Part 12
It had been two days since that night.
Two days since Riya had broken apart in Arjun’s arms.
Two days since he had held her through the storm she had spent years trying to weather alone.
And now… she sat at her desk in the ETF office, staring down at a half-filled case report.
Her pen hovered above the paper, unmoving.
Her eyes traced the words, but they blurred into meaningless shapes.
Her hand was steady, though.
For the first time in a long time.
She exhaled slowly and glanced toward the glass wall of Arjun’s cabin.
He was there.
Leaning back in his chair, deep in thought, his eyes narrowed slightly as he scrolled through a report.
She let her eyes linger on him longer than she should have.
Noticing the faint stubble shadowing his jaw.
The sharp slant of his cheekbones.
The way his fingers tapped lightly against the desk in thought.
And for a brief moment, her heart felt… quiet.
Not racing.
Not panicking.
Just… steady.
“Riya.”
She blinked at the sound of her name and turned to find Shree grinning at her from across his desk.
His head was slightly tilted, his eyes narrowing with mock suspicion.
“Tumhari files se zyada… kuch aur interesting dikh raha hai kya?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows toward Arjun’s cabin.
Her eyes widened slightly in alarm, and she quickly shook her head.
“Nahi!” she sputtered. “Main… main bas—”
“Haan haan… bas dekh rahi thi.” Shree smirked wickedly. “Samajhta hoon main.”
Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she shot him a half-hearted glare.
But he just leaned back in his chair, still grinning like a fool.
“Vaise… tu theek hai na?” he asked softly, the teasing fading into genuine concern.
Her expression softened.
And she nodded.
“Haan, Shree.” She offered him a small, genuine smile. “Main theek hoon.”
His eyes searched hers for a brief moment—looking for cracks, for signs of the familiar fractures—but when he found none, his lips curved into a warm, relieved grin.
“Good.”
And just like that, he turned back to his work, humming softly under his breath, leaving her with a warmth she hadn’t expected.
***
Later that evening, Riya stood by the window of the ETF’s small kitchen, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea.
The sky was painted in soft hues of lavender and burnt orange as the sun slowly descended beyond the horizon.
The office was quieter now.
Chotu and Shree had left an hour ago, and Sameer had retreated to his cabin to finish his reports.
And she knew Arjun was still there.
She could feel him.
She took a slow sip of her tea, letting the warmth settle in her chest, and closed her eyes briefly.
For once, the stillness didn’t suffocate her.
It didn’t claw at her throat or crush her lungs.
It simply… was.
And then she heard his voice.
“Akele?”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned slightly to find him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
His voice was low and quiet—devoid of its usual sharpness.
“Tum kabhi nahi thakte kya?” she asked softly, her lips curving into a faint, tired smile.
He arched a brow slightly, pushing away from the doorframe and walking toward her.
“Tumhara peecha karne se?” he murmured dryly, his tone laced with his signature sarcasm. “Nahi. Adat ho gayi hai.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the faint amusement flickering in his gaze made her lips twitch.
“Bohot bure ho aap,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.
“Pata hai.”
For a moment, they just stood there.
The kitchen bathed in the soft, golden remnants of daylight.
The silence between them felt… easy.
Like breathing.
She stared down at her tea, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug.
And then she whispered softly, “Woh raat… us din…”
Her voice cracked faintly.
Arjun’s eyes softened instantly.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t push.
He simply waited.
Her throat bobbed slightly, and she forced the words out.
“Us raat… agar aap nahi hote…”
Her voice wavered, raw and broken, but she didn’t stop.
“Toh shayad… main—”
She didn’t finish.
She didn’t need to.
Because in the next breath, he was there.
Closing the distance between them.
Standing so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
His fingers gently curled around her wrist, pulling her hand away from the mug, and then he slowly pried it from her grip, setting it aside.
And then, with infinite gentleness, he cupped her face.
His rough, calloused palms cradling her fragile, trembling frame.
His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones softly—barely touching—but she felt it.
The steady warmth.
The unwavering calm.
“Riya…” his voice was hoarse, his throat tight with emotion.
Her eyes burned again.
Her lashes dampened.
Her breath shuddered.
And when he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.
“Tum akeli nahi ho.”
Her throat constricted violently.
Her hands fisted against his chest, gripping his shirt tightly as the first sob wracked through her.
And he didn’t let go.
He didn’t move.
He just held her.
Firmly.
Quietly.
Completely.
Her tears fell freely, dampening the fabric of his shirt, but she clung to him.
To the warmth.
To the safety.
To him.
***
Later that night, Riya sat on the couch in Arjun’s apartment, her legs curled up beneath her, a blanket draped loosely around her shoulders.
Her hands were wrapped around a warm mug of coffee, and she stared into the flickering glow of the lamp, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but clearer than they had been in months.
Arjun sat beside her, his legs stretched out, one arm casually draped over the back of the couch.
He wasn’t touching her.
But he was close enough that she could feel his presence.
Solid. Steady.
She took a slow sip of her coffee, her fingers slightly trembling around the cup.
And then she spoke softly.
“Main therapy jaati hoon.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
But it was enough.
She didn’t look at him.
She couldn’t.
But she felt him still instantly.
And then, after a brief pause, he asked softly, “Kitne time se?”
She stared down at her coffee.
“Teen saal.”
Her voice was quiet, but steady.
And for the first time… she didn’t feel ashamed of saying it out loud.
Arjun didn’t say anything for a moment.
And then, slowly—gently—he reached over and brushed his knuckles against hers.
Her grip on the mug loosened slightly.
And when she finally looked at him, her eyes were wide and uncertain, searching his for judgment.
But she didn’t find any.
Instead, she found something else entirely.
Understanding.
Warmth.
And something that looked an awful lot like pride.
He simply held her gaze and murmured softly, “Tum bohot himmat wali ho, Riya.”
And in that moment… she believed him.
I really liked that scene
Mangal Lakshmi
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