Two Years Later

The rain fell gently over the cobbled streets of Edinburgh, painting the historic city in shades of slate and silver. The air held a chill, but Pihu Dubey felt nothing but warmth as she laughed freely, walking under a shared umbrella with her closest friend, Dr. Alexander Grey—Alex to everyone who knew him.

They had just exited the lecture hall at the University of Edinburgh, where Pihu was now completing her Master’s in Clinical Psychology, with a focus on trauma recovery. Her growth over the past two years had been nothing short of extraordinary. Gone was the timid girl who once hid her heart in silence, crushed by a one-sided love. In her place stood a confident, articulate woman who commanded both admiration and affection from everyone around her.

Alex had been a constant in her life since her first day at the university. Tall, blonde, with an easy smile and an intellect as sharp as his cheekbones, he had become her first real friend in a foreign land. He was a trauma psychologist himself and understood the unspoken weight she carried.

“You absolutely destroyed Professor Mackenzie’s argument today,” Alex said with a grin, adjusting the umbrella as they walked. “Your rebuttal on the trauma model was clinical poetry.”

Pihu chuckled, pushing a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I didn’t come all the way from Rishikesh to stay quiet in class.”

“I’d toast to that.”

Later that evening, they joined their usual group at their favorite café, The Raven’s Nest, a cozy spot tucked near the university library. The place was buzzing with students and soft jazz music. Warm lights glowed above dark wooden tables, and the smell of cinnamon and coffee filled the air.

Pihu sat with her coffee, surrounded by her vibrant circle of friends—Alex, Mia from Ireland, Luca from Italy, and Sara from Kenya. They shared stories, teased one another, and celebrated a successful semester. The warmth of friendship and the security of finding her place made Pihu feel whole again.

She rarely thought of Rishikesh anymore. The memories had dulled with time, like photographs left in the sun. Even the thought of Akash Randhawa no longer stirred anger or longing. He was just a chapter she had closed.

Thousands of kilometers away, in the heart of Mumbai’s corporate district, Akash Randhawa stood atop the glassy sprawl of the Randhawa International building. His tailored suit clung to his tall, commanding frame, his hair slicked back, his expression composed.

He had become the man he always envisioned: a titan in business, with holdings in construction, tech, fashion, and pharmaceuticals. Forbes had featured him twice. Magazines labeled him India’s most eligible bachelor—until recently.

Samaira Khan—or Sam, as she preferred—was a leading supermodel with international campaigns and a sharp tongue. With her striking beauty and magnetic presence, she had quickly become Akash’s arm candy at elite parties. They were the most photographed couple in the business world.

But behind the glittering public image, things were far less perfect.

“Akash, I swear to God if your mother calls me that girl one more time, I’m going to lose it,” Sam snapped one morning, tossing her designer clutch onto the marble floor of Akash’s penthouse.

“She’s old-fashioned, Sam. You know how she is.” Akash sighed, pulling off his cufflinks.

“She doesn’t want me in your life, and you’re doing absolutely nothing about it.”

“I’m handling it.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just keeping us both on a string. Maybe I should go party in Ibiza with Aarav like I planned.”

Akash didn’t reply. He poured himself a drink and stared out the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights flickering like fireflies.

His life was supposed to feel perfect now. Power. Wealth. A beautiful girlfriend. The envy of every man in his circle.

And yet...

Something always felt just out of reach.

He hadn’t thought of Pihu in years. Not really. Her departure had felt like a nuisance, a child walking away after being scolded. He assumed she’d get over it, stay in India, maybe marry someone decent, become a teacher. He never bothered to check.

His father had mentioned her name once over dinner, casually, saying, “Mohan’s daughter got into some foreign university. Psychology, I think. Smart girl.”

Akash had nodded, uninterested.

But in quiet moments—rare as they were—he occasionally thought of her eyes that night. The fire. The defiance. The silence with which she left.

Back in Edinburgh, Pihu curled on her window seat, sipping hot cocoa and reviewing her notes. She had an internship lined up with the NHS’s trauma unit next month. Her paper on emotional resilience post-childhood abandonment was being considered for publication.

Alex messaged her.

Alex: “Dinner tomorrow? My place? I’m making pasta and existential dread.”

Pihu: “As long as there’s wine too.”

Alex: “Always.”

She smiled. Her life now was filled with light. No shadows. No regrets.

And yet, fate has a habit of turning corners unannounced.