A U T H O R ' S P O V

Rudraksh does not storm away from her. He withdraws like a tide that has decided to carry its fury back into the sea, slow but inevitable. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if invisible chains are trying to anchor him to her. Yet he chooses to walk to the corner of the terrace where the old swing hangs forgotten. He lowers himself onto it, the chains moaning with a metallic cry, a sound that seems to echo the disquiet running through his veins. The swing sways gently, and for a moment he lets it cradle the weight of his unrest.