She stared at the message for a full minute. Part of her wanted to ignore it. But her fingers moved on their own, placing the phone aside. She stood up slowly.
“I don’t know why he wants to see me… but if this is the last time, I want to remember it.”
She walked to the mirror and gently touched her face, brushing back a loose strand of hair.
A soft smile played on her lips, faint and bittersweet.
“Just one more time…”
She picked out a simple but elegant navy-blue dress.
As she applied light makeup and stepped into her heels, her mind replayed every moment tied to that rooftop.
She in his arms. Eyes locked. The realisation about their feelings.
At 8:45, she left her room, her heart pounding, unsure of what she would find at the top of that restaurant—but knowing deep down, she had to go.
The soft hum of Paris lingered beneath them, the Eiffel Tower glittering like a jewel against the indigo sky. Candlelight danced across the white tablecloth, untouched glasses of wine sat in silence, waiting. A gentle breeze carried memories through the air.
Shruti stepped onto the rooftop, her heart pounding. Her eyes immediately found him.
Siddharth was standing at the edge, his back to her, looking out over the glowing city. He turned as she approached, eyes unreadable.
A long pause.
Then he spoke.
“Remember this place?”
Shruti’s breath hitched.
She did. How could she not?
Her eyes softened as she looked around — the soft music, the lanterns above, the sky almost identical to that night over a year ago. The night they didn’t say it aloud, but their eyes confessed everything.
“That night,” Siddharth continued, his voice low, “I didn’t need you to say anything. I knew you loved me… because I did too.”
Shruti swallowed, her lips parting slightly, but no words came out.
He took a step forward, the vulnerability behind his calm cracking just a little.
"If I asked you now—just for tonight—as if this was our last meeting… our closure… would you finally tell me the truth?”
Shruti blinked, her throat tightening. Her fingers trembled as she looked away.
“There’s no point in digging up the past, Siddharth,” she said, softly. “We’ve both moved on.”
His jaw clenched.
“Then let me make it easier for you,” he said, voice growing firm. “I know the truth.”
She froze.
Her eyes snapped to his in disbelief.
"W-What…?”
“I know what your father did. I know about the deal you made. About how you lied to protect me. I know everything.”
Silence thundered between them.
Shruti looked shaken, her eyes welling up.
“How?” she whispered.
“Aryan found out. He spoke to Isha.”
Shruti’s lips trembled. She turned away, hiding her tears, but Siddharth’s voice followed her.
"Why, Shruti?” he asked, pained. “Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me? You should’ve known I would've fought this… I would've chosen you, even if everything burned.”
Her shoulders shook.
“That’s exactly why I didn’t,” she said, finally turning to face him. Her voice cracked. “I knew you would burn everything to protect me. I couldn’t let that happen. Your father’s legacy… your company… everything you worked for. I wasn’t strong enough to watch you lose it all for me.”
Siddharth looked away, struggling with his own emotion. His fists clenched at his sides.
“I can’t forgive you, Shruti.”
She closed her eyes, silently nodding — expecting the worst.
But then he added, voice breaking:
“Not because you ruined my life. But because you ruined yourself to save mine. You lived in silence. In pain. Alone.”
Shruti gasped softly, her eyes meeting his.
He stepped closer, pain and longing clashing in his gaze.
“Do you know how it feels to hate the person you love every single day? And still wish they’d come back?”
Her tears fell freely now.
"I never stopped loving you, Siddharth,” she whispered. “Even when you hated me.”
He stared at her, eyes burning. Then, slowly, he exhaled.
“I don't know what to do with this pain anymore.”
And just like that — silence again.
But this time, not the kind that separated them.
The kind that tied their shattered pieces together.
Siddharth turned his back to her, his gaze lost in the sparkling Paris skyline. His shoulders were tense, his breath uneven — like he was battling every emotion at once. Words sat on the edge of his lips but never found their way out.
Shruti stood there, her heart thundering in her chest. Watching him from behind felt eerily familiar — like déjà vu of the worst kind. Like the wedding day. Like the moment he walked away a year ago.
And suddenly, she couldn’t bear it anymore.
She rushed toward him, and before he could react, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist from behind.
He stiffened, surprised, but didn’t move.
Her voice broke through the silence, trembling and raw.
"I didn’t want to be selfish, Siddharth..." she whispered against his back. "I couldn’t watch your world fall apart because of me. I thought I was protecting you... but I missed you. Every. Single. Day. It was too painful. There were nights I thought I wouldn’t survive the weight of it."
Her tears soaked into his shirt.
"But let me be selfish this time," she cried, clutching him tighter. "I don’t want you to go away again. I love you, Siddharth... I love you so much."
For a moment, he stood still, his breath caught between pain and disbelief.
Then slowly — achingly — he turned to face her.
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and her lips trembled with everything left unsaid.
He cupped her cheeks gently, tilting her face up to him. His thumb brushed away her tears.
"Promise me," he said quietly, "you’ll never hide anything from me again. No matter how difficult. No more silence between us."
She nodded vigorously, holding his wrists.
"I promise. On everything I have left."
His eyes searched hers for a moment longer — then he pulled her into a tight, unshakable hug.
Shruti melted into him, sobbing softly as he held her like he never wanted to let go again.
"Guess this place is lucky for us," he murmured into her hair, a faint smile touching his lips.
Shruti chuckled through her tears. "Yeah… I think it is."
As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the stars, the cool Parisian breeze carried the scent of lavender and hope.
Shruti rested her head against Siddharth’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat — the one she thought she’d lost forever. His arms around her weren’t just warm, they were home.
The Eiffel Tower sparkled behind them, casting a golden glow over their silhouettes — like the universe itself was giving them its blessing.
They stayed like that for a while, hearts silent but full.
Finally, Siddharth looked down at her and said with a soft, knowing smile,
"Roohi was right."
She blinked up at him, confused.
"About what?"
He brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"About this city."
Shruti smiled through her tears.
"Paris?"
He nodded.
"It really is the city of love."
"She is always right." She chuckled.
They both laughed, a little breathlessly, a little beautifully — the kind of laugh that only comes after surviving the storm.
And as the lights of Paris danced around them, Shruti and Siddharth stood hand in hand, knowing that whatever lay ahead — this time, they’d face it together.
Because sometimes... love gets lost.
But it always finds its way back.
Siddharth turned to Shruti with a determined look on his face. "We should return to India," he said, his voice firm and resolute. Shruti nodded in agreement, her eyes showing a mix of excitement and apprehension.
Siddharth's next words caught her off guard. "And if you are okay with it, I want to take you to my home first," he asked, his tone laced with a hint of nervousness. Shruti hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to expect. "O..okay," she stammered finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Siddharth's face lit up with a warm smile as he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "I'll tell Aryan to bring Roohi to India too," he said, his fingers moving swiftly over the keypad. The call was brief, and soon he was pocketing his phone.
After the conference meet they boarded a flight to India, the anticipation of their return and the uncertainty of what lay ahead hanging in the air.
The aircraft wheels touched Indian soil with a soft thud, but the thudding in Shruti’s chest was anything but soft.
Siddharth noticed her stillness beside him. She hadn’t spoken much since landing, her fingers twisting the edge of her dupatta. Her eyes were glued to the passing view from the car window, but her mind was clearly far away — or rather, just a few miles ahead.
“You okay?” Siddharth asked gently, shifting in his seat as their car drove toward the Rai Mansion.
Shruti looked at him, startled.
“I don’t know…” she admitted. “What if they don’t forgive me? What if… your father still hates me for what I did?”
Her voice cracked slightly at the end.
Siddharth reached out and held her hand.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Shruti. They’ll understand. I’ll explain everything.”
She gave a weak smile.
“You make it sound simple.”
He let out a dry laugh.
“Trust me, I’m just as nervous.”
She turned to him, surprised.
“You are?”
He nodded slowly.
“It’s been a year. I left without saying goodbye. Told Roohi not to call. Avoided even Dad when he tried to reach out. I thought… distance would heal things. But it only made me more bitter.”
He paused, the mansion gates now in sight.
“I don’t know how he’ll react either. But I do know this—” he turned to her, squeezing her hand. “I want to face it with you.”
Shruti’s eyes filled with emotion, but this time, she didn’t cry.
She nodded, her grip tightening on his fingers.
The car slowed.
The grand iron gates of Rai Mansion creaked open, revealing the familiar path lined with trimmed hedges and marbled statues. The same house that once echoed with laughter, that once held the promise of a future — now stood still, waiting.
As they approached the entrance, both of them took a deep breath.
Coming home wasn't easy.
But maybe, this time, it wouldn't be so hard.
The double doors of the Rai Mansion opened slowly.
The butler paused, eyes wide in disbelief at the sight of Siddharth standing at the threshold. But before he could say anything, a familiar voice echoed from inside the hallway—
“Who is it?”
It was Roohi.
She appeared at the top of the stairs, her eyes scanning curiously until they fell on her brother.
She froze.
“Bhaiya...?”
Siddharth stepped inside, pulling Shruti gently along with him. Roohi stared at them, hand over her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes as she rushed down the stairs and flung herself into her brother’s arms.
“Idiot!” she cried, hitting his shoulder. “You didn’t even call once! Do you know how much I cried?”
Siddharth hugged her back tightly, resting his chin on her head. “I missed you too, Roohi.”
She finally looked past him and saw Shruti.
Her expression faltered—just for a second—but then softened.
Shruti lowered her gaze.
“I… I’m sorry, Roohi.”
Roohi stepped forward slowly, then pulled her into a gentle hug.
“You both were stupid.” Her voice wavered. “But I’m glad you’re back. Both of you.”
Shruti choked back a tear as she held her.
Just then, a soft cough broke the moment.
They all turned.
Mr. Rai stood at the far end of the hallway, leaning slightly on his cane. His once proud frame looked older — wearier — but his eyes still held that sharpness. He walked forward slowly.
Siddharth straightened. Shruti instinctively moved back a step, but Siddharth grabbed her hand firmly.
Mr. Rai’s gaze landed on Shruti. A long silence passed between them.
Shruti stepped forward, her voice trembling.
“Uncle… I don’t expect forgiveness. I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt your family. I only—”
“—did what you thought was right,” Mr. Rai interrupted.
Shruti’s eyes widened.
He looked at her carefully, then at Siddharth.
“You protected me, even though I didn’t deserve it at the time. I let my pride come in the way of seeing your worth. And for that…” he paused, “I’m sorry.”
Shruti couldn’t stop the tear that fell.
Mr. Rai gave a small nod, then turned to Siddharth.
“You’re not the only one who left. I let my anger eat away the rest of the year. But not anymore.”
He opened his arms, voice gruff. “Come here.”
Siddharth didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and embraced his father tightly, for the first time in a year.
Shruti stood behind, hand over her chest, overcome with emotion. Roohi looped her arm with hers, giving her a side hug.
Mr. Rai looked at her again, this time with warmth.
“Welcome home, Shruti.”
Later that evening, the Rai Mansion was bathed in a warmth it hadn’t felt in over a year. The old emptiness had been replaced by laughter, shared stories, and cautious joy.
Over dinner, Mr. Rai gently set his spoon down and looked at Shruti with a thoughtful smile.
“It’s time we make things right,” he said.
Shruti looked up, unsure of what he meant.
He turned to Siddharth.
“I want to visit Shruti’s mother. Let’s fix the wedding date.”
Shruti’s eyes widened, her breath catching.
Siddharth smiled beside her, his hand slipping quietly into hers under the table.
Roohi grinned ear to ear.
Shruti’s cheeks flushed. She felt a hundred emotions at once — joy, disbelief, relief. Everything she had silently longed for was finally happening.
After dinner, as they walked in the garden under the stars, she turned to Siddharth.
“Can I ask you something?” she said hesitantly.
“Anything.”
She looked down for a moment, then met his gaze.
“Can I meet Vihaan once?”
Siddharth blinked, caught off guard — but only for a second. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Of course.”
There was no anger in his voice. No bitterness. Just quiet understanding.
“You cared for him like a friend. And he… he loved you too.”
Shruti smiled faintly, her eyes misting over.
“Thank you.”
Siddharth gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Whatever you need, Shruti. I’m with you now — no matter what.”
And in that moment, beneath the moonlight, with old wounds healing and new beginnings unfolding, everything felt right again.
The café was tucked away on a quiet street, the kind with warm lights and soft jazz in the background. Vihaan was already seated by the window when Shruti arrived.
He stood the moment he saw her, a wide smile stretching across his face — the kind that reached his eyes, like a child being handed a long-awaited answer.
“Shruti!” he said, nervous excitement dancing in his voice.
“You look… wow. Beautiful.”
Shruti smiled faintly, guilt already pressing on her chest.
“Hi, Vihaan.”
They sat.
For a few moments, he spoke animatedly, about Paris, about her presentation, about how he always knew she’d shine. Shruti nodded, forcing a smile — but her heart was heavy.
Then came the silence. The one where his eyes quietly asked the question he was too hopeful to say aloud.
Shruti finally spoke.
“Vihaan… I owe you the truth.”
His smile faltered, but he kept his posture calm, hands folded on the table.
She took a deep breath.
“I was never supposed to let it get that far. The engagement... the closeness. I was running away. From pain, from guilt. From everything I felt for someone I had already lost.”
Vihaan didn’t interrupt. He just listened.
“But that person… he didn’t really go away. He stayed. Here,” she touched her heart, voice trembling, “and now… he’s back.”
The light in Vihaan’s eyes dimmed, just a little. Shruti saw it. Even though he smiled the next moment, she saw it — the flicker of sadness he tried to bury.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head.
“You know…” he said, staring at his coffee, “I had a feeling. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
Shruti blinked away a tear.
“Vihaan, I never meant to hurt you.”
He looked at her with gentle eyes — kind, yet heavy.
“I know. That’s the worst part. You never led me on. You were just… lost. And I tried to be the path.”
Silence.
Then, he smiled again — softer, more distant.
“We’re adults, Shruti. Mature enough to let go of things… even if we wanted them.”
Shruti stood slowly, unsure how to say goodbye.
He beat her to it.
“Take care of him. And yourself.”
He smiled one last time. “Don’t look back.”
She blinked fast and nodded, then walked away — feeling the finality in every step.
Vihaan stepped out shortly after, his hands in his pockets, the sky grey above him.
The first raindrop hit his cheek. Then another. And another.
He looked up, letting the cold drops kiss his face, and then slowly laughed — a bitter, hollow laugh that echoed quietly into the grey evening.
“Figures,” he murmured.
Was it the rain?
Or were they tears?
Even he wasn’t sure anymore.
He turned away, letting the storm fall over him, and walked into the blur of the city — leaving behind what could’ve been, and carrying only what was.
A few days after it was finally the day of their wedding.
The wedding wasn’t grand in scale, but it was grand in meaning.
No press. No business allies. Just family, a few close friends, and hearts that had weathered storms.
The Rai Estate’s garden had been transformed into a dream — soft golden lights strung between the trees, fresh jasmine and mogra scenting the air, and the mandap framed by white roses and delicate maroon drapes.
Shruti sat quietly as her mother adjusted the dupatta over her head. The reflection in the mirror didn’t feel like a bride who once called off her own wedding in tears.
She looked like someone who had lived, fought, lost, and still chose love.
Her mother kissed her forehead.
“You’ve grown so much.”
Shruti smiled softly. “Pain does that.”
Outside, Siddharth stood in an ivory sherwani, waiting under the mandap. Roohi was beside him, teasing. Aryan adjusted his safa and offered a proud wink.
When Shruti walked down the aisle, her eyes locked with Siddharth’s — and everything else faded.
No one could see the war they had survived.
But they did. In each other’s eyes.
The rituals began. Vows exchanged under the sacred fire.
And then, as the final mangal phera completed, Siddharth whispered, just for her:
“No more running.”
She looked up at him and smiled.
“No more silence.”
Cheers erupted. Flower petals rained down. Roohi cried. Shruti’s mother folded her hands toward the sky, whispering a prayer of thanks.
~THE END~
Author’s Note
Thank you for joining Shruti and Siddharth’s journey.
Their story is one of love, sacrifice, and finding each other again — even when all seemed lost.
I’m truly grateful for every reader who stayed till the end.
You made this story come alive.
And yes…
Paris is the city of love — but your love made this story magical.
– With all my heart,
Palak Sharma.
