Page 3 of The Ruin I Chose

Things hadn’t been rosy at home, and I refused to let my daughter absorb the storm I was carrying. My mother’s voice broke through warm and steady.

“Don’t worry. She’s safe with me. We’re going to have so much fun. You have a good time.”

A good time. I couldn’t remember the last time I had one.

I kissed them goodbye. I wiped away an unnoticed tear from my eye.

After take-off, I quickly connected to the in-flight Wi-Fi and sent out emails with next week’s agenda for my team in Mumbai. I made some corrections on the drawings sent by the team and approved work to commence on various sites.

I opened the last email.

All the best, and don’t forget to have fun.

—S

It was Sahil. If it hadn’t been for his stupidity and recklessness, he’d be accompanying me. Racing with college punks, he’d hit a rock and skidded his bike into a tree. And now he was lying in a hospital bed with a fractured leg, flirting with the nurses.

I’ll try. Get back on your feet soon. We need you, I responded.

I’ll try ?? It’s too comfortable here, he replied immediately.

I shut my mail and browsed through my reservations for the trip after the fair. Milan with the Sahais. Florence. Rome. And finally—Sicily.

I looked at the beautiful resort I’d reserved in Sicily.

Five days. Just me and my thoughts. This was going to be my time to unwind. To listen to the thoughts I’d been avoiding.

I suddenly started thinking of the mystery man I’d bumped into earlier. I smiled before I realised. His olive skin. Green-brown eyes with a hint of gold that seemed to shift. Late thirties, early forties, maybe. A perfectly trimmed stubble. Lightly peppered hair slicked back, but not too neat—rebellious strands falling just over his eyes.

He was tall and muscular. Not beefy like the gym freaks—cut like a blade. His arms bulged through his shirt, fitting perfectly across his chest. His scent felt like a warm embrace—strong but not overpowering enough to send me into a sneezing frenzy. A scent you sink into. His cologne was musky and woody with a hint of spice I couldn’t place.

I remembered gazing at his full, glistening lips, staring at them for much longer than I should have. He wet his lips before speaking. I felt it in my spine, up to my neck. I unconsciously touched my lips and smiled before the stewardess broke my train of thought.

“Would you like some champagne?”

“Yes, please.”

I finished my notes and tucked in for a movie marathon. I didn’t want to nap. No sleep. No jet lag.

It was dark when we landed at Milan Malpensa Airport. I sent a quick text to my mother and Ritu.

Ritu Sahai—my client turned friend and confidante. We shared so much in common. Her husband called us live wires. And he wasn’t wrong. But lately, even he had noticed my spark dimming.

She was a socialite with substance. Her NGOs helped the underprivileged and uplifted them. She was now empowering rural women to create bespoke tapestry.

Before I could settle into my room, I heard a knock. I already knew. As soon as I opened the door, she launched into me, squeezing me into a tight embrace, making me gasp for air.

“Sorry, I couldn’t join you,” she said.

“That’s okay,” I replied, trying to breathe.

“Tell me about your eventful journey,” she asked, eyebrows dancing.

That woman loved a good story—especially drama.

“Let me at least shower. I’m tired.”

“Did you join the mile-high club?” she asked impatiently.