It’s been three years. Three fucking years since she left. And yet, it feels like yesterday. I didn’t stop her. I watched her pack. Silent. Cold. Pretending like I didn’t care. Like her walking out of the door wasn’t tearing something apart inside me. Maybe I thought if I didn’t beg, if I didn’t plead, I’d come off stronger. But all I did was let the only woman I ever loved slip through my fingers. And every goddamn day since, I’ve been living with that choice. I remember the first time I saw her. She had walked into my production house. And now… now she’s just gone. But she’s always there. In every line I write. In every frame I shoot. In every lullaby I hum to Vedant. She left. But she never really left. And I don’t know how to let her go.