For an entire week, Akash Pal had searched for any trace of Chitrakshi Sen, but she had vanished without a whisper. No messages, no sightings, nothing. Just when he had begun to believe she had slipped out of his reach forever, fate played its cruel trick.

That Sunday morning, as he sat in his car outside the sprawling Sen mansion, his patience on the verge of breaking, the front door opened. And there she was.

Chitrakshi Sen stepped out, her presence almost otherworldly against the golden light of the early sun. She wore a red saree, its silk draping around her like a whisper of fire, each fold swaying with her movements. Her hair cascaded down her back in waves, the way he had always admired, the way she used to wear it for someone special. The sight of her after all these days sent a rush of emotions crashing into him—relief, rage, and something dangerously close to longing.

She carried a bag, her delicate fingers curled around its strap with purpose. Without hesitation, she walked toward the sleek, black sedan parked in the driveway. The driver opened the door, and she slid inside, then drove away herself.

Akash gritted his teeth, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Where was she going?

He started his engine, keeping a safe distance as her car pulled out of the driveway and glided through the quiet Sunday streets of Kolkata. The city, usually alive with its chaotic symphony, seemed to move in slow motion as he followed her, each turn tightening the coil of suspicion in his chest.

Then, her car stopped.

Sen Publishers. Their office.

Akash frowned. Why here, and on a Sunday of all days? No staff would be working. The building should be empty. Unless—

Before he could complete the thought, another car pulled up behind hers, drawing his gaze like a magnet.

A navy blue Mercedes.

His pulse quickened. He knew that car. Knew the man who owned it.

The door opened, and Kiaan Roy stepped out.

Akash’s breath hitched, his heartbeat turning into a deafening roar in his ears. Kiaan—Chitrakshi’s past, her so-called ended affair, the man she had left behind. Or had she?

His fingers trembled over the gearshift. Every ounce of logic told him to stay calm, to think rationally, but the sight before him was a blade twisting in his gut. Kiaan strode toward the office doors with the confidence of someone who belonged. No hesitation. No secrecy.

Akash clenched his jaw, his nails digging into his palm. The pieces were falling into place, and the truth was uglier than he had ever imagined.

Their relationship hadn’t ended.

It was still alive. Still burning. Still igniting like a flame refusing to die.

His vision blurred with fury as his body stiffened with betrayal. The world outside shrank, drowned in the red haze clouding his mind. And before he could stop himself, the rage erupted from his throat in a feral, breathless snarl inside his car.

“You bitch!”

The words shattered the suffocating silence, yet the storm inside him only raged stronger.

Akash Pal could no longer sit still. His blood was boiling, his breath ragged with the weight of betrayal. Without thinking, he stepped out of his car, his movements swift and silent as he approached the entrance of Sen Publishers. The building loomed before him, its glass doors gleaming under the morning sun, mocking him with their transparency. He pushed them open, slipping inside with the ease of a shadow.

The office was quiet, the air thick with the scent of old paper and fresh ink. But as he moved further in, a sound reached his ears—a faint melody, growing louder with every step. Laughter followed, rich and carefree, interwoven with the unmistakable clink of beer glasses.

Akash’s heart clenched. His fists curled so tight his knuckles turned white.

He crept closer, his steps measured, until he reached the large meeting room enclosed by transparent glass walls. His breath caught at the sight before him.

Chitrakshi Sen and Kiaan Roy sat across from each other, their faces illuminated by amusement. She was laughing—her head tilted back, her eyes gleaming, the same eyes that once held unspoken promises for him. Kiaan, equally relaxed, threw a playful remark, and she responded with a teasing retort, their laughter spilling into the air like the careless wind.

The sight made Akash’s stomach turn.

Beads of sweat formed at his temple, trailing down the sides of his face as he clenched his jaw. The fire in his chest urged him forward, demanding he storm into the room, shake her, demand answers—punish them both for this mockery. His nails dug into his palm, the sting of pain the only thing keeping him from acting on impulse.

His breath was shallow, his vision blurred with rage. His feet ached to move, to close the distance, to strike, to demand why.

But then, a voice in his head whispered, Not now, Akash. Not here.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the scream rising in his throat. His pulse hammered in his ears as he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the building, his fury caged—for now.

The ember at the tip of Akash Pal’s cigarette glowed faintly in the dimly lit room, casting an eerie orange hue over his fingers. Smoke curled around his face, dissolving into the thick silence that had become his constant companion.

He sat slouched in the armchair by the window, his legs stretched out, his gaze fixed on the world beyond the glass—lifeless, detached. The once vibrant energy in his eyes had dulled, darkened beneath the weight of sleepless nights. His beard had grown out, rough and untamed, a testament to the days that had slipped through his fingers without care. The scent of stale smoke clung to his clothes, merging with the bitterness that had settled in his chest.

It had been weeks since Chitrakshi Sen had slipped from his grasp, leaving him to wrestle with the storm of unanswered questions. He had drowned himself in solitude, in cigarettes, in the quiet suffering of a man who had lost his way.

Then, on a fine Wednesday, the silence was broken.

His phone buzzed against the table, the sudden intrusion jolting him from his trance. He hesitated for a moment before picking it up, his voice rough from disuse.

“Hello?”

“Akash,” came the deep, authoritative voice of Bipin Sen—his future father-in-law, though the title now felt like a cruel joke.

Akash straightened slightly, rubbing his temple. “Yes, Bipin?” and he takes a gap then combines with the word “Ji” reluctantly.

“I need you to take care of something for me.”

There was a pause, as if Bipin was carefully choosing his words.

“The Sen Publishers are facing an issue. Several books are yet to be published because we haven’t received the paper stock from our supplier. You remember Gaurav Banerjee, don’t you?”

Akash exhaled a stream of smoke, his fingers tightening around the cigarette. He had heard the name before. Gaurav Banerjee—an old associate of Sen Publishers, the man who had been supplying them with paper at an unbelievably cheap price for over twenty-five years.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice edged with indifference.

“Well, we need him to send the next batch of paper immediately. I want you to meet him in person and want you to know the reason why the paper stock was not yet delivered and make sure whether he can deliver the stock on time or not and if he can, make sure the stock is delivered without delay and let him know if he can’t deliver the stock, we will have to go for an alternative because of emergency”

Akash frowned, his exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by confusion. “Why me?”

Bipin’s voice remained firm. “Because you’re the only one I trust to handle this. I don’t have time for delays, Akash. Just go and speak to him. Convince him if you have to and know the reasons for the delay. We cannot afford to keep waiting.”

For a long moment, Akash said nothing. The idea of stepping out, of facing the world when all he wanted was to disappear into the haze of his cigarette smoke, felt like a burden too heavy to bear.

But then again, what else did he have left?

With a deep sigh, he crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, watching the embers die out.

“Fine,” he said finally. “I’ll go.”

Bipin exhaled, the tension in his voice softening slightly. “Good.I will be expecting a call from you after meeting Gaurav Banerjee”

The call ended, leaving Akash staring at his reflection in the glass. His hollow eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the unshaven face of a man who had lost himself.