INT. LUXURY APARTMENT – NIGHT – MUMBAI
Rain slashes the tall windows of the penthouse like knives. Thunder grumbles across the skyline. Inside, the apartment is sleek and cold — marble floors, glass walls, and a silence that hums like a threat.
A glass shatters against the wall.
Ahaan.
Barefoot. Furious. Breathing heavily.
He paces like a caged animal across the living room, fists clenched, jaw locked, as rain trails down the windows behind him.
His hair is messy. His shirt hangs open. His eyes — once sharp and unreadable — now burn with something else.
Rage.
Restlessness.
Regret.
And something deeper.
Across the room, Mishri sits on the edge of the sofa, tense but composed. She's wearing a dark robe, her hair up in a messy knot, eyes quietly watching him.
MISHRI (cautiously):
"That was the last glass, Ahaan."
He doesn't respond.
He just runs a hand through his hair and grabs a chair — throwing it across the room.
Crash.
MISHRI (firm):
"Stop it."
He whips around.
AHAAN (shouting):
"Stop what, Mishri? Breathing?! Thinking?!
Because everything I touch turns into f**king ash!"
He breathes hard. The room vibrates with the storm outside — and the one within him.
Mishri stands up, calm but unafraid.
MISHRI:
"You need to sit down."
AHAAN (laughs bitterly):
"Don't treat me like I'm broken."
MISHRI (stepping closer):
"But you are."
He grabs her wrist — not violently, but tightly.
AHAAN (lower, colder):
"You said she was gone.
You said she wouldn't come back."
Mishri's eyes flicker, but her voice stays steady.
MISHRI:
"She isn't back."
AHAAN:
"Then why does it still hurt?"
His voice cracks — just for a second — and the rage melts into something worse:
Emptiness.
He lets go of her hand, backing away. Runs both hands down his face like he's trying to peel himself out of his own skin.
MISHRI (gently):
"You need rest. Your meds—"
AHAAN (snaps):
"I don't need pills. I need peace."
He falls back onto the couch, elbows on knees, head in his hands.
Mishri watches him in silence — knowing exactly why he's like this.
Why he hasn't been the same in six months.
Why he screams in his sleep.
Why he can't look her in the eye anymore.
But she says nothing.
Because the truth?
Would destroy him.
And maybe… her too.
---
INT. AHAAN'S BEDROOM – LATER THAT NIGHT
Ahaan lies in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Rain still falls outside.
Mishri sits beside him, watching him from a chair. She reaches out to touch his hand…
He flinches.
Not out of fear — but out of memory.
AHAAN (softly, almost a whisper):
"She used to hold my hand like that."
Mishri says nothing.
And beside her, Ahaan quietly breaks — again.