And as the title track swelled in her memory— tere liye, tere liye —she knew that some promises weren't made with words. They were made with rain-soaked kachoris, a muted television, and the quiet, stubborn choice to stay.
A text from an unknown number. No, not unknown. She had deleted his contact in anger.
"I'm outside. It's raining. I brought you kachoris from that shop you like. Also, I'm an idiot. Can I come up?"
Taani stood by the window of their empty flat, watching the droplets race down the glass. The song was playing in her head again—the one that used to come on television every night before their dinner. Tere liye... For you.