EPILOGUE
ARYAN
I never understood how people survive the exact moment their dreams begin to come true.
You spend your whole life wanting something so badly it settles into your bones, becomes a quiet ache you stop talking about because wanting it too much feels dangerous.
And then one day it’s suddenly standing in front of you, real and breathing and smiling nervously while adjusting the sleeves of her kurti for the fifth time in two minutes.
And all you can think is—Don’t let this slip through your fingers. The little studio smells like fresh paint, coffee, and flowers.
Her flowers.
Not the aggressively romantic bouquets I keep shoving at her despite her constant complaints that “normal people don’t need this many roses, Aryan.
” These are softer. Smaller. White lilies near the entrance.
Tiny baby breaths tucked into corners. Yellow daisies near the billing desk because apparently they make spaces feel “less intimidating.”
Ishika has spent the last three days pretending she isn’t losing her mind over this opening.
Which means she has absolutely been losing her mind over this opening.
I lean against the doorway of her office space and watch her pace around with a clipboard in hand, muttering under her breath while one of the employees nods helplessly beside her.
“No, no, move that frame slightly left,” she says, squinting critically. “Why is the lighting so warm there? It looks like a dental clinic.”
“It’s just a lamp,” the poor guy says weakly.
“Exactly. Why does it hate me?”
I bite back a laugh. She turns sharply and spots me. Immediately narrows her eyes. “You’re smiling.”
“I am admiring my girlfriend.”
“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“Can both things not happen together?”
She points at me warningly before turning back toward the wall display again.
God.
I love her.
Not in the dramatic movie way where violins start playing every time she walks into a room.
Loving Ishika feels quieter than that. Deeper.
Like knowing exactly how she takes her coffee and still making it wrong on purpose because her annoyed face makes my mornings better.
Like learning that when she gets overwhelmed, she reorganizes things that don’t need reorganizing.
Like realizing the girl who once kept the entire world at arm’s length now unconsciously reaches for my hand in crowded places.
A year ago she used to flinch at needing people. Now she’s standing in the middle of her own studio while my family hangs streamers crookedly behind her and argues about tape. And somehow—She lets herself belong here.
Radhika walks past me carrying snacks and whistles low. “That woman has threatened three people in the last twenty minutes.”
“She’s stressed.”
“She told Vedant she’d legally disown him from humanity if he touched the flower arrangement again.”
“That sounds reasonable honestly.”
Radhika snorts. Across the room, Ishika bends slightly to inspect a table setup and I catch the glint of the ruby ring on her finger.
My ring. The one she argued about for almost forty minutes before finally accepting.
The one she still twists around absently when she’s nervous.
Something warm settles heavily in my chest. There are moments now where happiness hits me so suddenly it almost feels painful.
Because I know what almost happened. I know how close I came to losing her.
And maybe that’s why ordinary things feel sacred now.
Watching her laugh with Ma in the kitchen.
Seeing her asleep in my T-shirt. Listening to her fight with Siddhant over cricket like her life depends on it.
Existing beside her still feels unreal some days.
My gaze shifts toward the entrance again instinctively.
And there he is.
Dheer.
He stands near the glass doors quietly, hands tucked into the pockets of a dark jacket, observing the studio without stepping too far inside.
If someone didn’t know the history standing in that room, they probably wouldn’t notice anything unusual.
But I do. I notice the way Ishika goes slightly still when she spots him. Not tense exactly. Not anymore. But careful. Like someone touching an old wound to check if it still hurts. And I notice him too.
The hesitation in the way he stays near the edge instead of moving closer. The way his eyes soften every time they land on her before he quickly looks away like he hasn’t yet earned the right to look for too long.
They’re trying.
That’s the thing.
Not perfectly. Not magically.
There are still pauses between them sometimes that feel too heavy. Still conversations that end awkwardly because neither of them knows how to bridge years worth of grief in one sitting.
But there are also quieter things now.
Phone calls.
Short visits.
Her occasionally saying “Papa” without freezing afterward.
Him learning how to stand near her life without disappearing from it again. Healing doesn’t look dramatic the way people think it does. Sometimes it just looks like two people choosing not to walk away despite how difficult staying feels.
Ishika glances toward him again. He gives her a small nod.
Pride.
Quiet and overwhelming.
Her expression softens for barely a second before she clears her throat and immediately starts fixing a flower vase that absolutely does not need fixing. I smile to myself.
Baby steps.
“Aryan!”
I blink. She’s staring at me from across the room now.
“What?”
“Stop staring at me like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time and help me.”
I grin instantly. “There’s my girl.” Her cheeks go pink immediately. Still. After one whole year. I walk toward her slowly, stopping right in front of her until she has to tilt her head back slightly to look at me.
“You nervous, Sunshine?”
“No.”
“You reorganized this table four times.”
“It was ugly four times.”
I laugh softly. She exhales dramatically before glancing around the studio again. And for the first time since morning, I see it. Real, overwhelming emotion sitting quietly in her eyes. Her throat moves slightly before she says, quieter this time, “Do you think people will actually come?”
The question lands somewhere deep inside me. Because I know what she’s really asking.
Will people choose me?
Will I finally have something that stays?
I take the clipboard from her hands and set it aside before pulling her closer by the waist. “They would be stupid not to.”
“Aryan.”
“I’m serious.”
Her fingers curl lightly into my shirt. “I still feel like this could disappear,” she admits softly. “Sometimes I wake up and think maybe I imagined all of this.”
I brush a strand of hair behind her ear carefully. “You built this.” Her eyes flicker. “You stayed,” I continue quietly. “You fought for yourself. You let people love you.” I smile a little. “That last one was very difficult for you, by the way.”
She rolls her eyes but they shine suspiciously. “I’m still difficult.”
“You are.” I kiss her forehead lightly. “But now you’re difficult and emotionally attached to me.”
“That sounds unfortunate.”
“For you maybe.” A laugh escapes her then.
The opening goes better than any of us expect.
By evening the studio is full. Clients. Friends.
People move around admiring her work while she stands there trying to pretend she isn’t internally combusting every time someone compliments her.
I catch her smiling more today than she used to in entire months.
And every single time it feels like witnessing something precious.
Ma practically adopts the staff. Radhika posts approximately nine hundred stories.
Vedant sits in one corner acting like he’s too cool to care while secretly telling everyone “yeah she did all this herself actually.”
And Dheer—He never tries to take space that isn’t his.
But I see him watching her quietly from afar sometimes with this expression that almost hurts to look at.
Like pride mixed with regret. Like he still cannot believe he gets to see her at all.
At one point she walks over to hand him coffee.
Their conversation is short. Awkward in places.
But then he says something that makes her snort softly before shaking her head.
And for some reason that tiny moment punches straight through my chest. Because a year ago she thought she had nobody. Now she has people everywhere.
Hours later, after everyone slowly begins leaving and the studio finally quiets down, Ishika drops into the chair near the reception desk with an exhausted groan. “I think my soul left my body at some point.”
I walk toward her holding two cups of coffee. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
“You threatened a customer because he called beige boring.”
“He deserved it.”
I hand her the coffee and she takes it immediately, mumbling a tired thank you before taking a sip.
There’s a softness to her tonight. And suddenly my heartbeat becomes unbearably loud.
Because I know. I’ve known for months. Exactly how I want this night to end.
She glances around the studio one more time, eyes lingering on every little detail she worked for.
“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers.
I stare at her for a moment. Then set my coffee down. “Come with me.” She narrows her eyes immediately.
“That tone concerns me.”
“Trust me.”
“Those words concern me more.” I laugh quietly and hold my hand out anyway.
After a second, she takes it. Always does now. I lead her toward the small terrace upstairs that overlooks the city. The lights are already on. Warm fairy lights wrapped around the railing. Candles flickering softly against the night breeze. Flowers everywhere.
She stops walking. Slowly turns toward me.
“Aryan…” Her voice changes. Enough to make my chest tighten.
I suddenly feel nervous for the first time tonight.
Which is ridiculous because I literally got shot for this woman and somehow this feels scarier.
She looks around once more before staring back at me suspiciously.
“What did you do?”
“I am trying to be romantic.”
“You’re terrifyingly good at it.”
I grin softly. Then reach into my pocket. And the moment her eyes widen my entire body forgets how to function normally. I take a slow breath before kneeling in front of her. Immediately she looks scandalized.
“Oh my god,” she whisper-yells. “Get up, people will see.”
“Let them.”
“Aryan.”
“Sunshine,” I counter gently.
Her hands flutter uselessly at her sides while panic and emotion and disbelief fight across her face all at once. God she’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling wrecked by her. “I had this whole speech planned,” I admit honestly. “It was very good. Siddhant helped.”
“That’s concerning already.”
“But now I’m looking at you and my brain is gone.”
A watery laugh escapes her. “One year ago,” I say quietly, “you could barely stand in the same room as me without trying to fight me.”
“That’s not true.”
“You insulted me within three minutes of meeting me.”
“You were being annoying.”
“I was flirting.”
“You were failing.”
I laugh softly. Then my expression settles again. More serious this time. “You changed my life, Ishika.”
Her breathing stills. “I thought love would feel dramatic,” I continue. “Big. Loud. But with you…” I shake my head slightly. “It feels like coming home after being tired for a very long time.”
Her eyes glisten immediately. “And I know loving people scares you sometimes,” I say softly. “I know trust didn’t come easy for you. But every day you still chose me.” My throat tightens slightly. “And I swear to you, Sunshine, I will spend the rest of my life being worthy of that choice.”
She presses her lips together hard. Crying already.
I smile helplessly. “I don’t want perfect days,” I whisper.
“I want you. Your terrible mood swings. Your emotional support insults. Your stealing fries after saying you weren’t hungry.
” Her laugh breaks through tears. “I want every version of you.”
I pull the ring box open carefully. Her hand flies to her mouth instantly.
“Ishika Vyas,” I say quietly, my heart pounding so hard it hurts, “will you marry me?”
For one terrifying second—She just stares at me. Then tears spill down her cheeks properly. “Oh no,” she mutters emotionally. “You made me emotional in public.”
“It’s technically private.”
“There are literally candles witnessing this.” I laugh shakily.
Then her eyes meet mine again. And everything else disappears. “I spent so much of my life believing love leaves,” she says softly. “That people leave. That eventually I would end up alone again no matter what I did.” Her voice trembles. “And then you happened to me.”
My chest physically aches.
“You loved me so loudly,” she whispers, crying openly now. “Even when I didn’t know how to ask for it back properly.” She shakes her head slightly, smiling through tears. “And now I can’t imagine a version of my life that doesn’t have you in it.”
My eyes burn suddenly. God. “I want all of it,” she says. “The annoying grocery shopping. Your dramatic behavior. Your family stealing my side in arguments.” A tiny laugh escapes her. “I want every year with you.”
Then she looks at me with so much love in her eyes it nearly destroys me completely.
“Yes, Golden Boy,” she whispers. “I’ll marry you.”
Relief crashes into me so violently I almost laugh. Instead I slide the ring onto her finger with shaking hands before standing quickly and pulling her into me. She laughs breathlessly against my mouth as I kiss her.
And kiss her.
And kiss her again. Her fingers curl into my jacket while the city glows quietly behind us.
“Aryan,” she whispers.
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
“I know, Sunshine.” She narrows her eyes immediately.
“Say it back.”
I grin. “I love you too.”
“No,” she says suspiciously. “Say it properly.”
I laugh softly before kissing her again. Then murmur against her lips—“I love you so much it scares me a little.”