Chapter 5: Standing Alone

I jolted awake. For a moment, I hoped it was all a dream. But when I opened my eyes, I saw a familiar jawline, that stubborn Adam’s apple. The air was thick with sandalwood perfume—Arjun’s favourite—mixed with something sharp and lemony.

I almost forgot—Arjun still knew my door code, the one I’d never changed since class ten.

He leaned over, his grin cocky, moving down to kiss my lips. Instinctively, I turned away, clutching the blanket and scooting to the edge of the bed, heart racing.

Arjun paused, then burst out laughing:

"Kya hua, suddenly so shy?"

I stayed silent, clutching the blanket tighter, heart thumping. But he tugged at the blanket, scolding:

"Sneha, you’ve become too bold now, na? Last night, no goodnight message, switched off your phone, slept off! And now hiding from me?"

Quick as ever, he dove under the blanket, wrapping his arms tight around me, pinning me like a wrestler:

"How many times have I told you? You can’t skip breakfast! I went jogging, stood in line to get your favourite paneer tikka rolls. You want to get up and eat, or should I… eat you up first?"

His breath was too close, his hand wandering. I snapped to my senses, fighting to break free, but what could a five-foot-three girl do against a six-two guy?

After struggling, panting, I still couldn’t escape—he just tightened his grip.

"What now? Angry because I didn’t take you to the party last night?"

I said nothing, staring at the wall.

He buried his face in my neck, chuckling:

"Let me guess—Mitali ratted me out, right? Come on, we were just having fun. Is this worth sulking for? Every time I talk to another girl, you act like this!"

My anger boiled, but instead of screaming, I remembered my self-defence class and kneed him hard. As he yelped, I jumped out of bed, grabbing my kurti, not even bothering to match it with my pyjamas, and rushed out.

Arjun followed, rubbing his side, half-annoyed, half-amused.

After a moment, he remembered something, voice casual:

"By the way, you took that medicine, na? Don’t make a fuss, or how will I explain to your parents, yaar?"

He sauntered over, picked up the chai I’d made last night, and held it out:

"Have something, na. You know your stomach can’t handle empty mornings."

I didn’t take it. The glass cracked with a sharp snap, chai pooling on the faded carpet, the smell of cardamom and spilled dreams filling the room.

"What’s your problem, Sneha? Just because we slept together once, you think you own me? It’s suffocating, yaar."

His tone, sharper than ever, stung more than a slap in the corridor. My tears burst out—no warning, no stopping. Everything from yesterday, the shame and pain, just poured out.

Arjun looked lost, maybe even guilty, then muttered, "Sorry, yaar. Drank too much last night. Didn’t mean it."

He squatted, reaching to wipe my tears, but I flinched away. His hand hung there, awkward, before he gave up.

Just then, his phone rang. He checked it, face changing, and stood up in a hurry:

"Something urgent came up. Calm down, okay? Already in college, still throwing tantrums like a school kid—who’ll handle you in the future?"

As soon as he left, my hand instinctively reached for my phone to call Mitali. I stared at her name, thumb hovering, then put the phone down. This, I realized, I had to handle on my own.

Not even half an hour later, Mitali pinged me a screenshot.

It was Priya’s Instagram story:

[Another sunny day: Just said I was hungry, and a loving breakfast magically appeared! Feels like my crush and I are finally both in love~]

In the photo: the same paneer tikka rolls as on my table, same foil wrap, same logo. I didn’t reply, just wiped my eyes and got on my knees to scrub at the chai stain Arjun had made.

After half an hour, the stain had sunk deep into the wool, refusing to budge. Suddenly furious, I threw the carpet out—what was the point of keeping something Arjun and his parents had lugged from Kashmir?

I started gathering everything—Arjun’s shirts, old movie tickets, gifts, our childhood Raksha Bandhan photos. I hesitated over the Rakhi he’d tied last year, the thread now faded, before tossing it too. I packed it all up and dumped it in the society dumpster.

By the time I finished, night had fallen, and Arjun hadn’t called. Not today, not the next. I guessed things were good with Priya, or maybe he expected me to crawl back. Not this time. I blocked him everywhere, changed my door code, even deleted Insta and Facebook.

I called my parents—who were at a business meet in Dubai—and told them I wanted to spend summer with Maasi in the US. I’d register for Pune University after the holidays. Only Mitali knew the truth; everyone else thought I was still heading to Delhi.

Mom teased me over the phone:

"Going with Arjun, kya? Finally, the two of you running away together?"

I just laughed, making up an excuse about Maasi and Nani missing me. Dad agreed, booked the earliest ticket.

At the colony gate, as I dragged my suitcase, Arjun’s mom spotted me:

"Arey Sneha beta! Alone today? Arjun didn’t come to drop you? Didn’t he say you’re off to Switzerland for skiing? Enjoy, beta! I’m always on your side!"

I felt awkward. During boards, I’d told Arjun I wanted to see real snow, not just Lonavala fog. But now, skiing together seemed impossible. With time ticking, I just smiled and hurried off.

At the airport, I ran into Arjun.

He was with his gang, Priya by his side. He carried her purse in one hand, the other around her waist. They laughed, paused as Priya whispered in his ear, Arjun bending low to listen, face soft in a way I’d never seen.

With me, Arjun always strode ahead, making me run to keep up. Here, he slowed down, bent to her height, made her laugh.

I took a deep breath, adjusted my dupatta, squared my shoulders, and caught my own reflection in a glass panel. I made eye contact with myself, chin high, reclaiming a bit of my dignity.

At a fork, Arjun slowed, made a few calls—his face darkened as none went through. He borrowed his friend’s phone, then ducked into the men’s restroom.

Moments later, my phone rang—a new number:

"Sneha, you’re seriously holding a grudge this time. If I don’t call, you don’t call either, huh? Blocked me everywhere? If you’ve got guts, never contact me again! Let’s see how you survive in Delhi University, not knowing anyone. Who’ll look after you then, haan?"

His voice was hard, scolding. I just stared at the tarmac out the window, saying nothing. There was really nothing left to say.

Arjun got even more annoyed:

"I’m not talking to you anymore. Add me back on WhatsApp, samjhi? I’m flying abroad for a few days. If you can’t reach me, don’t go crying to your mummy-papa, okay?"

The call ended. For the first time, I didn’t look back. The world outside was huge. Maybe, finally, I was ready to step into it—on my own terms.