“I grew up thinking nobody stays,” I whisper harshly. “That needing people is dangerous because they leave anyway.”
My chest hurts now.
Actually hurts.
“I spent years convincing myself I didn’t need anyone because every single person I ever depended on disappeared.”
My father closes his eyes briefly. And somehow that makes me angrier. “You saved my life maybe,” I say, voice trembling harder now, “but you ruined it too.”
The silence afterward feels enormous. I can hear myself breathing. Hear the faint ticking of the clock somewhere behind us.
“I know.” I look at him. Really look at him. And for the first time since all this started, he doesn’t look dangerous. Doesn’t look mysterious. He just looks…tired. Broken in places too.
“There wasn’t a single day I didn’t watch over you,” he says softly.
I freeze. “What?”
“I was there more times than you know.”
I sit down abruptly because my knees suddenly don’t feel steady anymore. “All these years…” My voice cracks completely now. “You were alive.”
“I couldn’t come near you,” he says hoarsely. “Every person connected to me became a target. If they knew about you—”
“They did know about me.”
That lands between us brutally. Because it’s true. I got kidnapped anyway. Aryan got shot anyway. Papa looks shattered at that.
“I failed,” he whispers.
And strangely—That hurts too. Because despite everything, some childish part of me still hates seeing him look like this. I wipe my face angrily.
“I don’t know what you want me to do with all this.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” His voice breaks slightly now too. “I just needed you to know I never stopped loving you.”
My breath catches painfully. Damn him. Damn him for still sounding like home. Beside me, Aryan’s fingers brush mine quietly. Not interrupting. Just there.
And suddenly I realize something that makes my chest ache even worse.
If Aryan hadn’t survived—I would have shattered completely. My eyes move toward him instinctively. He’s already looking atme. Always looking at me like I matter. I inhale shakily. “You saved his life.”
Both men go still.
I look back at my father slowly.
“If something happened to him…” My throat closes for a second. “I don’t know how I would’ve survived that.”
Aryan’s hand tightens around mine. “I’m grateful for that,” I whisper. “More than anything else.”
Papa’s eyes close briefly like the words physically hit him. “But I don’t know how to forgive you right now.”
The honesty in my own voice surprises me. Because I want to forgive him. I think some part of me always will. But forgiveness isn’t a switch. It’s grief with somewhere to go. “I don’t know how to look at you and forget everything.”
“You don’t have to,” he says immediately.
Tears slide down my face again. “But…I want to try someday,” I whisper.
And that—That finally breaks him.
