Ananya sat with her chin resting on her palm, watching the condensation slide down her glass of Coke. Across from her, the chair was empty. It had been empty for forty-seven minutes.
The empty chair wasn't empty anymore.
The pub’s playlist shuffled. A familiar, aching guitar riff cut through the low hum of conversation. Then, that voice. Not a shout, not a wail. A quiet, desperate plea that felt like someone confessing a secret they’d held too long. arijit singh songs
The next song began. A soft piano, then Arijit’s voice, fragile as glass: “Humko kiske gham ne maara...” Ananya sat with her chin resting on her