The rain fell in thin, silvery sheets, blurring the city lights into a hazy dream. Somewhere far below, the world rushed on — cars honking, people shouting, lives moving. But up here, on the cold marble terrace of the Randhawa estate, time stood painfully still.

Pihu Dubey stood trembling, the words she had held in her heart for years finally spilling past her lips, raw and trembling.

"I love you, Akash," she whispered, her voice almost lost to the storm. "I have loved you for as long as I can remember."

For a fleeting second, she thought she saw something flicker in his sharp, dark eyes — surprise, maybe. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

Akash stepped back as if her confession were something distasteful. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke, each word struck harder than the rain slashing across her skin.

"Pihu," he said, voice smooth with cruel precision, "you’re the daughter of my father’s employee. Nothing more."
His gaze swept over her — the simple cotton dress clinging to her frame, the earnest hope shining in her wide eyes — and a mocking smile curved his lips.
"You really thought someone like me would ever look at someone like you?" he asked, almost laughing. "Dream smaller, Pihu. Stay where you belong."

The words carved themselves into her soul, deep and irreversible. Pihu stood frozen, the confession she'd once thought would change her life now shattering it instead.
The rain washed her tears away before they could fall.

In that moment, beneath a sky heavy with sorrow, Pihu Dubey realized love was not always a two-way road. Sometimes, it was just a long, lonely wait — a heart standing alone at the edge of a dream, waiting for a miracle that might never come.