CHAPTER 52
ARYAN
I don’t remember getting out of the car.
One second my hands are still locked around the steering wheel, the impact still echoing through my bones, the smell of burnt rubber and something metallic clogging my lungs—
—and the next, my door is open and I’m stumbling out onto the road like my body has forgotten how to function.
My head spins.
There’s a ringing in my ears that won’t stop. For a second, the world tilts.
I grab the edge of my door to steady myself, blinking hard, trying to force everything back into focus. And then I see it. Her car. What’s left of it.
The front is crushed in, metal folded in on itself like paper, smoke curling up in thin, ugly lines. The windshield is cracked, spiderwebbed in a way that makes something inside my chest seize so violently I can’t breathe.
No.
No, no, no—
“Ishika—”
My voice comes out wrong. Too loud. Too rough. I can’t see her. I can’t see her.
My feet move before my brain catches up.
I’m running.
Stumbling more than running, really—my legs don’t feel steady, my head still spinning from the collision, but none of that matters because—I can’t see her.
“Ishika!”
I reach her car, my hands shaking so badly I almost miss the handle the first time. It’s stuck. Of course it is.
“Fuck—”
I yank harder, my palm slipping, heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s going to tear through my ribs.
“Open—open—”
It gives.
The door jerks open with a sharp sound. And then—
There she is.
For a second, everything goes quiet.
Too quiet.
She’s slumped forward slightly, the airbag deflated around her, her hair falling over her face, unnaturally still. No.
No.
“Ishika—hey—hey—”
I reach for her, my hands hovering before finally touching her shoulders, too careful, too afraid of what I might feel.
“Hey, look at me.” My voice cracks. I don’t even register it.
“Look at me, Sunshine—come on—”
There’s blood.
A thin line of it, trailing from her temple, slipping past her cheek. My stomach drops.
“Ishika—” her head shifts slightly as her eyes flutter open. Air rushes back into my lungs so violently it almost hurts.
“Oh my—”
I don’t even finish the sentence.
I pull her into me without thinking, my arms wrapping around her like if I let go she might disappear again.
“You’re okay,” I breathe, the words spilling out like a chant, like something I need to hear to believe. “You’re okay, you’re okay—”
She exhales shakily against me, her hands weakly gripping my shirt.
“I… think so,” she murmurs.
Think so.
That’s not enough. I pull back just enough to look at her properly, my hands moving to her face, checking, searching.
Her eyes are open.
Focused.
But there’s a slight delay to her movements that makes my chest tighten all over again.
“You hit your head,” I say quickly, my voice sharper now, more urgent. “Does it hurt? Are you dizzy? Do you feel nauseous?”
“I’m fine,” she insists, her voice soft but steady.
There’s blood on her. She is not fine.
“I’m calling an ambulance.” She doesn't argue much which is a confirmation that she's hurt. I fumble with my phone, my fingers clumsy as I dial. I don’t even remember what I say.
Something about an accident. Location. Injuries.
My voice sounds foreign to my own ears—too controlled for what I’m feeling, like my body has decided to handle this while the rest of me is still stuck in that moment where I couldn’t see her.
I hang up and look back at her immediately.
She’s watching me.
And there’s something in her expression that doesn’t match the situation.
Something soft.
Something almost…amused.
“I’m okay,” she repeats gently.
I shake my head, crouching in front of her now, my hands still on her, like I need to keep checking she’s real.
“No, don’t—don’t do that,” I mutter, more to myself than her. “Stay with me, okay? Just—just answer me a few things.”
Her lips twitch.
“Ishika,” I say firmly. “What’s your name?”
She blinks at me.
“You're asking my name while saying my name in the same sentence,” she scoffs. Okay, she may be okay considering her sense of humor is intact. I ignore her comment though. “Good,” I nod quickly. “Do you know where you are?”
“Road,” she says, then frowns slightly. “Near…your place.”
Close enough.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Do you know who I am?”
Something shifts in her eyes then. Something warm. Dangerously so.
She tilts her head just a little, studying me like I’m the one being tested.
“My boyfriend,” she says. My chest tightens.
“Aryan Khanna.”
Relief crashes into me so hard it almost makes my vision blur.
“And,” she adds, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite everything, “someone I’m occasionally rude to.”
A breathless laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
God.
Even now.
Even like this—
“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her gently closer without thinking. She leans into it.
Like it’s instinct.
Like it’s where she wants to be.
And then she kisses me. It’s not careful. Not hesitant.
It’s messy and a little off-angle because of how she’s sitting and how I’m half-collapsed in front of her, but it’s real and warm and alive and—
It knocks the breath out of me all over again.
When she pulls back, her eyes are glassy. Tearful. “I’m okay,” she whispers again.
I nod.
But my hand tightens against her neck anyway.
Like I need the contact to believe it.
“I know,” I murmur. “I know.”
“You don’t look like you believe it.”
“I will,” I say quietly. “In about…ten minutes.”
She huffs out a soft, shaky laugh.
“I think I’m supposed to reassure you right now.”
“You are doing a terrible job,” She replies, her voice rough. “I really, really like you,” she says, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard it.
My breath catches.
I shake my head lightly, a helpless smile pulling at my mouth.
“Do you remember me confessing my love,” I murmur, brushing my thumb just under the edge of her jaw, “or did the head injury do me a favor?”
She lets out a broken laugh.
“Unfortunately for you,” she says, her voice wobbling slightly, “I remember everything.”
I groan softly, dropping my forehead briefly against hers. “Of course you do.”
Her hand comes up, fingers brushing my cheek.
“You meant it,” she whispers.
I don’t hesitate.
“Every word.”
Her eyes close for a second.
Like she’s holding onto that.
Like it matters.
Sirens cut through the moment. I pull back just as the ambulance pulls up, reality crashing back in.
Paramedics rush over, asking questions, checking her, guiding her out of the car carefully.
I don’t let go.
Not fully.
My hand stays on her arm, her shoulder, wherever I can still touch her without getting in their way.
They ask her the same questions I did.
She answers all of them.
Steady. I follow when they move her to the ambulance, climbing in without being asked.
I’m not leaving.
Not now. Not after she almost—
No.
I am not finishing that thought. “I’m here,” she says simply.
I nod.
But something inside me doesn’t fully settle.
Because this—
This doesn’t feel random.
Her saying she felt like someone had been in her house.
The pendant.
Now this.
Brake failure. A slow, cold realization starts to take shape.
This wasn’t an accident.
My jaw clenches.
My thumb presses harder against her hand without me realizing. While they’re checking her, I step aside for a moment.
Just one.
My phone is already in my hand.
My fingers move quickly as I send him the location of our collision.
Aryan:
Find out what happened to her car.
Brakes don’t fail like that.
I pause.
Then type again.
Aryan:
And check if anything’s been off around her place. Quietly.
I hit send.