CHAPTER 57
ISHIKA
The silence greets me before anything else does. It’s the first thing I notice when I unlock the door and step inside—how still everything feels. Not in a peaceful way. Not in the way Aryan’s house feels quiet at night, wrapped in warmth and leftover laughter. This is different. This is…hollow.
I close the door behind me and lean against it for a second, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains.
Nothing has changed. Of course it hasn’t.
The same books stacked in their uneven piles.
The same throw blanket folded too neatly over the couch.
The same faint smell of coffee lingering in the air.
Everything exactly where I left it. And yet—It doesn’t feel the same.
I walk further in, dropping my bag onto the chair without much thought, my fingers trailing lightly over the back of the couch as I pass. The apartment has always been my refuge. Controlled. Predictable. Mine. No noise. No interruptions. No expectations.
Just me.
That used to be enough.
More than enough.
I used to come home and feel relief settle into my bones the second the door clicked shut behind me. Like I had escaped something loud and unnecessary. Like I had returned to something safe.
Now—Now it feels like I’ve walked into a place that’s been waiting too long. Like it forgot how to breathe. I exhale slowly and move toward my room, flicking on the light as I go. The brightness feels harsher than usual. Or maybe I’m just not used to it anymore.
I sit on the edge of the bed and look around.
This space has held every version of me I’ve allowed to exist. The guarded one.
The efficient one. The one who knew how to function without needing anyone.
The one who built walls so carefully that even I started believing they were permanent.
I let out a quiet breath, my fingers curling slightly into the bedsheet beneath me.
Did I really think I could live like this forever?
The question doesn’t feel dramatic. It feels…honest. Because I did. I thought this was it. That this—this quiet, controlled existence where nothing could touch me—was enough. That needing more was a weakness I couldn’t afford.
And for a long time, it worked.
It kept me safe.
It kept me…untouched.
But it also kept me alone. I lie back slowly, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the fan the only sound in the room.
The past few days flicker through my mind without permission.
His house. His family. The way his mother fussed over me like I was something fragile she had decided to protect.
Radhika’s loud, unapologetic presence. Vedant’s quiet observations.
Aryan—Always there. Always steady. Always…choosing to stay.
My chest tightens.
I turn my head slightly, staring at the empty space beside me. It feels strange. How quickly something can become…familiar. How quickly someone can.
I sit up after a moment, shaking my head lightly as if that will somehow clear the thoughts. I don’t have the luxury of lying around and overanalyzing every feeling.
I change quickly, pulling on something comfortable, tying my hair up absentmindedly before moving to my desk.
Work helps.
It always has. I open my laptop, pull out my sketches, force my brain to focus on lines and dimensions instead of the way my chest feels too full.
It works.
For a while.
Until it doesn’t.
My eyes drift to my phone. He said he’d come. He insisted, actually.
“No arguments,” he had said, looking entirely too serious for something as simple as picking me up.
My car. The memory of it makes something cold curl in my stomach. The screech of metal. The loss of control. The way my heart had pounded so loudly I thought it might burst.
And him, his voice, so steady. Grounding. Refusing to let me slip into panic. My fingers tighten slightly around the pen in my hand.
If he hadn’t been there—I stop the thought immediately. No. I’m not going there. I’m here. I’m fine. He’s coming. Everything is okay. I exhale slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax.
My gaze drifts again to the ring, the ruby catches it softly, glowing warm against my skin. “You’re impossible,” I murmur under my breath, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
My boyfriend.
The word still feels new.
Strange.
Mine.
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head.
If someone had told me few months ago that I’d be sitting here, smiling at the thought of someone, waiting for them to pick me up—I would have called them delusional.
And yet—Here I am.
Not just waiting. Wanting. The realization settles deeper than I expect.
I love him.
The thought doesn’t come with panic like I thought it would. It doesn’t come with resistance either. I stare at my hands for a moment, the ring catching the light again, and something in my chest expands in a way that feels unfamiliar and overwhelming all at once.
I love him.
I want to say it out loud. The urge is sudden.
Almost ridiculous. Like if I don’t, it’ll sit inside me and grow too big to hold.
I want to tell him. I want to see what his face looks like when I say it.
I want to watch his stupid, beautiful smile widen like it always does when he’s pleased with himself.
I want to stand in the middle of everything he’s built and say it without hesitation.
Mine.
He’s mine.
And I’m—I stop myself, pressing my lips together.
God.
What is happening to me?
A soft laugh escapes me despite everything, and I shake my head, running a hand through my hair. This is new. This is terrifying.
And for once—I don’t want to run from it.
I glance at the time. He should be here soon.
I stand, smoothing my clothes unnecessarily, glancing at myself in the mirror out of habit more than anything else.
I look…different. Not physically. But there’s something in my expression that wasn’t there before.
Something softer. Less guarded. It startles me but I am happy.
The doorbell rings. My heart does something stupid. I roll my eyes at myself, but I’m already moving toward the door, my steps quicker than they need to be.
I open the door with a small, automatic smile already forming—
“Ary—” The word dies in my throat.
Everything inside me stills. Because it’s not him.
For a second, my brain doesn’t register what I’m seeing.
Like it’s refusing to connect the image in front of me to anything real.
He looks…the same. And completely different.
Familiar in the worst way. Like a memory I buried too deep has suddenly decided to stand right in front of me and breathe.
My fingers tighten around the edge of the door. “What are you doing here?”
My voice comes out steadier than I feel. His lips curve slightly. That same smile. The one that used to mean something else. Now it just feels…wrong.
“Missed me?” Something cold slides down my spine.
“No.” The answer is immediate because he didn’t give me a reason to miss when he vanished without a word. His gaze flickers over my face, taking in every reaction, every shift in expression like he’s cataloguing it.
“Still the same,” he murmurs.
My pulse spikes.
“You need to leave.” I start to push the door closed. But his hand shoots out, stopping it before it can move more than an inch.
My breath catches. “Don’t,” I say, my voice dropping. There’s no fear in it. Something shifts in his expression.
“You should hear me out,” he says quietly.
“I don’t owe you anything.” His grip tightens slightly on the door.
“Maybe not.” My heart starts to pound.
“Then leave.” For a split second, neither of us moves. The space between us stretches thin.
And then—Everything happens too fast. His other hand moves. I barely register the glint of something metallic before a sharp sting pierces my arm.
“What—” The word doesn’t finish and my world tilts. Like the ground beneath me has shifted slightly out of place. My fingers loosen around the door. My body doesn’t feel entirely mine anymore.
“What did you—” My voice slurs. His face stays steady as he watches me carefully. My vision blurs at the edges. I try to step back. My legs don’t respond the way they should.
No. No, no, no—
My heart starts racing again, panic finally breaking through the fog.
I reach for the door. For anything. For something.
But my grip fails. The room spins slowly, like everything is just slightly out of sync.
My breathing turns uneven. This isn’t happening.
This isn’t—My thoughts stumble over themselves.
Aryan.
The name hits me hard. I need—My body sways.
The world slips further. His voice reaches me, distant now, like it’s coming from somewhere far away. But I don’t hear the words. I can’t focus on them. Everything is fading. The light. The room. The edges of everything softening into nothing.
My knees give out. Darkness creeps in from the corners of my vision, swallowing everything in slow, inevitable waves. I try to hold onto something. His face. His voice. The way he says my name.
My lips part.
“Aa…r—”