He Stayed Anyway

~2~

The room carried on, but an invisible thread tightened between the sisters, quiet and complicated.

Reeva slipped into her room, shutting the door with the softest click. Even that tiny sound felt louder inside her chest. She leaned back against the wood for a moment, forcing air into her lungs.

Decoration.
The word felt like a jab she hadn't braced for.

She walked to her desk, opened her notebook, and stared at the blank page. Her fingers hovered, refusing to touch ink to paper.

"Perfect, Reeva... bilkul perfect," she muttered under her breath. ("Perfect, Reeva... absolutely perfect.")
"Apne ex ki engagement decorate karo. Wah." ("Decorate your ex's engagement. Great.")

A dry, humourless laugh escaped her.

She pushed her hair back, paced, sat, stood, sat again. Her body was trying to outrun her heartbeat.

Ruturaj... why does your shadow still make a home in my chest?
She clenched her jaw, annoyed at herself for still feeling anything at all.

She walked to the window. The soft evening light brushed over her, warm but distant. Down below, neighbours chatted, a scooter honked, someone's pressure cooker whistled.

Life was moving.
Hers was trying to pretend.

"Bas kaam hai, Reeva. Bas decoration." ("It's just work, Reeva. Just decoration.")
"Phool, lights, drapes... dil nahin." ("Flowers, lights, drapes... not your heart.")

Her throat tightened. She blinked hard, refusing to let anything fall.

Then her phone buzzed.
A message from Rishika:
You okay?

Reeva stared at the screen. A whole constellation of replies flashed in her mind:
No.
Maybe.
Why did you put me in this?
I miss who I used to be.

But she typed only:
Haan. I'll manage. ("Yes. I'll manage.")

She placed the phone face-down, as if turning it away could dim the hurt.

Reeva sank into her chair again. This time, she forced the pen to the page. Lines formed, colours imagined, shapes outlined — empty of feeling, full of effort.

Sometimes the hand moves first.
Sometimes the heart follows later.

Outside, the sky softened into a deeper shade.
Inside, she held herself steady, even if her steadiness was stitched with quiet pain.

The Shekhawat mansion felt peaceful that evening. Soft lamps glowed against cream walls, and the air held that familiar warmth only homes carry. Pratap read his newspaper, Meera kept adjusting cushions that didn't need adjusting, and Aarav and Ahaana were chatting on the sofa. Veer walked in with Tara trailing behind him, their dog trotting proudly like he owned the place.

Tara dropped her bag and announced her suffering immediately.
"Today was chaos," she declared, flopping onto the couch. "My chemistry teacher is on a personal mission to end happiness."

Meera hid a smile. "Itna kya hua?"
("What happened so much?")

Tara lifted a hand dramatically. "Everything. She walks into class like she can sense laziness from two miles away. And if you're late..." She widened her eyes. "She gives this stare. The type that says 'I know what you did and I am judging it deeply.'"