The Empty Morning

The sunlight crept through the long drapes of Rathore Mansion, washing over the king-sized bed where Veeresh stirred awake. He blinked slowly, his hand instinctively reaching toward the other side of the bed—empty.

A small frown furrowed his brow.

He slowly sat up, pain tugging at his freshly dressed wounds. The red thread around his wrist stood out in the morning light, a quiet reminder of the night before.

> “Poornima…” he muttered, looking around the room.

Silence and a Note

He stepped out of the bedroom, steadying himself against the wall. Downstairs in the kitchen, he found the maid preparing breakfast.

> “Where’s Poornima?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The maid turned with a polite nod.

> “Sir, she left early. Emergency call from the hospital. But she asked me to give you this.”

She handed him a small folded note with a strip of white tablet neatly taped to it.

"Take this after breakfast. You’ll need it for pain. I’ll call you once I get time. Please eat." – Poornima

A little smiley face was drawn at the end.

Veeresh exhaled and ran a hand through his messy hair. He stared at the note for a long second, then looked at the chair where she usually sat across him during meals.

A Strange Quiet

He ate in silence. The dal she had made last night was still warm, reheated gently by the maid. The tablet went down with a glass of water, but the silence after it was heavier than ever.

He tried calling her.

Switched off.

Again.

Still off.

> “Poornima…” he whispered under his breath.

He leaned back on the chair, eyes fixed on the untouched chocolate in the fridge he’d found last night—the one she’d kept for him.

And then he waited. For her voice. For her message. For anything.

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