A Valentine's Algorithm
Copyright© 2026 by Tantrayaan
Chapter 17
Inna came home early from a shift. The apartment was quiet. She walked toward the bedroom to change and froze.
The door to the workshop was cracked open. Vikram never left it open. She pushed it wider. Vikram wasn’t there. But on the workbench, in the center of the space, sat a wooden box.
It was beautiful. Walnut, with inlaid maple details. About the size of a shoebox. The craftsmanship was exquisite - dovetail joints, a brass clasp, careful French polish that made the wood glow.
She shouldn’t look. She knew that. But her hand was already reaching for the clasp.
Inside, nestled in velvet lining: The photograph from the botanical gardens. Elara’s face looking up at her; the ring box. The one he’d bought two months before Elara disappeared. There were a few more things inside. Her medal, a pressed flower - the kind you save from a first date, a ticket stub from a pub quiz at The Merchant, and, a small notebook filled with Elara’s handwriting.
Inna’s hands trembled as she looked at the contents.
This was a shrine. A memorial.
And it was finished.
She closed the box carefully. Set it back exactly as she’d found it.
Then she walked to the living room and sat on the couch.
She understood now.
This was how he was saying goodbye. Not to Elara ... to her.
He’d built a box for Elara’s memory. Put her somewhere safe and honored. And now he was going to move on.
Away from the apartment where Elara’s ghost lived. Away from the city where every corner was a reminder. Away from the detective who’d helped him find the truth.
Away from her.
She’d known this was coming. Some part of her had always known. You don’t recover from that kind of trauma and stay in the same place. You can’t. The memories are too heavy.
Inna sat on that couch for two hours, staring at nothing.
When Vikram came home, grocery bags in hand, she almost told him.
I saw the box. I know you’re leaving. Just tell me when.
But she didn’t.
Because if these were her last days with him, she wanted them to be good ones.
She smiled back and helped him put away groceries. They made dinner together. She pretended everything was fine.
What if the project was his way of saying goodbye? A parting gift. A beautiful thank you before he moved on.
She tried to prepare herself. Tried to build her walls back up. But she’d been his for too long. The walls wouldn’t hold.
The air was sharp. Biting against Inna’s cheeks as she walked down Elm toward 5th.
February 14th. Exactly one year since she’d sat in the Anchor Bar and told a man his life was a cold case.
The cold was blunt. Physical. Made her bones ache. Not winter’s kiss nonsense. Just the real kind. The kind that made your jaw clench.
But tonight the cold felt different. It felt like an ending.
Vikram had been quiet for days. Spent nearly every waking hour in the workshop. His face was set in a distant unreadable mask.
When he’d asked her to meet him at the Anchor tonight, he hadn’t used her name. Just said, “I need to talk to you where it all started.”
Her stomach was a mess of knots. Every step felt like a march toward a scaffold.
She knew the signs. She was a detective. The withdrawal. The secret project. The return to the site of his greatest grief. It all pointed to a man closing a book.
He’s moving away, she thought. Her throat was tight. He’s recovered enough to realize he doesn’t want a reminder of his darkest year. He’s going to give me my key back. Thank me and say goodbye.
She wasn’t the confident detective anymore. Just a woman bracing for impact.
The door chime of the Anchor Bar rang out. Lonely. Tinny.
The place was warm.Like last year, there were a few couples pretending they were in love and a few lonely people pretending they didn’t care.
Vikram was in the back corner. The same booth.
He didn’t look like a zombie anymore. He looked good. His hair trimmed neatly now. His posture was straight. But his eyes were fixed on a wrapped parcel on the table.
He looked up as she approached. For the first time in a year she couldn’t read his expression.
“Inna,” he said softly.
“Vikram.” She slid into the booth. Her movements felt stiff. She didn’t take off her coat. She wanted to be ready to run when the words came. “You wanted to talk?”
“I wanted to give you this. The project is finished. I wanted you to have it here.”
Inna’s hands shook as she tore at the paper. Her heart felt heavy.
This is it. The parting gift.
Inna tore at the paper with shaking hands.
When the wrapping fell away, the air left her lungs.
She held a magnificent handcrafted maple frame in her hands. The wood was pale and glowing, the joinery so perfect it looked like the pieces had grown together. There were delicate carvings of vines and waves along the edges.
Inside was a photo. Not of Elara.
Of the two of them. Standing in his apartment during the investigation, hunched over a map, their shoulders touching.
They looked like a team. They looked like a beginning.
But all Inna could see was an ending.
“This is...” Her voice broke. She looked up at him. “This is beautiful, Vikram. Thank you.”
She was trying to hold it together. Trying to accept this gift with grace.
But the dam broke.
“I can’t do this.” The sob ripped out of her. “I can’t sit here and pretend this is just a gift. I can’t...”
She looked at the frame in her hands. At the photo of them together.