Author's pov

After hearing those words, Mohana turned silently, ready to walk away.

But then—she stopped

If she left now, what would she have left?

Love?

Self-respect?

Dignity?

Nothing.

Yes… she was a maid. She had always embraced it with pride. But mocking someone’s work—degrading their source of survival—that was something she couldn’t accept.

She loved Rohith. Trusted him. Hoped for a future with him.

Maybe she didn’t fit into his world. Maybe she wasn’t his kind.

But she wasn’t ashamed of who she was.

She respected her work. She had dignity.

And with just one conversation… she realized

Rohith didn’t deserve her words.

He didn’t deserve her love.

He didn’t even deserve her silence.

With a deep breath, she gathered herself, swallowed her pain, and threw the letter and the gift, the ones she had brought with so much love—outside.

Wiping her tears quickly, she turned and knocked at his door.

Rohith opened it, still smiling, phone in hand.

He was in mid-conversation, clueless.

“Hey! You’re here—”

His words stopped mid-sentence. the sight of her dressed in a soft saree, looking effortlessly beautiful. But her face?

Blank. Cold. Unreadable.

He gave her a wide smile, trying to lighten the mood.

But she didn’t return it.

She walked inside wordlessly.

He blinked, confused, and closed the door behind her.

Mohana, with that same blank expression, went straight to the kitchen. She started doing the utensils.

No words. No glances.

Rohith glanced at her, puzzled. But he continued his call.

By the time he ended the call, Mohana had already finished cleaning the dishes.

“Mohana… what happened?” he asked gently.

She ignored him. Quietly began arranging plates, grains, and spice boxes in the cupboard.

He walked closer. “Baby… are you okay?”

Still no answer.

“Why are you quiet? You’re not even looking at me,” he asked again, now more anxious. He lightly touched her chin to lift her face, but she gently pulled away.

His worry turned to irritation. “Are you angry? Why? I should be the one upset. You didn’t call me yesterday. No reply to my messages. You didn’t even come home. I was worried sick. And now look at you—acting all distant!”

Mohana said nothing.

She walked to the bedroom and picked up his laundry.

“What’s wrong with you!?” he snapped.

Still silent.

Inside, her mind was screaming. Her heart thudding with grief.

She wanted to yell. To cry. To throw the truth in his face.

But her pride held her still.

She wouldn’t lose more of herself.

“ENOUGH!” he shouted, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her toward him.

“Why are you behaving like this?!

She looked him straight in the eyes.

“Nothing. Just doing my work. I have to go.”

“So you just came to work?” he asked bitterly. “Not for me?”

“Yes,” she said coldly. “I just came to work. I’m just a maid.”

Her voice was hollow. Her face blank. But her words were loud.

“What are you saying—” he stopped mid-sentence.

Realization hit him.

His mind flashed back to the phone call.

The joke.

The words.

The tone.

The phone call.

The words.

> “God! Who the hell falls in love with a maid?”

> “She’s just a maid…”

His voice had echoed through the walls.

His blood ran cold

“Baby…” he spoke softly now. “Did you… did you hear my conversation on the phone?”

He gently cupped her face, concern in his eyes.

That was the last straw.

Mohana pushed him away—hard.

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!” she shouted.

“Please… let me explain. It’s not what you think—” he pleaded.

“NO!” she snapped. “I’M JUST A MAID, SIR. LET ME BE THAT.”

She was trembling now—holding back her tears with every ounce of strength.

“It was a misunderstanding. Please, don’t get angry. Let me explain—” He pleased

“You know what? I’ll go.”

She turned, walking toward the door.

“Mohana......please! Baby, please don’t go!” he begged, rushing to stop her.

But she pulled herself free from his grasp.

And walked out.

Almost running.

Gone.

Rohith stood there, stunned.

Frozen.

He didn’t know what had just happened—or how fast it slipped through his fingers.

He tried to breathe, but everything inside him was collapsing.

Then he turned—and noticed something on the ground, near the entrance.

A small wrapped gift. A folded letter.

He walked over, picked them up.

His heart sank.

Her handwriting.

He unfolded the letter. And read.

> “I don’t know what this feeling is called when I’m with you, but it makes me happy. I feel safe. I feel proud. You’re the part of my life I never knew I needed… but now can’t imagine being without.”

His eyes welled up.

Her hopes. Her love. Her truth.

All crushed… because of his careless words.

He dropped to his knees.

Tears fell.

“What did I do?” he whispered. “I ruined everything.”

He clenched the letter in his hand.

“I love her too. But I blinded myself—kept telling myself it was just desire. Just lust. Just a phase…”

He looked around, eyes burning.

“But no… it wasn’t her beauty I craved. It was her—all of her.”

Her laughter.

Her silence.

Her presence.

Her everything is my desire.

“She filled my empty days. She brought light into my lonely nights. And what did I give her in return?” he whispered.

He hit the floor with his fist.

His tears didn’t stop. But his heart had awakened.

“It was a misunderstanding. I need to clear it. I need her to know the truth. I can’t let her go.”

He stood up—slowly but firmly.

“She heard me. She really thinks I meant her.”

He stared blankly at her handwriting—beautiful, careful, full of love.

His hands tightened around the pages.

“I have to fix this. I have to.”

He grabbed his phone, dialed.

“Dude—your script. Send me the PDF. Right now. The one we talked about yesterday. The maid and prince one.”

His friend: “What? Why? What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. Just send it!”

~Other side

Mohana sat silently in her room, trying to focus on folding clothes. But her hands weren’t moving.

Her mind kept replaying those words.

That tone.

That laugh.

She kept trying to convince herself it didn’t matter. That she would move on.

But it hurt. So much.

That night, for both of them, was long and heavy.

A night full of pain, realizations… and the beginning of something about to change.

~~~~

Next morning

Mohana went to college,

She froze.

She walked toward the gate, only to see Rohith—holding a folder in one hand, and a printed manuscript in the other.

His voice was calm, steady.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now. And you don’t have to talk to me. But please—just hear me. Once.”

She didn’t reply.

He held out the script.

“This is what I was talking about. A story my friend is writing. Here—page 32.” He opened it, handed it to her.

She hesitated, then took it.

He gently pointed to a paragraph:

> “She walked barefoot through the marble halls, her ragged saree soaked with tears, her hands red from scrubbing… and her heart still foolish enough to hope that the king might look her way.”

Mohana read it.

And right below it—his notes, scribbled in pencil:

> “This is unrealistic. A maid in love with a king? Needs depth. Avoid cliché. Give her strength.”

Her hands trembled.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he said softly. “I was annoyed because the story treated her like a joke. I said what I said because it was poorly written. Not because being a maid is something to mock. And definitely not because I was talking about you.”

He stepped back, giving her space.

“I never thought less of you, Mohana. If anything… I was terrified of how much I felt.”

She looked at him, lips parted, words stuck.

“I know I hurt you,” he said. “But please, don’t walk away thinking I ever saw you as anything less than amazing.”

He gently placed the script and the folded letter he had retrieved on the gate’s edge.

Then walked away.

Without waiting for forgiveness

Without begging.

Just… leaving the truth behind.

~~~

Later that night, Mohana sits alone in her room, holding both the script and her own letter.

She rereads his notes.

She sees his handwriting.

His anger wasn’t toward love it was toward poor storytelling.

She opens the gift she had thrown away — a small silver bracelet, the same one she had once admired in a shop window.

She clutches it, breath trembling.

> Maybe he did care.

> Maybe… I didn’t see the full picture either.

>But I got hurt....the words! They are hurting me so much.

>Should I go?

She drifted into sleep thinking about him!

~~~~~~

Next chapter 🔞

Hope you like it

~yours

Mayurah