SHUBMAN

The music was loud, thumping in the background, mixing with the chatter of people and the clinking of glasses. My mind wasn't really on the celebration anymore. Not since I saw her. Samaira. After all these years, she was standing right there, breathing the same air as me, and everything from the past came rushing back. The betrayal, the hurt, the anger. But there was something else, too. Something I had buried a long time ago. I hated how seeing her again made it all resurface.

But I couldn't let myself get distracted. Not here, not now. I needed to keep my head in the game, keep my focus on being the man I had become, not the boy she had left behind.

Yet, every time I glanced around the room, my eyes would inevitably find her. She was leaning against a table, a glass in her hand. A mocktail, from what I'd seen earlier. Always cautious, always in control. But tonight, there was something different about her. She looked distracted, lost in her thoughts, almost vulnerable.

And then, I saw him.

Arijit. That bastard always tried to hit on her back in the school days.

He sauntered up to her, all fake charm and arrogance. The way he looked at her made my blood boil. He leaned in too close, his voice low, but the words reached me nonetheless.

"You know, Samaira, I always thought you were the prettiest girl in our batch. Never got the chance to tell you that back in the day."

She smiled, but it was distant, like she wasn't really there. Then, I saw her sway slightly, her hand gripping the edge of the table for balance. Something was wrong.

"Careful," Arijit said, his tone dripping with mock concern. "Looks like that drink hit you harder than you thought."

My chest tightened. I had seen enough of these situations to know where they were headed. Samaira, disoriented, wasn't in a position to fend off someone like Arijit. And he wasn't about to let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers.

He reached out, touching her arm in a way that made my fists clench at my sides. "Why don't I take you somewhere quiet? You don't look too well."

That was it. I couldn't stand there and watch this any longer.

In two quick strides, I was at her side. Before Arijit could even react, I pulled her away from him, my hand gripping her wrist firmly but gently.

"Back off, Arijit," I growled, my voice low and threatening.

Arijit stepped back, raising his hands defensively, but his smirk remained. "Shubman Gill. What a pleasure! Man, I was just trying to help. She seems out of it."

"She doesn't need your help," I snapped, not caring how harsh I sounded. "Just stay away from her."

Without waiting for a response, I turned, guiding Samaira away from the crowd and toward the back of the venue where it was quieter, more secluded. She stumbled slightly, and I tightened my hold on her, making sure she didn't fall.

We reached a dimly lit corner, far enough from the noise and the prying eyes of everyone else. I propped her up against the wall, her head lolling slightly to the side. She looked up at me, her eyes hazy, unfocused.

"Why... are you... doing this?" she slurred, her voice barely audible.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Seeing her like this—vulnerable, confused—it made something twist inside me. The anger I had been holding onto for so long started to mix with something softer, something I didn't want to admit to feeling.

"Because I don't trust people like Arijit," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "And because... I couldn't let him do something you'd regret."

She blinked slowly, her brow furrowing as if she was trying to make sense of my words. "I'm... fine," she mumbled, though her words lacked conviction.

"No, you're not," I replied, my tone firm but not unkind. "You had too much to drink, Samaira. And you're not thinking straight."

She let out a soft laugh, but it was hollow, filled with something I couldn't quite place. "I wasn't... thinking straight... when I loved you either, was I?"

Her words hit me harder than I expected. She wasn't just talking about the drink anymore. She was talking about us, about what happened eight years ago.

"You made your choice, every time it was just about your choice" I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though the bitterness crept in despite my best efforts. "You left. You cut me out of your life."

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall, as if the weight of everything was too much for her. "I had to," she whispered. "You don't know... what it was like."

I clenched my jaw, the anger rising again, but it was different this time. Less sharp, more... tired. "You never gave me a chance to understand. You just left. No explanations, no goodbyes."

She opened her eyes again, and for a moment, they were clearer, more focused. "You didn't deserve a chance"

I took a step closer, my heart pounding in my chest. "And you think leaving without any explanation made it better? For either of us?"

She didn't answer, just looked away, her gaze distant. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I had held onto for years, but now, with her standing here, so close, it all felt... pointless. What good would it do to dredge up the past?*

But I couldn't stop myself. "You broke me, Samaira. You broke us. And now, after all these years, you show up, acting like it didn't matter."

"It did matter," she murmured, her voice so soft I almost didn't hear it. "It mattered more than you know."

For a moment, we just stood there, the silence between us heavy with everything we hadn't said, everything we had lost. I looked at her, really looked at her, and I saw the pain she was hiding, the same pain I had been carrying all these years.

Before I could think about it, I reached out and gently took her arm. "Come on," I said, my voice low. "You need to rest."

She didn't resist as I led her through the back exit and out to the parking lot. I helped her into my car, my mind racing with thoughts I couldn't quite pin down. As I slid into the driver's seat, I glanced over at her, her head resting against the window, her eyes half-closed.

"I'm taking you to my place," I said quietly. "You'll be safe there."

She didn't respond, just nodded weakly, and I started the engine, driving away from the noise, the people, the memories we had both been running from for so long.

The road stretched out in front of us, dark and endless, just like the path we had been on. 

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep. She looked peaceful, like the weight of the world had finally lifted off her shoulders for a few hours. I didn't know how long I had been sitting there, but I couldn't bring myself to leave.

My fingers found their way to her hair, brushing through the strands gently. It was a habit I hadn't realized I still had—something I used to do when we were together, back when everything was simpler. Back when I still believed in us.

But now, it felt different. The years of hurt and distance had changed everything, and yet, in this quiet moment, I allowed myself to feel something I hadn't let myself feel in a long time—something close to affection, something that reminded me of the boy I used to be.

But it didn't last.

She stirred beneath my touch, her eyes fluttering open. For a second, there was a haze of confusion in her gaze, as if she wasn't sure where she was. But then, she saw me. And the softness in her expression turned to something cold—something hard and defensive.

She recoiled instantly, sitting up in the bed, her eyes narrowing at me with a look of disgust that felt like a punch to the gut.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice sharp, cutting through the fragile quiet of the room.

I pulled my hand back, my throat tightening. "I... I was just—"

"You were touching me," she interrupted, her tone laced with anger. "Don't."

The word hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I knew this wouldn't be easy, that things couldn't just go back to the way they were. But seeing the revulsion in her eyes, as if my touch was something vile... it stung in a way I hadn't expected.

"I'm sorry," I said, keeping my voice calm, though inside, I was anything but. "You were asleep. I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't mean to what? Take advantage of the fact that I'm here? Vulnerable? And why the fuck am I here?" Her eyes blazed with accusation, and I could see her body tense, as if preparing to defend herself.

Her words cut deep, but I refused to let the anger rise. 

"No," I said firmly. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is this?" she shot back, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else—fear, maybe? "Why am I here, Shubman? Why did you bring me here?"

 I took a breath, trying to find the right words, but everything felt jumbled in my head. I wasn't even sure of the answer myself.

"Because I couldn't leave you there," I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended. "You were drunk, and Arijit... He was trying to take advantage of you."

Her eyes flickered with recognition at the name, but she didn't let her guard down. "So you brought me here? To your house?"

I nodded, watching her carefully, trying to read her expression. But it was like trying to decipher a storm—ever-changing, unpredictable.

"I didn't know where else to take you," I admitted. "I didn't want anything to happen to you."

Her laugh was bitter, sharp. "And you think bringing me here makes it better? Like I'm supposed to feel safe with you?"

That stung more than I expected. The way she looked at me now, like I was just as bad as the rest... like I couldn't be trusted. It was hard to reconcile that with the way we used to be—the way we used to trust each other completely.

"You know me, Samaira," I said, my voice low, almost pleading. "You know I would never hurt you or.. or take advantage of your vulnerable state."

"Do I?" she snapped, her eyes locking onto mine with a fierce intensity. "Because the last time I trusted you, Shubman, everything fell apart."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw. I could see the pain behind them, the same pain I had been carrying for years. But I wasn't the only one who got hurt. She had her reasons for leaving, for cutting ties. I had been too angry, too stubborn to explain. Now, with her right in front of me, I wasn't sure I could handle the answers.

"I'm not that person anymore," I said softly, trying to reach her, to make her see. "I've changed, Samaira. We both have."

She looked away, her shoulders slumping slightly as the tension in the room shifted. "Maybe," she murmured. "But some things... some things don't change."

We sat in silence, the weight of our shared history pressing down on us both. There was so much more to say, so much left unresolved. But maybe now wasn't the time. Maybe we weren't ready to face it all just yet. She never cared to know my story and left. Neither did I try to reach out to her, after that school scandal.

"I'll take you home," I said after a long pause, standing up and moving toward the door. "Whenever you're ready."

She didn't respond immediately, but when I glanced back at her, she looked... tired. Tired of fighting, tired of pretending. And in that moment, I realized that maybe we were both just tired of running—from the past, from each other, from everything we never said.

"Give me a minute," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I nodded and stepped out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. And as I closed the door behind me, I couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of something new—or just the beginning of the end.

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