Page 191 of Dream On, Liar

“Really?”

Rihaan sighed. “Well, I would like to talk about it. But at the same time, when I kissed you in bed—after making it abundantly clear why we shouldn’t, I can’t put this on you, can I?”

All I could do was nod, and that was that.

“Right. I’m gonna take a shower.” He muttered, under his breath before turning on his heels.

When I gave into the impulse that had been climbing me since I woke up this morning, I didn’t feel brave.

Not even a little.

I felt hollow, as though something had been scooped out of me and left behind in that cabin, still warm and still breathing, waiting for me to come back and pretend I hadn’t noticed it was gone.

The worst part was how quiet everything had become inside my own head. There was no anger and no clarity, nothing sharp enough to hold onto. There was only a slow, sinking ache that made every step feel slightly delayed, as though my body had not agreed with the decision even if my hands had.

I kept replaying it.

Not the argument.

Not the logic.

Rihaan.

The way he had looked at me when he asked for space. He had not looked cruel or careless. He had looked careful, as though he were trying to protect something fragile by holding it at arm’s length.

And I hated that I understood him.

Because understanding him made it harder to justify leaving. It made this feel less like an escape and more like a loss.

I sat in the airport and stared at my boarding pass until the words blurred.

London.

Home.

The two words should have meant safety. Familiarity. Something I was returning to.

Instead, home suddenly felt too large for what it actually meant.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the paper.

I should have felt relieved. That was what I kept telling myself. I had made the responsible choice. I had avoided asking him to carry something he had never asked for. I had left before something good could become complicated and painful.

But there was no relief.

There was only absence.

A shape where he had been. A silence that somehow still sounded like his voice.

I pressed my thumb against the crease in the boarding pass until it hurt.

Pain was easier to understand than everything else.

When the announcement for boarding echoed through the terminal, I stood too quickly. My legs felt unsteady, as though they did not fully belong to me anymore.

I joined the queue without looking around.

I did not let myself wonder what I might see if I did.