplessness.

“Tara,” he said again, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Please. You’re scaring me.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was their breathing. Tara’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, her silence thick with pain.

Finally, she spoke, her voice so soft he almost didn’t hear her. “It’s over.”

Shubman frowned, leaning in slightly. “What?”

“It’s over,” she repeated, her voice breaking on the last word.

Shubman froze, his chest tightening as the weight of her words sank in. He didn’t need to ask what she meant. The heartbreak in her tone, the way she curled into herself like she was trying to disappear—it all pointed to the same thing.

“Tara,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

Tara’s shoulders trembled as she buried her face in her arms, her quiet sobs breaking the silence.

“I gave him everything,” she whispered, her voice muffled by her arms. “Every single thing. And it still wasn’t enough.”

Shubman’s hands clenched into fists, anger bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He imagined Matt’s face, the cold indifference Tara had described, and his blood boiled. The thought of someone treating her like she was disposable made his stomach churn.

But he forced the anger down, focusing on Tara.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly, his tone steady. “He’s the one who didn’t deserve you, Tara. He’s the one who couldn’t see how incredible you are.”

Tara lifted her head slightly, her tear-streaked face filled with anguish. “But why does it hurt so much?”

“Because you cared,” Shubman replied softly, leaning closer. “And that’s not a bad thing. It means you gave it your all. But that doesn’t mean you deserved this. You didn’t.”

Her tears spilled over again, and she pressed her hands to her face, her sobs growing louder. Shubman hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and pulling her into his arms.

The hug wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was firm and grounding, like he was holding her together when she couldn’t do it herself.

Tara stiffened at first, unused to the sudden closeness, but then she melted into him, her head resting against his shoulder as her fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt.

Shubman closed his eyes, his chin brushing the top of her head. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’re not alone, Tara. I’m here.”

She cried against him, her body shaking as she let herself fall apart in the safety of his embrace. Shubman tightened his hold, his chest aching with every broken sob that escaped her.

“I’ll take care of him,” he muttered under his breath, the anger slipping through despite himself. “I swear, if I ever see him—”

Tara didn’t hear him, her sobs muffling his words. But the fury in his eyes was undeniable, a quiet promise to himself that Matt would never get away with what he’d done.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

When her tears finally subsided, Shubman gently pulled away, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Tara,” he said softly, his gaze searching hers. “You haven’t eaten all day. Let me get you something.”

She shook her head weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Shubman said firmly but gently. “Just a little, okay? Trust me.”

Shubman returned to her room a few minutes later, balancing a tray carefully in his hands.

He had gone down to the hotel kitchen himself, speaking softly to the staff to prepare something light and comforting—dal, rice, and yogurt, along with a small bowl of soup.

It wasn’t much, but it was warm, and he hoped it would help her feel a little better.

When he stepped inside, Tara was still sitting on the bed, her back against the pillows, her head resting against the wall. Her eyes were half-closed, and she looked so frail in the dim light that Shubman felt a fresh pang of worry.

“Tara,” he said gently, setting the tray down on the small table by the bed. “I know you don’t feel like eating, but you need to. Just a little, okay?”

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking at him with a distant expression. “I’m not hungry,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

“I know,” Shubman said softly, his tone patient but firm. “But you haven’t eaten anything all day. You’re too weak, Tara. Just a few bites, for me?”

Tara glanced at the tray, her brow furrowing slightly as if even the thought of eating was exhausting. “I can’t,” she said again, shaking her head weakly.

“You can,” Shubman replied gently, pulling the tray closer. He sat down beside her on the bed, picking up the spoon. “I’ll make it easy for you. You don’t have to do anything—just trust me.”

Tara hesitated, her gaze flickering between him and the food. Her cheeks flushed faintly, a small spark of her usual pride surfacing. “I can feed myself, Shubman,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Shubman gave her a small, understanding smile. “I know you can,” he said, his voice warm. “But right now, you don’t have to. Let me take care of you, Tara. Please.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to protest again, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue. Finally, she gave him a tiny nod, her exhaustion overtaking her pride.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Shubman’s smile softened as he carefully scooped a small portion of dal and rice onto the spoon. He blew on it lightly to cool it down, then brought it to her lips.

Tara hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth, letting him feed her. She chewed slowly, her gaze fixed on the tray as if avoiding his eyes would make the moment less vulnerable.

“Good?” Shubman asked gently, his tone encouraging.

She nodded faintly, swallowing the bite. “It’s fine,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

He scooped another bite, repeating the process with the same care and patience. Between bites, he offered her sips of water, holding the glass steady as she drank. Her movements were slow and uncoordinated, but she didn’t pull away from his help.

As the minutes passed, Tara’s expression began to shift. The faintest hint of color returned to her cheeks, and her breathing grew steadier. Shubman noticed the subtle change, his heart lifting slightly at the sight.

“Just a little more,” he said softly, scooping another bite. “You’re doing great.”

Tara glanced at him then, her tired eyes narrowing slightly. “You sound like a coach,” she muttered, her voice tinged with faint exasperation.

Shubman chuckled, the sound low and warm. “If that’s what it takes to get you to eat, I don’t mind,” he replied, his smile widening.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Tara let out a soft, almost inaudible laugh. It was brief, but it was there, and it was enough to make Shubman’s chest swell with relief.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

As he continued feeding her, Shubman couldn’t help but notice the way her fingers brushed against the blanket, trembling faintly with every small movement. He could see the toll the past day had taken on her—not just physically, but emotionally.

But there was something else, too.

In her vulnerability, in the quiet moments where she let him care for her, Shubman felt something stir inside him. It wasn’t pity or mere concern—it was something deeper, something he didn’t fully understand yet.

Every glance, every soft word she murmured, every fleeting smile—it all made him want to shield her from the world. To make sure she never felt this broken again.

“Tara,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.

She looked up at him, her expression questioning.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you are. And whatever happens, I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Tara’s lips parted slightly, her gaze flickering with unspoken emotions. She looked like she wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she gave him the faintest nod, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

Once she’d eaten enough, Shubman set the tray aside and helped her lie back down. Tara’s body felt heavier now, the exhaustion pulling her under again. He adjusted the blanket around her, tucking the edges in gently as she watched him with half-lidded eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice so soft he almost missed it.

Shubman paused, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the blanket. “You don’t have to thank me, Tara,” he said quietly. “Just... try to rest, okay?”

She nodded weakly, her eyelids fluttering shut as she sank deeper into the bed. For a moment, Shubman just stood there, watching her, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions he couldn’t name.

As he turned to leave, her voice stopped him.

“Don’t go,” she murmured, her tone trembling. “Please. Stay.”

Shubman froze, glancing back at her. She looked so small, so fragile beneath the blankets, and the vulnerability in her voice was enough to make his chest tighten.

“I’ll stay,” he said softly, pulling the chair closer to her bed and sitting down.

As Tara drifted off, Shubman stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on her sleeping face. And for the first time that night, he allowed himself to acknowledge the truth that had been growing inside him for weeks:

He cared for her deeply—more than he should, more than he was ready to admit.

But for now, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she wasn’t alone.