Page 163 of Dream On, Liar

I frowned. “You look awful.”

That earned the faintest smile. “Thanks.”

I moved closer, my eyes caught on the leather album sitting on the coffee table. Beside it was a thick envelope. Several notebooks lay open around them.

His fingers had dark ink stains along the side of one thumb.

“What’s all this?”

He glanced at the table. “My Mum’s…everything, I guess.”

I looked at him. “What?”

He leaned back, his head dropping on the back of the leather sofa as he stared at the ceiling.

For a second, I thought he would say nothing.

Then he exhaled. “My mum left me letters, and this album full of these memories…that I have no recollection of. Along with the journals that basically store her entire life. Up until the day before she died.”

My stomach tightened, as I slowly made my way next to him. I didn’t sit close enough to touch, but close enough that let him know I was there.

His gaze didn’t flicker from it was settled on the ceiling.

“This place is full of her.”

The words seemed to physically hurt him.

“How long has it been since you’ve been here?”

He looked at me then, like he was about to lift a secret. “It’s the first time since…ever.”

I paused. “You haven’t been here since…?”

“I was four, maybe, five?”

“Rihaan.” His name was a pained whisper. “Why were you planning on doing this alone?”

“I’ve spent years remembering her as the person who left.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I made her the villain because it was easier.”

The honesty of it hit me harder than any dramatic confession could have.

He looked broken.

Not just visibly, but there was a quiet disintegration happening underneath his skin.

“I've spent years being angry at a version of her,” he continued. “And now I'm finding all these pieces that don’t fit.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I reached for his hand.

He looked down at our fingers.

Then turned his palm beneath mine.

His thumb moved once across my knuckles.

“She loved me.”

It sounded like a question.