A man’s sanity fractures, not by knives, but by smiles. Love becomes a financial algorithm. Betrayal, a meticulously scripted performance. “The Confessions” reveal how Rohit’s mind was systematically drained. By the end, you won’t know who to despise more: her, or the sliver of him that still clings to belief.
The Confessions at Arrival Gate
Time: 01:03. Location: Bangalore International Airport.
The vast, echoing hall of Bangalore International Airport at 1 AM was a sterile landscape of muted grey tiles and shimmering glass. Overhead, fluorescent lights hummed, casting a harsh, unblinking glow that made every waiting face look sallow. A few tired travelers huddled near baggage carousels, their voices muffled by the distant drone of aircraft. The air, thick with the scent of recycled oxygen and faint jet fuel, felt impossibly heavy.
Rohit stood near the ‘Arrivals’ exit, a tragic figure clutching a bouquet of red and pink roses, already wilting in the warmth of his clammy hands. His cheap, blue-checked shirt felt soaked against his back, and his ribs ached against the frantic drum of his heart. The digital clock above, a stark red against the grey, blinked 01:03.
Rohit (to himself, voice a desperate whisper): “Please, God, let her really be here. Let this be it. No more waiting, no more doubts. Just her.”
Then, she appeared.
Siya glided through the automatic doors, a vision of effortless chic amidst the weary crowd. She wore a tailored black jumpsuit that cinched at her waist, highlighting her slender figure, and delicate silver earrings that caught the harsh airport light. Her long, dark hair flowed over her shoulders, framing a face that was a carefully calibrated mask designed to almost meet expectation.
She spotted Rohit, and a practiced, fleeting smile touched her lips. Her embrace lasted a mere 0.8 seconds – a brush of silk against his clammy shirt. Her expensive perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and musk, lingered for an agonizing 12 seconds after she pulled away.
Siya (voice cool, almost bored): “Hey. You’re here. The flight was a nightmare.”
Rohit (voice cracking with relief and a tremor of excitement): “Siya! You… you actually came. I thought… I thought maybe…”
Inside his skull (a chorus of desperate hopes): “She’s real. This time, it’s real. All the waiting, the money, it’s worth it. She’s finally here.” Inside hers (a calculating hum): “He’ll believe anything. Good. This is going to be easy.”
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The Confessions Unfold: Day by Day Decline
The Confessions in the Café
The cafe was a trendy, bustling spot in a sprawling Bangalore mall, its walls adorned with quirky local art. The air buzzed with the clatter of ceramic cups, the hiss of espresso machines, and a cacophony of conversations. Sunlight, filtered through large glass windows, illuminated dust motes dancing in the air, highlighting the polished wooden tables and an array of tempting pastries behind a glass counter. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of caramel.
Siya sat opposite Rohit at a small, round table, her posture perfect, her phone already poised. She wore a bright, sleeveless top that revealed her toned arms, and a pair of designer sunglasses pushed up onto her head.
Siya (with a hint of impatience): “So, the lighting’s good here. Get some angles, babe. Three hundred. Maybe more. I need content for the week.”
Rohit, his forehead already glistening with a thin sheen of sweat despite the air conditioning, fumbled with his DSLR camera. Each click of the shutter felt like an insidious withdrawal from his dwindling bank account, a deeper etch on his soul. “The Confessions” would meticulously document this relentless financial bleeding.
Rohit (nervously, adjusting the lens): “Yeah, okay. Just… is this really what you want to do? We could talk, or, you know, explore the city. I looked up some nice temples…”
His silence (a sinking feeling in his gut): “Is this why she came? Just for photos? Am I just… her personal photographer now?” Her silence (a predatory purr): “These will get 1.4K likes. He’s useful. And cheap. Keep him clicking.”
Later that night, in the impersonal comfort of their hotel room – a generic space with beige walls, a king-sized bed, and a muted flat-screen TV – Rohit reached for her. The only light came from the bedside lamp, casting long, wavering shadows. The distant hum of city traffic was the only sound.
Rohit (softly, his voice filled with a yearning he couldn’t hide): “Siya… I’ve missed you so much. Can we just… be close?”
She recoiled, a subtle but unmistakable movement, like a cat shying away from water. Her voice, when it came, was chillingly clear.
Siya (a dismissive sigh): “Win my heart first. You think it’s that easy? After all this time, you still don’t get it.” Translation in The Confessions: “Lose yours instead. That’s the real game.”
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The Confessions of Breaking Point
The hotel lobby was grand but empty in the late afternoon, its marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of ornate chandeliers. Plush, oversized armchairs were arranged in conversational groups, but no one sat in them. A hushed quiet enveloped the space, broken only by the occasional rustle of a passing bellhop or the distant chime of an elevator. The air, cool and dry, carried a faint scent of lemon polish.
Rohit stood awkwardly by a potted palm, clutching a crumpled bill for room service. His shirt was wrinkled from travel, and his hair, usually neat, was falling into his eyes. Siya sat elegantly on a sofa, scrolling through her phone, her attention fixed on the screen, a delicate smile playing on her lips from something she saw online.
Rohit (voice strained, barely audible): “Siya, can we… can we just talk for a second? I need to know. Are we connecting? Like, really connecting?”
Siya’s head slowly lifted, her eyes, previously focused on her phone, now narrowed on him. Her response was a weaponized declaration, delivered with surgical precision.
Siya (a cold, incredulous laugh): “Connecting? That’s creepy, Rohit. Seriously? You brought me all this way just to ask weird questions? I’m tired. I have a flight tomorrow.”
The words hit Rohit like a physical blow. He felt his shoulders slump, the last vestiges of hope draining from him.
“The Confessions” meticulously recorded his total damage report:
- Flights: 2 (His flight to Bangalore, and her flight to meet him.)
- Hotels: 2 (The one they were in, and the one he booked for her before realizing she’d expect him to stay with her.)
- Rupees: 8,500+ (This was merely the tip of the iceberg – a conservative estimate of the hotel, food, and initial ‘gifts’.)
- Self-respect: Error. File not found. (The system had crashed, irrevocably.)
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The Final Confessions: Truth Emerges
The Confessions of Departure
The departure lounge at Bangalore International Airport was a controlled chaos of hurried footsteps, the rumble of luggage wheels, and the constant announcements echoing over the intercom. Large windows overlooked the tarmac, where planes were being loaded under a hazy morning sky. The air conditioning was biting, but Rohit barely noticed the chill. He stood near the gate, the boarding announcement for Siya’s flight already blaring.
Siya stood a few feet from him, her designer carry-on bag at her feet. Her face was contorted, and genuine-looking tears streamed down her cheeks.
Siya (voice trembling, seemingly on the verge of hysterics): “My dad will file an FIR! He’s going to find out I was here with you. He’ll kill me! You have to let me go, Rohit!”
Were they real tears or merely another expertly executed performance? “The Confessions” would forever remain uncertain. Rohit, however, felt a strange, cold clarity finally descend upon him.
Rohit (voice flat, devoid of emotion): “An FIR for what, Siya? For coming to meet me? It’s not a crime.”
He watched her, a hollow ache where his heart used to be. As she continued to sob, an impulse, sharp and precise, struck him. He pulled out his phone, her boarding pass already on the screen from a previous moment of anxiety.
Rohit quickly navigated to the airline app. Web check-in: Complete. A small, grim smile touched his lips.
He selected the option: Cancel Ticket.
Her phone buzzed. She looked at it, her crying instantly replaced by a look of furious disbelief. Her face hardened, the tears drying as if by magic.
Siya (voice venomous, dripping with pure rage): “You’ll regret this, psycho. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
Then she stormed off, disappearing into the crowd, leaving Rohit alone with the ghost of her perfume and the ringing silence of his broken dreams.
“The Confessions” final, harrowing entry:
- She was never truly there.
- He was never loved.
- The entire story was always about the money.
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The Confessions Aftermath
Three months later, the void was still present, though it had changed. His apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a lonely cage. He sat on his couch, the late afternoon sun streaming through the window, highlighting dust motes in the air. On his laptop screen, Siya’s new photos. Same perfect smile. Different man’s arm around her. Different, undoubtedly fatter, wallet.
He whispered into the suffocating quiet of his living room: “Never again.”
The void offered no answer. “The Confessions” note: It never does.
Three months crawled by, and he still found himself checking her profile every morning, a compulsive, self-flagellating ritual. Six months in, he caught himself liking one of her posts before the immediate, nauseating reflex to unlike it, his finger trembling. A full year passed before he could look at a pink wall – any pink wall – without tasting bile, without a wave of nausea.
The flowers at the airport had cost a mere 1,200 rupees. The therapy bills, however, would run much, much higher.
Also Read: A Silent Love That Never Faded: My Untold High School Crush Story
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