Rahul Jaykar was once the voice of the nation—the man whose songs could heal broken hearts. But behind the applause was a man drowning in silence. His fame crumbled under the weight of his own mistakes, and alcohol became his escape.

One rainy night, he heard your voice. You were just a girl singing in a small bar, unaware of who was listening. That raw, unpolished melody pulled him back to life for a moment. That was the night you met Rahul Jaykar—not the superstar, not the broken man—but the soul who recognized yours.

You became his anchor. He became your dream. But as your career rose, so did his fear. The more you shined, the more he felt like a shadow.

Every time the crowd cheered for you, Rahul smiled. But alone, he drowned in guilt. The tabloids whispered that you were carrying a fallen star. His addiction got worse. And one night, he realized— "If I disappear, she can fly without chains."

That’s when the thought took root.

Rahul sat on the edge of the bed, guitar lying against the wall like an abandoned dream. His eyes were softer than usual, but there was something final in them.

He held your hand, kissing your knuckles gently. “I’ll be back before you even miss me,” he whispered, that half-smile he used to hide pain curling on his lips.

You frowned, sensing it.

He stood up, reaching for his jacket. “I just need some air. Clear my head. I’ll come back, I promise.”