Page 7 of Wasted Grace

“Uh... yeah, beta. Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. All good. Just a potential client... complicated case. Might need his insight,” I lie, voice tight. “Can you send me his number?”

He agrees, and I end the call quickly—right after dodging my mom’s interrogation about my meals. My heart nosedives when she casually asks, “How’s Gree?”

I give her a vague answer and hang up before I fall apart.

Because I think I already have.

I take a quick shower, throw on clothes that don’t match, and practically sprint out of my apartment. There’s only one place she could’ve gone—her flat.

If she even opens the door.

Fuck.

It takes me 45 agonizing minutes to get there, traffic crawling like it knows I’m desperate. The whole drive, my thoughts spiral into chaos. I know I need to say something. Explain myself. But what the hell do you say to the woman you love when you’ve just confessed—albeit drunkenly—that you had unresolved feelings for someone else?

The thing is... Ihavehad a weird thing for Aarohi. But it was never meant tobeanything. She’s a breeze in the grand scheme of things. Temporary. A flicker, not a flame.

We’d been friends for years, especially during her breakups. I saw sides of her no one else did. The way she collapsed behind closed doors after holding herself together in front of Vikram and Ishika... it did something to me.

It made me feel protective. Especially how Vikram treated her like a sister and assigned an unspoken weight over me. And I mistook that for somethingmore.

It didn’t help that her own family constantly tore her down—mocking her body, her weight, her softness like it was a flaw. I hated it. I wanted to shield her from it.

But I let that morph into the delusion that I could fix something. That I was supposed to.

Looking back, I get it now. I didn’t want Aarohi. I wanted to feelusefulto her. I wanted to believe I could fill in a gap she never actually asked me to.

God, I should’ve confronted this years ago. Nipped it before it grew teeth.

I reach Gree’s floor, heart hammering. I stare at the number: 213.

My breath catches as I knock.

No answer.

I knock again. And again. And again.

“Oye!”

I jolt at the voice behind me. A middle-aged man—grimy tank top, suspicious stare.

“That’s my house,” he says flatly.

I blink. “What? No—uh... sorry. My—Greesha lives here. I was just trying to find her. Is she inside?”

His brows knit. “That girl? No. She left this morning. Left her two months’ deposit. Said it didn’t matter.”

My heart stutters. “She left?”

“She packed up and left,” he shrugs. “Didn’t say where. Just that if someone comes looking, not let ‘em in.”

My stomach hollows. She didn’t even care about her deposit? That’s not Greesha. She’s methodical. Smart with money. This... this wasemotional. Sudden.

She planned this? Since last night?

I manage a few stiff words and back away, barely hearing the landlord’s warning about private property.