: Drunk Confessions and Silent Storms

The evening sea stretched endlessly, shimmering under the golden dusk. The small beachside restaurant Akash had reserved was tucked into a quiet cove, lit with fairy lights and soft lanterns swaying in the breeze. A table had been arranged just for them—intimate, romantic, private.

Pihu stepped out of their car, her long sea-blue gown flowing like waves around her legs, hair loose and kissed by the salty wind, eyes glowing with wonder. For a moment, Akash forgot how to breathe.

She was radiant. Effortlessly beautiful.

He swallowed hard, adjusting the cuff of his shirt, forcing his face into calm indifference even as something primal in him stirred.

“You look…” he started, then paused. “Different.”

“Different good or different bad?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Dangerously good.”

They took their seats. The gentle murmur of waves accompanied soft violin music from a live duo playing nearby. They spoke lightly—about the sea, Greece, the stars overhead. Pihu’s laughter came easily, and for the first time in a while, Akash didn’t feel like he was playing a part. He almost believed he was the man she deserved.

Then came the wine.

A deep red, local vintage with the richness of berries and warmth that crept up slowly. Pihu was fascinated—she insisted on trying it after the server’s poetic description. One glass turned into two. Then three.

Akash stopped at one, knowing his limits. But Pihu? She was radiant, giddy, flushed—and absolutely, devastatingly drunk.

She leaned over, trying to whisper in Akash’s ear but missed entirely and ended up giggling. “Do you know what your eyes look like?” she slurred.

He arched an amused brow. “No, tell me.”

“Trouble,” she declared dramatically, pointing a finger at him like he’d been caught red-handed.

Akash chuckled under his breath, watching as she tried to untangle a napkin she’d somehow tied into a knot. The waiter passing by received a full-blown compliment about his shoes. She even tried to imitate the violinist—humming off-key with eyes shut in pure passion.

“Pihu,” Akash said carefully, “I think that’s enough wine.”

But she waved him off and leaned closer, suddenly quiet. “You broke my heart, Akash.”

He stilled.

Her voice cracked. “Do you even know how much I loved you back then?”

The humor faded from her expression, replaced by raw, drunken vulnerability. “I was ready to leave everything behind… my dignity, my dreams… just to be with you. And you—you made me feel like I was nothing.”

Akash looked away, jaw clenched.

“I smiled for everyone,” she continued, slurring, “but cried every night. Do you know how it feels to beg the universe to numb your heart just so you could sleep?”

She wiped a tear that slid down her cheek. “But guess what? It never did.”

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

The guilt, the one emotion he’d kept at bay for so long, began to stir inside him like a dormant fire flickering back to life.

“Come on,” he finally said, rising. “Let’s go.”

She staggered slightly, and he caught her, steadying her with one arm around her waist. As they walked along the moonlit path back to the hotel, she leaned into him—not because she trusted him, but because her body gave her no choice.

Back in the room, he laid her gently on the bed, brushing her hair from her forehead. She mumbled incoherently, still fighting the past in her dreams.

Akash sat by her side, staring at the ceiling.

For the first time, his plan felt heavier than before.

Golden sunlight spilled into the room through sheer white curtains, casting a warm glow across the soft beige walls and the edge of the king-sized bed where Pihu lay curled beneath the sheets. Her head pounded dully—a persistent reminder of the wine she’d so joyfully indulged in the night before.

She stirred, blinking slowly as reality began to settle back into place.

The unfamiliar softness of the bed. The faint scent of salt in the air. The sound of gentle waves brushing against the shore below their hotel balcony.

Greece. Honeymoon.

And then it hit her—last night.

She sat up abruptly, her hair tumbling messily around her face, heart racing.

Her memories came in fragments: laughter, the sea, wine… Akash. His steady hand guiding her back, his silent eyes watching her break down.

The things she had said.

God.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. She had told him about her heartbreak, her pain—she had exposed everything she’d buried for so long. And she didn’t even know how he reacted. Did he feel pity? Did he gloat? Was he angry?

She looked to her side.

Akash wasn’t there.

She scanned the room, but it was quiet—his side of the bed was untouched, the sheets perfectly smooth, like he hadn’t slept there at all.

Pihu let out a breath, torn between relief and confusion. Had he spent the night on the couch? Or somewhere else entirely?

As she swung her legs off the bed, her feet hit the cool marble floor. A soft knock sounded at the door.

She padded over and opened it just slightly.

Akash stood there, dressed casually in grey joggers and a fitted black T-shirt, holding two cups of coffee and a small paper bag.

He smiled—calm, collected.

“Morning,” he said smoothly. “You looked like you could use this.”

Pihu’s eyes dropped to the coffee in his hand, then back up to him.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice still groggy.

He walked in and placed the coffee on the table. “I got you some breakfast too—croissants, some fruit.”

She watched him cautiously. “About last night…”

He turned toward her, lips curving into a half-smile. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. You were drunk. It happens.”

His words were gentle, but something about them made her chest tighten. Did he really get it? Or was he just brushing it off?

“I didn’t mean to—” she started.

“Pihu,” he interrupted softly, stepping closer. “Whatever you said… it’s safe with me.”

She looked at him then, truly looked—into those eyes that once made her feel everything and nothing at the same time. And for a fleeting moment, she saw something unfamiliar.

Warmth. Or was it guilt?

But before she could read deeper, he picked up his coffee and changed the subject effortlessly.

“You should freshen up. I thought we could explore the old town today—do some shopping, maybe dinner at the hilltop café you mentioned last week.”

He remembered.

Pihu nodded slowly, still shaken but touched by his unexpected thoughtfulness.

As she walked toward the bathroom, her heart remained conflicted. A part of her wanted to believe in this new version of Akash—the one who brought coffee, remembered her favorites, who didn't mock her when she was vulnerable.

But deep down, the scars reminded her to tread carefully.