Volume 5, Chapter 7 – Ashes in the Rain
The rain returned with a vengeance that night, sweeping across Mumbai like a restless orchestra. The city’s skyline blurred into shadows, its neon heart pulsing through mist and water. In her small apartment, Kamini stood by the window, palms pressed against the cool glass, watching headlights smear into the wet streets below.
Her diary lay open on the bed behind her, yesterday’s words still raw: Some reflections are sharper than mirrors… I wonder which of us will break first.
A knock at her door broke the silence. Soft, deliberate. She turned, heart tripping into her throat.
It was Aarav.
His hair was damp, his shirt clinging to his frame, the faint smell of rain and whiskey trailing him like a ghost. His eyes held the weight of sleepless nights, yet they flickered with something tender — something fragile, almost pleading.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Kamini whispered, stepping aside anyway.
He entered without hesitation, his presence filling the small room, shrinking the space between them. He glanced at the diary on the bed, at the loose papers of audition scripts scattered on her table. A faint smile tugged at his lips, tired and knowing.
“This… is more honest than the Taj,” he murmured, pulling off his wet jacket. “More real than any set.”
She crossed her arms, masking the unease that rippled through her. “And what are you looking for here, Aarav? Real, or refuge?”
His silence was answer enough.
When he finally spoke, it was softer, almost a confession. “Every night I drink to quiet the noise. But tonight, the noise was louder than usual. Louder than the rain, louder than applause. So I came here.”
Kamini’s chest tightened. She wanted to hold him, to shield him from himself — and yet, she knew too well the danger of becoming someone’s anchor when the storm was not hers to weather.
“You can’t run from your shadows by hiding in mine,” she said quietly.
He stepped closer, eyes searching hers, voice low but urgent. “Maybe I don’t want to run. Maybe I just want someone to see me — the man, not the mask.”
The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken longing. Kamini’s pulse quickened as his hand brushed against hers, tentative, trembling. She let it linger — for a moment too long — before gently pulling away.
“Seeing you,” she whispered, “doesn’t mean saving you.”
His jaw tightened. For the first time, the superstar looked less like a man adored by millions and more like a boy on the verge of breaking. He moved toward the bed, picked up her diary, his thumb grazing the ink of her last entry.
“Which of us will break first,” he read aloud, his voice rough. He looked at her, something raw flashing in his eyes. “Maybe that’s what terrifies me — that it won’t be me.”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him she was stronger than she looked, that she had walked through storms long before his shadow fell across her path. But strength was not immunity. And his world — of whiskey, applause, and ghosts — was not one she could step into without burning.
The silence grew unbearable. Kamini turned away, clutching the window frame as if it were a lifeline. The rain outside beat harder, as though echoing the turmoil within.
Behind her, she heard the sound of a lighter — the scratch of flame. She turned. Aarav was holding a cigarette, the tip glowing faintly. His hand shook as he inhaled, exhaling a curl of smoke that seemed to hang in the dim light like an omen.
“I’ll destroy everything I touch,” he said, almost to himself. “And yet, Kamini… I can’t stay away.”
Her eyes stung. She wanted to scream, to tell him to leave, to slam the door on the danger he carried like a second skin. Instead, she stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of the cigarette, the tremor in his fingers.
“You don’t need to stay away,” she said softly. “You need to choose.”
His eyes locked on hers, desperate, searching for an answer she couldn’t give. He reached for her then — not with the hunger of desire, but with the vulnerability of a man drowning. His forehead rested against hers, breath shallow, uneven.
For a fleeting moment, time collapsed. The city, the rain, the applause, the addiction — all fell away. There was only him. Only her. Only the precipic
e between love and ruin.
And then, as if the weight of it became too much, Aarav pulled back. He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, grabbed his jacket, and without a word, walked out into the storm.
Kamini stood frozen, her breath trembling in her chest. Her diary lay open on the bed, ink smudged by his fingertips. She sat, picked up her pen, and wrote beneath her last entry:
“He carries fire in his veins, and I carry water in mine. Together, we are rain — beautiful, dangerous, and destined to leave only ashes behind.”
Outside, the rain swallowed the city whole
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