As the first hint of grey dawn bled into the sky, a rickshaw puller passed by, singing the very same song under his breath.

He poured himself a glass of water, but his hands trembled. The silence was too loud. He turned on the tap just to hear a different sound. Drip. Drip. Drip. It sounded like a clock mocking him.

He pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over her number. He had deleted it a hundred times, but his muscle memory had typed it back in a thousand more. He scrolled through the last messages instead.

The lyric echoed not from the speakers, but from his own heartbeat. It had been eight months, three days, and roughly fourteen hours since Meera had walked out. He had stopped counting the days, but his body hadn’t. Every nerve ending was a live wire.

Sanu ek pal chain na ave, sajan ve…