Rain lashes against the panoramic windows of a high-end Mumbai restaurant. He’s staring out at the blurred city lights, nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey. Across the table, she’s meticulously arranging her silverware, avoiding his gaze. The air is thick with unspoken accusations and the lingering scent of expensive perfume. A single, wilting orchid sits between them, a pathetic echo of the vibrant bouquet that adorned the table just an hour ago. He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. The clinking of glasses and muffled conversations around them feel like a cruel mockery of the quiet devastation settling between them. He knows this is the end, but the finality of it hasn’t quite sunk in, leaving him suspended in a painful, drawn-out goodbye.