Main Hoon. Na -

But he had split it. He had turned the question into a promise.

He climbed.

He was waiting for her.

The rain had stopped three hours ago, but the world still smelled of wet earth and rust. Arjun leaned against the crumbling wall of the abandoned bus shelter, his reflection a ghost in the puddle at his feet. The last bus had left at midnight. It was now 2:17 a.m. main hoon. na

On the terrace, she sat with her legs dangling over the edge, her phone in her lap, rain droplets still clinging to her hair like tiny crystal nooses. She didn’t turn when he arrived. She didn’t need to. She knew his footsteps. But he had split it

He took a slow breath. The wind carried the sound of a stray dog barking somewhere far below. The city slept, indifferent. He was waiting for her

She turned fully now, eyes red and swollen. “You never said.”