CHAPTER 51
ISHIKA
The road is quieter than it should be.
Not empty—but stretched out in that late-night way where everything feels a little too still, a little too aware of itself. Streetlights blur past in soft yellow streaks, the city humming low and distant like it’s already half-asleep.
I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear, mind drifting in that dangerous space between tired and calm.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him.
But I am.
His laugh earlier. The way he looked at me when I handed him those letters. The way he said my name like it meant something steady, something that wouldn’t disappear if I blinked.
I press my lips together. Idiot.
I shift in my seat, trying to focus on the road, that's when I notice the black SUV that started driving a car behind near Aryan's house and is still behind me. I frown. Cars follow each other all the time. Same direction, same turns. It doesn’t mean anything.
I tell myself that. Once. Twice. I change lanes. It changes too.
A flicker of something cold slips down my spine. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
Okay.
Maybe not a coincidence.
My heart picks up—not panic yet, but awareness. That sharp, instinctive alertness that makes everything around you feel louder.
I accelerate slightly. So does it.
The air in the car feels different now. My breath comes a little shorter. This is stupid. Maybe they’re just going the same way. Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe—The car jerks. Hard. “What the—”
The steering wheel resists my grip for a second, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore. I straighten, both hands gripping tightly now.
“Okay… okay…” My voice sounds thin. Like it doesn’t belong to me.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, fingers digging into the leather as if I can force the car to listen if I just hold on hard enough.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper, more to myself than anything else.
I press on the brake. Nothing. Not the usual resistance. Not that familiar pushback under my foot. My stomach drops so fast it feels like the ground has disappeared beneath me.
No.
No, no, no.
I press harder. Still nothing. The car doesn’t slow. If anything, it feels like it’s moving faster.
My breath stutters.
“Okay—okay, think.”
My heart is no longer beating steadily. It’s racing now, erratic, loud enough that I can hear it over the hum of the engine. I shift gears down.
The car jolts violently, the sudden resistance making the tires screech for a second before it stabilizes again—but it doesn’t slow enough.
Not nearly enough.
The road ahead stretches too long.
Too open.
Too fast.
The black SUV is still there in the mirror. Close. Too close. Watching.
A cold, crawling realization settles into my bones. This isn’t random.
My fingers start to shake.
No.
Focus.
I try the handbrake, slower this time, more careful.
It lifts halfway—
The car swerves. Sharply.
A gasp tears out of me as I instinctively correct the steering, the wheel fighting me like it has its own mind. I drop the handbrake immediately.
“Shit—”
My chest is tight now. Too tight. Like I can’t get enough air in.
Think.
Think.
What do you do?
What do you do when your car doesn’t stop?
The answer doesn’t come.
Nothing comes.
Just fear. My mind races to him. It’s not even a decision.
My hand moves on instinct, grabbing my phone, my fingers slipping once before I manage to hit his name.
It rings.
Once.
Twice—
“Hey, Sunshine-” he begins, his voice sounding so calm and I can hear the smile in his voice. Something inside me cracks open at the sound of it.
“Aryan—” My voice breaks. I hate that it does.
“I—something’s wrong,” I say, the words tumbling over each other, breathing unevenly. “My car—I can’t stop it, the brakes aren’t working properly, I don’t know what’s happening—”
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end.
Then his voice changes, it's almost mechanical as if his brain has short circuited too. “Okay. I’m here,” he says, low and controlled in a way that makes me want to hold onto it. “Talk to me. What exactly is happening?”
“I tried braking—it’s not responding,” I say quickly, eyes flicking between the road and the mirrors and the speedometer that refuses to drop. “I tried shifting down, it slowed a bit but it’s not enough. The steering—something feels off, it’s not…right.”
“Okay,” he says again, softer this time maybe because he can hear the panic in my voice. “Where are you?”
I tell him. There’s a pause. Not long. But long enough for something to settle heavy in my chest.
“I’m coming,” he says. “I’m seven—no, five minutes away,” he corrects himself quickly. “Stay on the line with me.”
Five minutes. That feels like forever suddenly.
“I don’t think I can control this,” I whisper.
“You are controlling it,” he replies immediately. “You’re still on the road. You’re still steady. You’re doing it.”
My grip tightens painfully. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “But you are.”
My throat burns. “I don’t like this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t—” My voice falters. “I don’t want to die like this.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. I sound so freaking desperate. I don't sound like me at all. “You’re not going to.”
There’s no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just… certainty. And for some reason, that scares me more. Because what if he’s wrong?
My vision blurs for a second. I blink it away.
“I haven’t done anything,” I whisper, my voice trembling now despite everything I’m trying to hold together. “I haven’t lived properly. I haven’t figured anything out. I haven’t even—” My throat tightens.
“I haven’t even let myself be happy.” The admission sits heavy in the air between us.
"Sunshine," he whispers, "I am not losing you today." I can hear his voice wavering. "I am not losing you ever, baby. No matter what...nothing's happening to you."
“I wanted to try,” I admit softly. “I was trying, Aryan.”
“I know you were,” he says, and there’s something in his voice now—something certain, something that feels like it’s wrapping around the panic clawing up my chest.
“I wanted to stay,” I whisper.
My hands shake. “I wanted to see what this could be.” What we could be.
"We will..." He breathes deeply, "You and me...
we'll get married, have kids if you want them, I will see you grow your interior business from scratch and I will force you to eat and sleep when you forget you're human and need those things.
" His voice breaks, "We will see everything.
I will make sure of that. I want to see you heal Ishika.
This isn't fair and it's not going to happen. "
Tears stream down my face, how do I tell him that I can't see any out from this, how do I say I want all of those things he mentioned and so much more.
I have always kept myself locked inside a cage and only recently...
only after meeting this man did I realize how pathetic and stupid I was, and how much I craved for love, for being seen instead of vanishing...
and I had finally started to...No, please.
My head jerks up when I see his car drive in front of me. My heart stops when I see what he's doing. His car is driving in front of me now. “Aryan—what are you doing?” My voice rises, panic cutting through every word. “Move! Move your car!”
He doesn’t.
“Listen to me,” he says. Too calm. Too steady.
“You’re going to hit me.”
“No!” The word rips out of me. “No, I’m not—move!”
“I’m not moving.”
My chest heaves. “You’re insane!”
“Probably,” he says quietly. “But you’re going to be okay.”
Tears spill over now, hot and unstoppable.
“I don’t want to hurt you!”
“You won’t.”
“I will!” I choke out. “I can’t stop this car!”
“I know,” he says gently. “So stop trying to fight it.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Take your hands off the steering wheel.”
Everything in me goes still. “No.”
“Trust me.”
“I can’t!” I trust him, probably with my life considering I called him first and not only because he's the only person I have managed to stay with in my life but because I have never felt this safe before.
“I don’t want to lose you too,” I whisper.
The words come out broken.
Bare.
I don't want to hurt him. Driving into him, what if he gets injured, there's no what if, he will get injured. “I’m not leaving you,” he murmurs. “Not like this.”
The distance between us is shrinking too fast. Too fast. “I don’t want to do this,” I say, shaking my head even though he can’t see me.
“I know.”
“Aryan, please move—”
“I love you.”
The words land before I can brace for them.
“Listen to me,” he says gently, like he’s holding her together through his voice alone.
“You don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to hold everything by yourself.
I’ve got you. Even if you can’t see me, even if everything feels out of control—I’m right here.
And I love you, Ishika. Not someday, not maybe.
Right now. Enough to stand in your path if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.
” My world blurs, my face wet from the tears that aren't stopping and his words aren't helping.
“I tried not to. I kept telling myself this would end, that you would leave, that I’d be fine if I didn’t let it matter…" I sob, unable to control it, "but you stayed. You kept showing up. And now you matter more than I know how to handle."
“I love you,” he repeats, stronger this time. “So listen to me.”
My hands tremble violently now. My heart feels like it’s breaking out of my chest.
“Ishika.” Just my name. But it steadies something inside me. Just enough.
“Let go.”
The car is too close now. There’s no more time. No more space to think. Just him. Just his voice. Just—Faith.
My fingers loosen. Slowly. Terrified. My hands lift from the steering wheel. I close my eyes. And in the last second before everything collides—I believe him.