Think I'll miss you
forever
Like the stars miss the sun
in the morning sky

8 Years Ago

The air around me feels thick, suffocating, like I’m trapped in a place I can’t escape. I don’t belong here. This isn’t my home; it’s just a fucking cage —one where  I’m suffocated by the silence, by the constant dread of what’s coming next, surrounded by people who’d hurt me at any chance they get.

I don’t want to live in this room, and I sure as hell don’t want to live in this house. Home? This isn’t home. It’s just a fucking building, where people endure each other’s presence, because of their own selfish reasons.

My home... well, I’m about to destroy it today. Every last piece of it is about to crumble.

My fingers tighten around the phone, clinging to it like it’s the only thing left I can hold onto. But the truth is, the person on the other end of the call is the one I should be holding onto, and yet, everything is ending today.

It all started unraveling six months ago, and now, it’s finally reaching its breaking point. For the better, I tell myself. But deep down, my heart doesn’t believe it.

It still hopes—foolishly—for a way to fix everything. But even God can’t save us now.

"I never loved you... hell, I didn’t even like you. Get that through your head." The words hit like a punch, slicing through the thick silence. Tears fall, soaking into my pillow, but I force myself to believe it’s for the best. I cover my mouth, trying to stop the sob that claws its way up my throat, but I can’t. The ache, it’s too much.

"Is it that you can’t stand someone loving you, or are you just too afraid to love me?" His voice cracks, fragile, and with that sound, all the strength I have left seems to vanish. He’s not angry. No, it’s not anger. It’s something softer, something that cuts deeper. His voice trembles, and I swear I hear his breath hitch—his heart breaking because of me.

"I can’t. Your presence... it’s just annoying. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t try to see me again. Goodbye." The words spill out in one breath, sharp and final. Without giving him a chance to respond, I hang up, the click of the call ending echoing in my ear.

Before I can even process the weight of what I just said, I’m already standing, walking toward the washroom.

I stand in front of the mirror, my reflection a blur, and for a moment, I feel myself breaking. I feel dizzy, like I might collapse at any moment. Maybe this is for the best, I tell myself. Maybe when I wake up, he’ll be there, right beside me again, like nothing ever happened.

And if he isn’t… maybe I’d prefer to never wake up at all.

Present

"She's just a kid, Vijay. Let her go!"

The words echo in my mind, cold and unforgiving, each syllable a dagger pressing deeper. The weight of those words never leaves, still buried deep within me, even after eight years.

My body feels heavy, trapped between waking and sleeping, unable to move, unable to escape. My mind screams to wake up, to fight, but my limbs refuse to respond.

My chest tightens, every breath a struggle, every moment dragging me further into the suffocating silence. I’m stuck in this nightmare, desperate to wake, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t.

"Aahana! Aahana! Aahanaaaa, wake up!"

I hear a voice, cutting through the haze but my body feels heavy, unwilling to move. I fight against it, using all the strength I have left.

Slowly, my eyes open, the light stinging, harsh against the darkness I’ve been drowning in.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Ruhi?!" I groan, struggling to sit up, rubbing my eyes, trying to mask whatever is going on inside. But the fear... it’s still here. Even after all these years, it hasn’t gone anywhere.

"Can you check the time for me, ma’am?" Ruhanika’s sharp voice slices through my daze.

“Did we really hire so many servants just to keep the house lively?” I tease, standing up and grabbing my phone from the nightstand, trying to distract myself with something—anything else.

“It’s just 10 in the morning.” I say, trying to lighten my mood.

“Oh, really?” Ruhanika’s voice drips with sarcasm as she leans against the doorframe.

"Well, I guess I should get ready then, since I’m the one opening the runway at the Galaxy Fashion Show tonight, right?" Her smirk dances playfully, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Oh no! The models must have reached the venue already!” I blurt out as soon as the realization hits me, panic slowly crawling up my spine.

"Check-in's at 11:30, Aahana. You’ve still got time. Get up." Her tone is crisp and no-nonsense.

"Right! I need to get ready, fast!" I mutter, the reality hitting me like a cold wave.

"Breakfast’s ready. Eat when you’re dressed." she calls out, already heading toward the kitchen.

I hurry through getting dressed, not even bothering to check the time, just picking whatever is closest. Ten minutes later, I sit at the table, where Ruhi is already laying out the plates.

"When are you heading to the hospital? Isn’t it getting late?" I ask her.

Ruhi—Ruhanika Khanna—is my best friend and the owner of the mighty Khanna Hospitals.

She doesn’t even glance at me, her focus entirely on what she’s doing. But I can see it in her eyes, the weight of it all. Running a hospital empire at her age? It isn't easy.

Khanna Hospital isn't just any hospital. It’s the hospital, the one that stands at the top in the entire country, built by her late uncle and handed down to her after his death. Branches are everywhere, across India.

I used to think she was invincible, like she could handle anything thrown her way. But behind that iron facade, I know better.

We’ve been inseparable since university. Not just because of some simple bond of friendship, but because we need each other.

Our histories are too similar, too painful. Both of us were tossed aside by the people who should’ve cared for us the most—our families, absent in every sense. But together, we’re each other’s escape. Each other’s safe place.

It isn’t just friendship. It’s survival.

I remember the first time we shared a room at university. We didn’t say much. In fact, we didn’t speak at all for days.

We were two strangers sharing space but keeping walls between us. But one night, everything changed.

We found ourselves caught in a moment neither of us expected—a moment of vulnerability, a glimpse of the pain we’d both been hiding. It shook us. And after that? We didn’t need words anymore. We were ride-or-die.

She became the sister I never had, the one person who understands the weight of silence. When everything else feels heavy, it’s her I turn to—my constant, my strength.

I finish my breakfast quickly, not really paying attention to it, and grab my jacket as I head out the door.

Ruhi is still at the table, picking at some fruit, I don’t say anything when I leave—she’s likely lost in her own world, thinking about meetings, schedules, and everything else she has to handle today.

Stepping out of the elevator, I dial Siya, my personal assistant—or, more accurately, one of my best friends. “Hello, ma’am, you up yet?” I ask, twirling the car keys in my hand, already expecting her usual grumpy response.

Siya didn’t skip a beat, as usual. "Don't even think about getting sarcastic with me, Aahana, especially not at this hour. I called you nineteen times, and you didn’t pick up once!"

I laugh, trying to cover it up. "Oh, really?" I tease. "Guess I was just in such a deep sleep that I didn’t hear a thing. Probably had my phone on silent."

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but dead silence, and I swear I can almost feel her eyes rolling from the other end of the line.

"Get your ass here in fifteen minutes, before I cause a damn scene!" her tone sharp and urgent.

My eyes roll at her statement. "Siya, if you keep talking to me like that in public, people will think I'm your assistant, not the other way around!" I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"Drive safely. I’ll be at the gate when you arrive. Call me when you reach." she says, her tone softening, but the hint of urgency still lingers.

I hang up the call, exhaling deeply as I slide into the car.

A few minutes later, I find myself stopped at a red light, my foot hovering over the brake.

As I wait, my gaze wanders, landing on an elderly couple sitting on a nearby bench, sharing an ice cream.

Their laughter, soft and genuine, fills the space around us, echoing in the quiet moment. And the way they look at each other—eyes full of something I can’t quite name—makes something inside me feel a little tight.

They have something I long for, something that feels impossible for me.

Just then, the signal turns green, pulling me out of my reverie. I press the gas pedal, the sound of my car’s engine filling the quiet air, but my mind is anything but still.

I drive through the empty streets, the soft morning light filtering through the windows.

His face flashes in my mind, uninvited—his smile, the way we were. Him, us... the memories hit like a wave, pulling me back to a time I can’t escape.

"Eight years today... Should I call this our breakup anniversary, love?" I murmur, my voice trembling as tears blur my vision, the past creeping back with every heartbeat.

Soon enough, I arrive at the venue. Siya is standing at the gate, just as she said. Her face is as stoic as ever, eyes darting around, ever the observer—or protector, depending on how you see it. I park my car and make my way toward her.

She gives a small nod as I stand in front of her, and I can’t help but dread the inevitable scolding. From the look in her eyes, I know it’s coming.

"Let’s get your hair done first." she says, turning on her heel. Of course, I follow her without hesitation, like a lost puppy—an unspoken rule between us.
Thank God, I am saved today.

Siya Sharma is my PA to the outside world, but to me, she’s so much more—my closest friend, my rock. We’re a squad of four—Siya, her twin Avni, Ruhanika, and me.

Back in university, while Ruhanika and I shared a room, Siya and Avni stayed with their parents. But distance never mattered; the four of us were always together, inseparable.

At first glance, Siya might seem like just another ordinary person, but trust me, she’s far from it. Neither she nor her family is ordinary.

Even back in university, something felt off about them, but now, after all these years of being so close, I’ve learned just enough to quiet my curiosity. The rest? It doesn’t matter.

As they say, "Zarurat se zyada jaan na nahi chahiye, kuch raaz kuch cheezein yunhi reh jaane deni chahiye." Some things are better left untouched, unsaid. Despite Siya being my PA and Avni working with Ruhanika, their lives carry an undeniable thrill—one that we ordinary people certainly don't need to explore.

But despite the mysteries, there’s one thing that stands out—we’re family. We’re together, through thick and thin, sharing everything without hesitation.

Our bond is built on trust, laughter, and maybe a bit of silent understanding. And honestly, that’s all I need. I wouldn’t change a thing.

It takes at least 4-5 hours for me to get ready, and in between, there are pre-show interviews and photo shoots.

As always, I don’t even get a moment to breathe, let alone stay hydrated. But how would Ruhanika know? Of course, she wouldn’t. But what if she did find out?? , I know Siya would definitely tell her, and then she’d tag along like she always does. God, No!

The show soon started, and all the models headed backstage. I moved toward the first in line since I was the one opening the show, while Siya stayed by my side.

"You’re the best, you know that, right?" Siya's grin hits me like a soft wave, and I let those words echo in my mind, clinging to the comfort they bring. And then, the moment I’ve been waiting for arrives.

The show begins, my heart racing, but I whisper my mantra to myself: "You’ve got this."

I step onto the runway, the spotlight blinding me for a moment. The crowd’s hum fades into the background as I focus ahead.

I’m dressed in a sleek, black bodycon dress, hugging every curve. The fabric shimmers under the lights, with a plunging neckline and subtle cutouts along my waist. The high slit in the skirt reveals my heels, each step clicking sharply against the runway.

The cameras flash, and the faint applause urges me forward. I hold my posture strong, my gaze fixed on the end of the runway.

This is my moment.

I turn, striking a pose, letting my confidence fill the room. But then—unexpectedly—my eyes land on someone in the crowd. A figure, hidden in shadows, dressed in a mask, a hoodie, and a cap, almost like he’s trying to blend into the darkness of the room.

Time seems to freeze, and our gazes lock.

In that moment, something shifts. A strange calm washes over me, like a breath I didn’t know I needed. My racing heart finds its steady rhythm.

There’s something about him—his quiet presence, the way the darkness seems to follow him, and most of all, his eyes.

Those eyes ground me.

The storm inside me quiets, and for a moment, everything else just fades away. Peace, wrapped in mystery.

I know those eyes. The eyes I fell in love with at first sight, but.....after eight years, maybe I’ve forgotten their beauty.

Is this you, love?

My eyes locked with his for just a split second. If I had stared any longer, I would have ended up making the headlines the next day—and not for the show.

I turned around, composing myself, but my mind raced. It screamed at me to look back, to steal one more glance, to confirm the doubt that had crept in.

To look at him just long enough, to hold onto the moment, knowing that it might be years before I got the chance again—or maybe never again.

And like the shameless person I am, I do it—I listen to my mind for the first time. I turn around, striking a pose again for no reason at all... but he’s gone.

Wait what?? Was it even him? Or had I just been hallucinating? Maybe I thought about him before coming here, and that’s why I convinced myself it was him.

Could it have been him? No, no… it couldn’t be. How could I be sure just by looking at his eyes? So many people have the same eyes.

But my heart... my heart says it was him.

I . am . losing . my . mind.

I don’t know whether to feel relieved that he was there or terrified that HE was there. But curiosity gnaws at me, and I can’t shake it off.

The moment I reach backstage, I ask, “Siya, I saw someone in the second row on the left side of the runway, black glasses, mask, hoodie, cap—could you find out who he was? He just disappeared.” The urgency slips into my voice without me realizing it.

On hearing my words, her eyes go wide before she nods and quickly dashes off. I know she’s not just going to ask about it once—she’ll practically annoy me until she finds out the details.

In the meantime, I can’t resist—my eyes drift back to where he had been. But the spot is empty now. Gone. Just another part of the crowd.

Fifteen minutes stretch on, feeling like hours. When Siya finally returns, I hold my breath.

“It was just a cameraman.” she says, her tone casual. “One of the media photographers for tonight.”

She watches me closely, as if waiting for some kind of reaction, but I’m too lost in my thoughts to respond.

Damn the photographer, and damn my heart. Why am I even reacting this way? It’s not like he’d treat me the same as before. Didn’t I remember what I had done to him? My mind whispers the truth I try to bury.

I remember it all too well—too well that even the memories haunt me in my sleep.

"Put yourself together, Aahana." my mind mocks. "It’s been eight years today, and yet here you are, giving life to your delusions. You’re not the same, and neither is he. He must have moved on, but here you are, still holding onto thoughts and memories you tried to bury."

I press my back against the cold wall, desperately hoping it can offer some support. I’m tired of feeling like a fool. All I want is to go home.

------------------------------------------------------

I swear, you guys won’t believe me, but it took me an entire day to edit this—an entire day! I had a headache from all the editing. Honestly, I didn’t get frustrated while writing it, but editing it practically gave me a migraine! 😭😭

Even though I'm still not completely satisfied with this, I feel like it’s missing a few things, but it’s fine – I can’t be perfect. Did you all like the previous one better or this one? (You’d better say this one!🔪💔)

word count- 3k