If anyone had seen Poornima Azeez walk into Heathrow Airport that morning, they would have seen a quiet, soft girl dragging a suitcase half her size, wearing swollen eyes and rain-soaked memories.

But by the time she walked out of the airport doors, stepping into the cold London wind—

something in her had changed.

Something had frozen.

Something had hardened.

The softness was still there, but it was buried under a layer of steel she didn’t know she possessed.

Because leaving home was not the painful part.

Leaving him was.

Leaving the boy she had loved in silence for years.

The boy who had shattered her heart without flinching.

The boy who had looked at her with eyes colder than the rain outside.

Veeresh Rathore.

Her first love.

Her first heartbreak.

Her biggest lesson.

The First Weeks in England

Her days were packed.

Classes. Projects. Late-night study sessions.

She barely slept, barely ate, but she kept moving.

Because stopping meant remembering.

And remembering meant crying.

So she didn’t stop.

Not for a second.

Her roommates adored her.

Her professors praised her.

She became the girl who always sat in the front, who always had answers ready, who always submitted assignments first.

They called her disciplined.

Focused.

Goal-oriented.

But she knew the truth.

She wasn’t focused.

She was running.

Running from a pair of black, emotionless eyes.

Running from a voice that told her she meant nothing.

Running from the night he crushed her feelings like they were an inconvenience.

Whenever her mind drifted back to him, she would shake herself and whisper under her breath,

“No. Not again. I’m done with him.”

She repeated it so many times it became her new mantra.

The Moment Her Heart Changed

One night, she sat on the floor of her tiny dorm, books scattered around her, half-finished notes glowing on her laptop.

The rain outside was heavy—London rain always reminded her of him.

Usually, she handled it.

Tonight, she couldn’t.

The memory of his voice echoed in her mind:

> “You are a child.”

“Stupid fantasies.”

“Stay away from me.”

Her fingers curled into fists.

Why did he talk to her like that?

Why did he hurt her like she was some nuisance?

Why did he act like her feelings were a problem?

Tears blurred her vision, but this time, they didn’t fall out of softness.

They fell out of anger.

She slammed her notebook shut.

“Enough,” she whispered to herself. “I’m done crying for him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Her voice grew steadier, colder.

“He doesn’t deserve me.”

For the first time since she had left India, she felt a strange fire spread in her chest.

Not love.

Not longing.

Hate.

A hate built on humiliation and betrayal.

A hate born from the innocence he had crushed so ruthlessly.

“I will forget you,” she said out loud, as if repeating a vow to the universe.

“I will erase every memory of you. Every feeling. Every stupid dream I had.”

She wiped her tears, opened her laptop, and began studying again with renewed intensity.

Not because she loved her subjects.

Because she hated him enough to never allow him space in her heart again.

Her Transformation

Months passed.

She changed.

Her posture straightened.

Her voice sharpened.

Her confidence grew.

She became the kind of woman headlines would one day call:

“Unstoppable.”

“Brilliant.”

“Unbreakable.”

Every success was a brick in the wall she built between herself and her past.

And the first brick, the foundational one, was the moment Veeresh broke her.

Now, she used that pain as fuel.

She stopped checking her family’s updates.

Stopped asking about home.

Stopped wondering if he ever thought about her.

Because she had decided—

He didn’t matter anymore.

He never would again.

Or at least…

that’s what she believed.