Chapter 23The Night of Seven Stars
It was 2:00 a.m.
The house was asleep, wrapped in the quiet hush of winter. The city lights blinked lazily in the distance, and the sky above Bandra held only seven stars—faint, scattered, stubbornly shining.
Suhani stood on the balcony, her fingers trembling around a crumpled Milky Bar wrapper.
Her eyes were swollen. Her breath uneven.
The sweetness of chocolate still lingered on her tongue, but her heart tasted only salt.
Behind her, the room was dim. Ahead of her, the sky felt endless.
And somewhere in that endless sky, she searched for answers.
Earlier that evening, her mother’s voice had been soft yet firm.
“Suhani beta,” her mother had said while folding clothes, “a very nice proposal has come. The boy is well-settled, educated, respectful. We are not forcing you. Just talk to him once on call. If you like, we can move ahead. If not, we won’t.”
Her father had adjusted his glasses and added gently, “We trust your decision. But at least give yourself a chance.”
Suhani had nodded.
She had smiled.
She had said, “Okay, Papa. I’ll talk.”
But inside… something cracked.
Because how do you explain to your parents that your heart has already chosen someone?
Someone who has never chosen you back.
Someone who never spoke his feelings.
Someone who stands close enough to hold your hand—yet far enough to suffocate you.
Dhruv.
She had tried to deny it once. Tried to avoid him. Pretended indifference. Told herself she was confused.
But time had a cruel habit of revealing truths.
And her truth was simple.
Her heart only held Dhruv.
And that was the problem.
Because Dhruv never said anything.
He returned from international trips. He planned New Year celebrations. He brought gifts. He laughed. He cared.
But he never spoke.
And silence, sometimes, is louder than rejection.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She looked up at the sky.
“How many stars can you see?” she asked softly, without turning.
Behind her, footsteps had paused.
Dhruv had woken up for water.
He hadn’t expected to find her there.
Crying.
He froze.
“Seven,” he replied gently.
She swallowed.
“Can you see the smallest one?”
“Yes,” he said, stepping closer. “Of course.”
“How do you think that smallest star feels… among these big stars?”
Dhruv exhaled slowly.
“It must feel protected. Pampered. Like a baby star.”
Suhani shook her head.
“No. Maybe it feels invisible. Maybe it feels it either has to grow bigger… or leave that sky and find another one where it can shine equally.”
Her voice broke.
A tear fell.
Dhruv’s heart clenched.
Before he could speak, she walked past him.
Without looking at him.
Without waiting.
He stood there, helpless.
He had never seen her this fragile.
He wanted to hold her.
But something stopped him.
Maybe fear.
Maybe guilt.
Maybe the weight of twelve silent years.
Inside her room, Suhani shut the door softly.
She pressed her palm against her mouth to stop herself from sobbing loudly.
She splashed water on her face.
Looked at her reflection.
“You are strong,” she whispered to herself. “You always fight alone.”
She lay down.
Closed her eyes.
And memory unfolded.
— Flashback —
A twelve-year-old boy stood in the middle of a school ground.
Confused.
Upset.
Torn between dreams and duty.
His grandparents wanted him near. His parents wanted him abroad. His heart wanted stability.
Little Dhruv felt small.
Invisible.
Suddenly—
Thud.
A girl in a baby pink frock, high ponytails bouncing, holding a lemon in her hand, bumped into him.
“Sorry, Bhaiya!” she chirped.
He didn’t respond.
She ran away without caring.
Minutes later, during hide-and-seek, she hid behind him.
“Thank you, Bhaiya!” she whispered, pressing something into his hand.
A Milky Bar.
“This is my favourite chocolate. It brings happiness. When I grow up, I will marry you and won’t let you be sad anymore. Smile, Bhaiya!”
He stared at her.
No one had ever spoken to him like that.
So confidently.
So innocently.
So… warmly.
He smiled.
For the first time that day.
And from that day, the boy who loved dark chocolate started loving Milky Bars.
Because it reminded him—
Of hope.
Of light.
Of a tiny girl who believed happiness could be gifted.
— Flashback Ends —
Dhruv stood on his balcony now, restless.
His heart whispered, Don’t let her drown.
He remembered the second time he saw her.
At a kulfi shop.
She was laughing with her parents, white kulfi melting down her fingers.
He had whispered to himself, “Little girl, I will marry you one day. I will give you everything your heart desires.”
He had clenched his fists.
“Teri khushi ke liye main kuch bhi kar sakta hoon.”
And in the silence of his teenage heart, he had promised:
“Tu hassdi reh bas, meri jaan,
Tere chehre te noor sada chamkda rahe.
Je rab vi roke saade raste,
Main taqdeer naal vi lad jaaunga tere vaste.”
He built his empire brick by brick.
Not just for ambition.
But as a symbol.
Of eternal love.
He stayed away intentionally.
He wanted her independent.
Strong.
Unattached to his shadow.
He never wanted her to feel obligated.
But now…
He feared he had stayed silent too long.
Morning arrived quietly.
Suhani’s phone rang.
Her mother’s voice came through.
“Beta, the boy will call tonight at 9. Just talk calmly. You are in Bandra right now, right?”
“Yes, Maa.”
“Don’t be nervous. We only want your happiness.”
Happiness.
The word felt heavy.
All day, Suhani functioned like a machine.
At 9 p.m., her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She inhaled deeply.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Suhani. This is Arjun.”
His voice was polite. Measured.
They exchanged basic questions.
Work.
Hobbies.
Family.
He said, “I believe marriage should have companionship. I respect independent women.”
She nodded though he couldn’t see her.
He sounded decent.
Kind.
Stable.
Everything a family would approve.
Everything that made sense.
And yet—
Her heart was silent.
No flutter.
No warmth.
No trembling.
Just politeness.
After the call ended, she sat quietly.
Her mother called immediately.
“How was he?”
“He’s nice,” Suhani replied honestly.
“Nice?” her mother asked carefully.
“Yes. Nice.”
Dhruv, in his room, stared at his phone.
He had overheard enough.
Enough to know she was slipping away.
That night, he knocked on her door.
“Suhani?”
“Yes?”
“Can we talk?”
She opened the door.
Her eyes were calm now.
Too calm.
He stepped inside.
“I heard… about the call.”
She looked at him directly.
“Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
She paused.
Then asked softly, “Are you?”
The question pierced him.
“What do you mean?”
“Dhruv,” she whispered, “for years I have tried to understand what we are. I avoided you once because I was unsure. Then I realised my heart only knows your name. But you… you never speak.”
He swallowed.
She continued.
“I feel suffocated. Like that smallest star. Either I have to grow bigger to fit your silence… or leave.”
His voice cracked.
“I never wanted you to feel small.”
“Then why,” she asked, tears forming again, “did you never tell me what I am to you?”
Because he was afraid.
Because he wanted her to choose freely.
Because he feared losing her.
But excuses felt meaningless now.
He stepped closer.
“Suhani… I have loved you since you were that girl with the Milky Bar.”
Her breath hitched.
“I built everything with one thought—that you should never struggle. I stayed back so you could learn to stand without me. I thought if I never imposed myself, you would come to me by choice.”
“I already did,” she whispered. “Many times.”
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Sacred.
“I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared that if I spoke and you didn’t feel the same, I would lose even the little place I had in your life.”
She let out a soft, broken laugh.
“And I was scared that if you never spoke, I would lose myself waiting.”
He reached out slowly.
“Don’t talk to him because you feel pressured.”
“I didn’t,” she said honestly. “I talked because I was tired of waiting.”
His heart clenched.
“Suhani… marry me. Officially let's public our relationship”
The words were simple.
Unadorned.
But real.
“I don’t promise perfection,” he continued, voice shaking. “I promise partnership. I promise I will never let you feel like the smallest star again. You will be my sky.”
Tears streamed freely now.
“You idiot,” she whispered. “Do you know how long I waited to hear that?”
He smiled through his own tears.
“I’m sorry I took twelve years.”
She pulled the Milky Bar wrapper from her pocket.
“I kept this.”
He laughed softly.
“I still hate dark chocolate.”
She stepped into his arms.
And for the first time—
Neither of them held back.
Neither of them pretended strength.
Neither of them stayed silent.
Somewhere above Bandra, seven stars shimmered.
And the smallest one didn’t feel invisible anymore.
Because sometimes, love isn’t about shining alone.
It’s about finding someone who sees your light—
Even when you feel small.
And chooses you.
Out loud.
