The sky above the old riverbank wasn't painted in gold or violet. It held the gray-blue stillness of an overcast day—calm, cool, and untouched. The wind didn't push the trees. It only lingered between the leaves, waiting for something unsaid to happen.
Raj stood near the bend. The same one where they had skipped stones as kids. The river still crawled past, slow and glassy, reflecting clouds that seemed to carry memories instead of moisture.
His hands were behind his back, his chin slightly lowered. He wasn't nervous. But he wasn't steady either. This wasn't a confrontation. It wasn't even a confession in the traditional sense.
It was a reckoning—with himself first.
Footsteps approached behind him.
He didn't turn. He didn't need to. He felt her presence before the sound reached his ears. He could tell from the rhythm alone that it was Spandana. Her steps always sounded like she was walking with thought, not haste.
