Shivay jolted awake, the name "Annika" echoing in the small, dimly lit room. He sat up, gasping for breath. It was another day in Shimla, another day away from Annika in Mumbai. A sigh escaped his lips, a familiar weight settling on his chest. This tiny room, a far cry from the luxurious life he once led, was his new reality.

He glanced around. Morning light filtered through the grime-coated window, revealing a bare-bones existence: a thin mattress on the floor, a rickety chair, and a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. Work beckoned. He couldn't afford another late arrival or Mr. Kapoor's wrath. A bitter chuckle escaped him. Once, he was Shivay Oberoi, a man who commanded respect, a leader of a vast empire. Now, he was just Shivay, a laborer scraping by.

The bathroom was a shared affair, down the narrow hallway. As Shivay splashed water on his face, the sting of reality washed over him. This was his penance. Choosing his family's comfort over his love for Annika, he'd orchestrated their separation, forcing her to sign the divorce papers. Leaving her had been a form of self-torture, a constant reminder of his sacrifice.

The past, a stark contrast to his present, flashed in his mind. The raw pain of leaving Annika, the self-inflicted punishment worse than any physical torture. He'd pictured ending it all, but then realized that would be letting her off too easily. No, he deserved to suffer.

With a handful of cash, he'd fled Mumbai, the city reeking of their fractured love. A train ticket, a one-way journey to anywhere, had been his escape. Shimla, with its cool mountain air, had become his reluctant haven.

He'd introduced himself simply as Shivay, a man desperate for work, any work, to keep hunger at bay. Living in such stark conditions was his penance, a constant reminder of the life he'd sacrificed for his family's comfort.

The initial days were a blur of failed attempts. Unskilled labor was new territory, and his entitled hands fumbled at even basic tasks. Rejections piled up, mirroring the emptiness in his stomach.

Just when despair threatened to engulf him, a stroke of luck. A small restaurant, desperate for help, had taken him in. Cooking became his lifeline.

Shivay finished his morning ablutions, the echo of his past lingering in the damp air. The day stretched before him, filled with the promise of toil and the dull ache of longing. Shivay stepped out, ready to face another day in his self-imposed exile, the ghost of Annika a constant companion in his small, lonely room.

The restaurant buzzed with the early morning chaos. The clatter of pots and the sizzle of spices filled the cramped kitchen, a symphony Shivay was slowly learning to conduct. Sweat beaded on his brow as he scrubbed greasy dishes, a stark contrast to the pristine boardrooms he once commanded. Yet, a strange sense of peace settled over him with each repetitive motion. It was penance, yes, but also a grounding force, stripping away the arrogance that had nearly cost him everything.

The day wore on in a blur of menial tasks. He chopped vegetables with surprising dexterity, a hidden talent unearthed by necessity. The calloused hands that once signed million-dollar deals now wrestled with slippery potatoes, a testament to his new reality.

As dusk painted the Shimla sky, Shivay slumped onto a rickety stool, his muscles screaming in protest. He wasn't used to this kind of physical exertion, yet a perverse satisfaction bloomed within him. He was earning his keep, honest sweat for honest pay. A far cry from the ruthless machinations of his past life.

A familiar tug, a feeling he'd brushed aside months ago in Mumbai, snagged at Shivay. Annika was near, the impossible whispering in his ears. But logic scoffed. How could she be here, in this greasy spoon in Shimla?

His train of thought was derailed by his gruff boss. "Spicy and sweet, that's what you just whipped up! A pregnant lady came in craving the same thing." Shivay nodded, a bittersweet feeling blooming in his chest. Pregnancy cravings, he thought. He cranked up the preparation, making a large portion. For a fleeting moment, a fantasy bloomed: Annika, pregnant, his love, and him, cooking for their unborn child, taking care of her every whim. A choked sigh escaped him. That future, sacrificed on the altar of his own choices.

He handed the plate to a waiter, who delivered it to the pregnant customer, none other than Annika.

Annika, determined to open a bakery in Shimla, scoured the markets for inspiration. Two hours of exploration left her famished. Five restaurants later, she still hadn't found a place that felt right. An inexplicable disquiet settled upon her in each one, forcing her to flee. This little eatery, however, emanated a strange sense of ease. Settling into a chair, she placed her order.

The first bite sent a jolt through her. Tears welled up in her eyes, the taste a vivid memory of Shivay and his cooking. As she finished the meal, a pang struck her. She requested a takeaway, the familiar flavors a comfort she craved.

Just as Annika stepped out, Shivay emerged from the kitchen, his heart pounding with the same premonition. He scanned the room, hope flickering in his eyes. A woman nearby caught his eye, her figure obscured by a baby bump. A flicker of recognition sparked, then died as reality set in. It wasn't Annika. Dejected, he retreated back into the kitchen, the echo of a missed connection hanging heavy in the air. Meanwhile, Annika felt a tug towards the restaurant, a pull she couldn't explain. She turned back, searching for a glimpse of the cook, but the door remained shut. The scent of spices lingered, a bittersweet reminder of a love that still burned brightly.

Days bled into weeks, each one a monotonous cycle of work and longing for Shivay. Annika, fueled by grief and determination, found a quaint storefront in the heart of Shimla. Renovations were slow, the bakery a work in progress mirroring her own shattered heart. Yet, as she kneaded dough and decorated cakes, a sliver of hope bloomed within her.

___________________________________________

Thankyou for reading and voting