Completely. His face crumples in a way I’ve never seen before. And suddenly he’s kneeling in front of me. Not intimidating.
“My Ishu,” he whispers shakily. I start crying harder the second his arms wrap around me. Because they still feel the same. That’s the cruelest part. His embrace still feels like childhood. Like safety. Like the man who used to carry me on his shoulders and buy me orange candy and pretend badly drawn stick figures belonged in museums.
I clutch his shirt tightly despite myself. “I hated you,” I sob into his shoulder.
“I know.”
“I missed you.”
His breath breaks completely then. “I know, baby.”
“You left me.”
“I know.”
And somehow him not defending himself makes it worse. I cry harder. Years of grief pouring out ugly and messy and unfinished. Behind us, I hear movement. Aryan quietly leaves the room. Giving us this. Of course he does. Of course he understands without needing to be told.
My father strokes my hair carefully, trembling through it himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispers over and over again. “I’m so sorry, Ishu.”
CHAPTER 66
ARYAN
It’s New Year’s Eve. The house is quieter than usual tonight. Ma and Vedant went to some family gathering they’d been guilt-tripped into attending. Radhika is with her friends. Which leaves just me and Ishika sprawled across the living room floor with Chinese takeout containers, two mugs of coffee, and one very aggressive scented candle she insists smells “calming.”
It smells like someone set vanilla on fire. I haven’t told her that though because she looks weirdly proud of it.
She’s sitting cross-legged opposite me in an oversized sweatshirt of mine that nearly swallows her whole, her hair tied up messily with strands falling around her face.
I don’t think she understands what she does to me.
Actually, no. That’s a lie. She definitely understands now. She just enjoys pretending she doesn’t.
“You’re staring again,” she says without looking up from her notebook.
I grin lazily from where I’m leaning against the couch. “I’m in love with you. It’s legally allowed.”
“That’s not how laws work.”
“Depends on how hot the judge thinks I am.”
Her nose scrunches immediately. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” I say dramatically, placing a hand on my chest, “you continue choosing me every single day.”
That finally gets her to look up. And there it is. That smile.
Still small sometimes. Still careful around the edges. But real.
God.
I would destroy entire cities for that smile.
“Why do you look so pleased with yourself all the time?” she mutters.
“Because my girlfriend loves me.”
“You got shot and somehow became more annoying.”
