71| Done with me? | Aayansh and Aashika. #4
The girl who never grew up, never truly made it out of that basement. She is still standing there, a gun in her trembling little hands, having pulled the trigger on her own mother just to free her from the pain. But somewhere, she herself is still trapped... beside her mother's body.
She never got to say goodbye.
And maybe, just maybe, that little girl is waiting for someone to hold her hand, and lead her out of the dark.
A part of her that's still untouched by the monsters that made her this way. Innocent. Pure.
A version of her that solely belongs to Aaina.
He reaches for her without a word, one arm sliding beneath her knees, the other supporting her back, and lifts her with effortless ease. Then, he carries her to the car, carefully settles her into the passenger seat, and fastens the seat belt across her before walking around to the driver's side.
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New York| Evening| 07:14 PM.
Taking the elevator downstairs, I head toward the main hall as the gentle warmth of the evening settles over me. Staring around my room while thinking about him, about us, I didn't even realize when slumber took over. Now, after sleeping for hours, I need some fresh air.
I'm trying my best to get him out of my head, to focus on being here... with my family, with myself, with my life. But it's just so damn difficult.
Does being in love make you this helpless?
Earlier, I thought I'd stay here for my birthday and then, once I returned, I'd make things clear with him. But no... not anymore. I want to see what he does. More accurately, I want to know if he actually wants me... and if he does, just how much.
As I walk absentmindedly, Bro's voice comes from somewhere ahead. "Tara..." I look up to find him standing there, his expression composed like always. Beside him stands a man I don't recognize, an uncle with blond hair and grey eyes, dressed sharply in a brown suit.
I walk closer, and the first thing that happens is the uncle greeting me with a respectful bow. "Buona sera, Principessa."
Wait-what?
Before I can react, bro clarifies, "He's wishing you a good evening."
"Oh," I mutter, quickly returning his greeting with a polite nod.
Then, my brother introduces him to me. "He's Mr. Cedric Beaumont. For the next four days, he'll be handling everything for your birthday... the biggest celebration of the year. Last year, it was his brother who made the occasion memorable."
Nope! It was my Aayansh who made my last birthday memorable.
"It was a masquerade, just as you wanted. So, tell him whatever you wish for this time."
I stare at them blankly. Honestly, I have no interest in any of it right now. The girl who used to be overexcited about everything, especially her own birthday, is just... I don't know anymore.
"Uh... whatever you think is good," I force a smile, unsure if it looks convincing enough.
Mr. Beaumont looks visibly awkward, but Bro's eyes stay fixed on my face.
Ugh, why do I have to ruin everything today?
"Mr. Beaumont, we'll discuss this later," he tells the older man, dismissing him with a nod. "You may leave."
As the uncle leaves, I look up at bro, about to apologise for embarrassing him, but before I can, his hand settles gently against my cheek. "What's wrong?" he asks, studying my expression. "Since the moment we landed here, not once have you smiled genuinely."
My lips part, ready to spill another lie. "No, I'm f-"
But he cuts me off softly. "Princess."
I blink at him. "Hmm?"
"You're still not grown enough to lie to your brother, are you?"
I shake my head. Then, before I can stop myself, I reach for him and fold myself against his chest, letting all the ache I've been carrying bleed out.
"You were right. He doesn't care about anyone." I hate how weak I sound saying it. "... Not even me."
His hold tightens around me, not harshly, but enough for me to feel the coldness settling into his blood.
Silence settles between us for a moment.
A lone tear slip down my cheek as he continues to soothe my back. Then, he eases me back just enough for our eyes to meet.
"Do you remember when we lost Mom in that accident?" he murmurs. I nod, of course I do.
"Dad was left with the responsibility of two of us-Alone-But not once did he break down or let us see him weaken. I was old enough to understand everything. You weren't."
I listen quietly as he continues, "There were nights when I'd wake up and find him staring at Mom's photograph for hours." He leans in, brushing that tear away with his thumb. "Do you know why?"
"Because he loved her too much, obviously," I answer without any hesitation.
The corner of his lips lifts faintly. "Right. That was love. The feeling that makes you feel complete, even in their absence, rather than hollowing you from within."
I know exactly what he means. He's talking about me and Aayansh.
But I don't entirely agree with that. Love doesn't have one definition, or one face. It's enigmatic... Different for every heart that feels it.
So, trying to shrug it off and lighten the moment, I mutter in the same heavy voice, "That's a lot of talking for someone who's still single at thirty-two!"
He lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "So now you're judging me by my age?"
"No-never. Just saying! You talk like you've spent an entire lifetime loving someone."
Something in his expression stills. Nothing dramatic or obvious, just a momentary quietness.
While Tara stares at Arsh, his phone rings. He gives her a brief glance before pulling it out and checking the notification. It's a message from one of his men
'Boss, nothing unusual on his end. His routine is completely normal. Also, the Camorra's former consigliere met with him a few hours ago.'
Arsh's brow creases slightly as he reads that Aayansh is living his life as usual, doing nothing 'suspicious' on his end.
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Aayansh's Villa, Later at night.
The bathroom door opens, and he steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist, his wet, tousled hair falling across his forehead, droplets of water glistening over his chest and defined abs.
But his face isn't as relaxed as usual. There's a strange kind of restlessness in his features, almost imperceptible, but still there.
Running a hand through his wet hair, he lets his gaze wander around the room.
The bed's black headboard, decorated with the little pink stickers Tara loves. Her pictures covering the dark-gray walls of his room, capturing her smiling and laughing. Her guitar at the centre, surrounded by her music diaries, and little lipstick marks scattered here and there.
And at the centre of her pictures are two adorable tiny dots, with 'My angels' written beneath them in delicate cursive.
All of it-done by her.
Because she's made a home within his darkness. Her home.
Aayansh's gaze finally settles on the mattress, where one of her dresses is lying.
He walks over and picks up the dress, bringing it to his face as he inhales deeply, taking in the faint scent of her lingering on the fabric. His eyes close.
For a moment, he just stays like that.
Then, in that deep, obsessive voice of his, he murmurs, "Tadap main raha hun, toh tadapna tumhe bhi padega." With that, he opens his eyes, his gaze falling on the dress. "Jaan."
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