Chapter 52
Author's POV:
The clock ticked past midnight, its rhythm echoing faintly in the dim apartment. Ayaan sat on the edge of his bed, his phone still clutched loosely in his hand. The line had long gone silent, but his mother’s voice lingered in his ears — soft, trembling, filled with concern.
“Aayat ne flight mein bhi kuch nahi khaya…”
" Khana peena bohot kam kar diya hai. Na baat karti hai kisi se. Na soti hai. Pehle kabhi kabhi sleeping pills leti thi, sone k liye ... Lekin ab roz ka ho gaya hain uska...."
Those words wouldn’t leave him. They burned somewhere deep inside his chest, twisting something heavy and unfamiliar.
He leaned back against the headboard, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, as if searching for a reason to breathe slower, to stop remembering the way Aayat used to laugh — light, free, alive.
He turned on his side. Tried closing his eyes.
Sleep, however, refused him.
Ayaan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath his ribs.
He got up, his bare feet meeting the cold marble floor.
The kitchen lights flickered to life as he moved through the quiet apartment.
He pulled out a plate, reheated the leftover food — simple, warm, familiar. Something she would eat.
He didn’t question himself when he walked to her room. Didn’t even pause before knocking. Once. Twice. Thrice.
The door finally opened.
Aayat stood there — pale, her eyes red, hair loose around her shoulders. Her voice was low but tired.
“Itna late ... kya kar rahay ho tum yahan? Sab khairiyat?”
Ayaan lifted the plate slightly, his tone even, almost too calm.
“Tumhare liye khana laya hoon.”
Her expression changed instantly — walls up, emotions locked away.
“Mujhe nahi khana,”
she muttered and began to close the door.
Ayaan’s foot pressed against the threshold, stopping it.
His jaw clenched, eyes shadowed. She froze for a second — startled by the sudden defiance in his silence — then stepped back quickly, almost tripping over herself before retreating to the bed.
She pulled the sheet over her head, hiding from the world… from him.
He walked in quietly, setting the plate down on the side table.
“Aayat…”
No response.
Only the faint rustle of the blanket.
“Aayat.”
The sheet tightened around her.
Ayaan’s patience snapped just slightly — not in anger, but something heavier. He gripped the edge of the sheet and pulled it away.
She sat up abruptly, eyes flashing.
“Kya masla hai tumhara?”
He sat down at the end of her bed, unmoved by her tone. Picking up the plate again, he placed it before her.
“Khana khao.”
“Bola na, khaya tha flight mein.”
“Jhoot mat bolo. Khana khao.”
“Mujhe bacho ki tarha treat mat karo... Main apna khayal khud rakh sakti hoon.”
She turned to lie back down — but before she could, his hand caught her wrist. Firm. Controlled.
“ toh phir bacho wali harkatein karna band karo,”
he said quietly,
“ mein tumhein phir bacho ki tarha treat be nahi karuga. ”
Her breath hitched. That tone — calm yet cutting — left no room for argument. She sat properly this time.
He handed her the plate again.
“Khao.”
Her lips curved slightly, mocking, fragile.
“Tum khilao.”
Ayaan exhaled through his nose, half disbelief, half surrender. He tore a piece of roti, dipped it in curry, and held it up to her.
She frowned, childishly reluctant, but took the bite anyway.
Time slowed. Between each bite, she whispered,
“Bas, pait bhar gaya... itna hi khaugy mein...”
But He ignored her every time, feeding her until the plate was empty. When she was done, he quietly took the plate, stood up, and left for the kitchen.
The silence he left behind was louder than his presence.
Aayat stared at the empty doorway — her heart heavier than it should’ve been.
When Ayaan returned, she was still sitting there, lost in her own mess of thoughts. He walked to her, voice softer now.
“So jao ab.”
She obeyed, almost instinctively. He pulled the sheet over her again, fingers brushing against her hairline — a ghost of a touch. Then he turned to leave.
He hadn’t even reached the door when her trembling voice broke the stillness.
“Ayaan…”
He stopped. Looked back.
She was sitting up now, eyes glossy.
“Please… mat jao.”
He turned fully, confusion lacing his brows.
“Kya hua, Aayat?”
“Mujhe neend nahi aa rahi…”
Something inside him softened completely. He didn’t speak, just came back, sat beside her again, and ran his hand gently through her hair. Her eyelids fluttered shut, her breathing uneven.
“Kya baat hai, Aayat? Koi pareshani hai?”
Her voice cracked as she opened her eyes again — tears threatening to fall.
“Main is zindagi se thak gayi hoon…”
The tears finally escaped.
“Please meri help karo, Ayaan… mujhe aisa lagta hai jaise mere paas kuch bhi nahi bacha. Mujhe meri saansein bhi bojh lagti hain… kabhi kabhi mann karta hai main mar jaoon…”
Ayaan froze. His hand stopped midair — that sentence slicing straight through his chest. For the first time in a long time, something like fear flickered in his cold, unreadable eyes.
“Shhh… dubara aisa mat kehna aayat....”
he whispered, thumb brushing away her tears.
“Kya hua hai? Kisi ne kuch kaha tumse? Rayyan ne kuch kaha? Main baat karunga usse—tum rona band karo.”
She shook her head, crying harder.
“Main Rayyan se khula le chuki hoon…”
The words crashed into the silence.
Ayaan’s breath caught.
“Kya?”
She sat up, voice hollow.
“Mere aur Rayyan ke beech ab koi rishta nahi hai.”
“Ye kab hua? Mujhe kisi ne kuch bataya kyu nahi...”
“ 5 month pehle, jab tum mujhe chod kr chalay gaye thai… aur maine sabko mana kiya tha, koi tumhe na bataye.”
“Per Kyun?”
Her laugh came out broken.
“Kyun ke tum toh mujhe chhod kar chale gaye the na. Aur phir kabhi contact bhi nahi kiya.”
The guilt in her voice was raw, accusing and hurt all at once.
Ayaan leaned closer, eyes dark with disbelief.
“Kis ne kaha main tumhe chhod kar gaya tha? Tumne khud mujhe block kar diya tha har jagah. Mujhe laga… tum mujhse baat nahi karna chahti.”
Her lips trembled.
“Itne waqt se jaante ho mujhe, Ayaan… kya kabhi main tumse baat kiye bagair rahi hoon? Tum hi toh hamesha mujhe himat detay thai, per tum be mujhe chod kr chalay gaye ... Baki sab ki tarha...”
Ayaan cupped her face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears.
“Sorry…”
he whispered.
That single word broke her. She fell into his arms, sobbing quietly against his chest.
“Tum bohot bure ho…
Ayaan’s lips curved faintly — bittersweet.
“Thank you… tareef ke liye.”
He pulled her back slightly, laying her down again. His hand moved through her hair, a soothing rhythm.
“So jao. Main yahin hoon tumhare pass... ab kahi nahi jauga...”
Her lashes fluttered. Slowly, her breathing steadied. Sleep finally found her — fragile, exhausted, peaceful.
~
The morning sunlight crept in through the curtains, warm and quiet. Aayat stirred, blinking against the brightness.
She turned — and froze.
Ayaan was sitting beside her, asleep. His head rested against the headboard, one arm dropped to the side. He looked impossibly calm, the cold sharpness of his features softened by sleep.
Memories of last night flooded her mind — her tears, her confession, her weakness.
She sat up quickly, heart racing.
Aayat, what have you done…
She thought bitterly.
You were angry at him. He left you. You were supposed to hate him. And yet…
She sighed, pressing a hand over her chest.
You couldn’t even stay mad for one night.
Quietly, she stood from the bed. The moment her feet hit the floor, Ayaan stirred.
“Aayat…”
She turned, startled, irritation slipping into her tone.
“Kya hai?”
His voice was husky from sleep.
“Sorry… mujhe neend—”
Before he could finish, she walked away, disappearing into the bathroom.
He blinked once, lips curving into a faint, knowing smile, before standing up and heading out of the room.
~
Breakfast was a silent affair. Aayat barely touched her plate, her eyes fixed anywhere but him. When she finally stood to leave, Ayaan reached out — taking her purse from her hand.
“Kya hai?” she asked sharply.
“Tum ho, main hoon, hum hain, aur ....”
“Kya bakwaas kar rahe ho?”
“ chalo Main tumhe office drop kar deta hoon.”
Before she could protest, his fingers curled around her wrist, steady and sure.
Aayat stared up at him, half-annoyed, half-confused — but said nothing. He led her out, the quiet tension between them thick, fragile, unspoken.
They reached the penthouse parking. Ayaan opened the car door, his usual cold demeanor slipping back into place — except for that single fleeting glance toward her that softened, just for a second.
Aayat looked out of the window, trying to ignore the ache in her chest.
And then —
A voice.
Soft. Feminine. Familiar.
“Ayaan?”
Both of them froze.