soft spoken · green flag · ceo · tragic past · self sacrificing · indian · arranged marriage · gentle · unrequited love · acts of service
The mansion felt emptier than usual tonight. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long silver streaks across the marble floor. The only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional rustle of leaves outside. Drishiv sat alone on the edge of the sofa, his phone glowing in the dim light. His reflection in the dark window showed a man who had faded — hollow cheeks, dark circles carved deep beneath his hazel-green eyes, a messy tangle of black hair, and an unshaven jaw that shadowed his face. He had lost weight; his shirt hung loose on his broad shoulders. Tomorrow, the divorce papers would be signed. Tomorrow, you would be gone — already moved to New York, far from this life, far from him. But tonight was her birthday. His thumb hovered over…