Riya/Ariya FF: Aakhri Umeed {A/N on p.1 | Update 16}- Page 9

it was a sweet and satisfying ending.

Part 16

The lake stretched before them, its surface shimmering faintly under the soft glow of the twilight sky.
The horizon was painted in hues of lavender, blush, and gold.
The water was still, only occasionally rippled by a passing breeze.
A faint mist lingered just above the surface, giving the scenery an ethereal, dreamlike quality.

Riya sat on the hood of Arjun's SUV, her knees pulled up to her chest.
Her arms were loosely wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on her knee.
The cool evening breeze swept across her face, tugging gently at the loose tendrils of her hair.

Arjun stood nearby, his back resting against the SUV.
His hands were loosely tucked into his pockets, his eyes fixed on her.
Watching.
Guarding.
Always.

For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence was comfortable.
Steady.
Like the stillness of the lake.

But it wasn't empty.
No.
It was full.
Of unspoken words.
Of promises neither of them needed to say aloud.
Of everything they had lived through.
Of everything they were yet to be.

***

Riya exhaled softly, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

And then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, she said,

"Kabhi kabhi sochti hoon... main hoti bhi ya nahi, koi farq padta?"

Her words were soft, but they sliced through the stillness like a blade.
Arjun's chest tightened instantly.
His fingers curled into fists at his sides, the muscles in his jaw ticking faintly.
But he didn't speak.
He let her.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, her eyes flickering toward the lake.

"Saalo tak... mujhe lagta raha ki main bas... koi bhoj hoon."
Her voice cracked faintly.
"Main apne ghar walon ke liye ek zimmedari thi. Unke liye bas ek pareshani."

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her jeans, knuckles turning white.
"Unhe bas ek aisi beti mili thi jo... na unka naam roshan kar payi, na unki umeedein poori kar payi. Bas... bas takleef di."

Her throat bobbed faintly.
Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

"Aur jab mujhe school mein log dhakka dete the, mere baal kheenchte the... jab wo mujhe toilet mein band kar dete the..."
Her breath caught faintly.
"Main jab mummy papa ko batati thi... wo bas kehte the-'Tum khud hi kuch karti hogi.'"

Her voice cracked at the last sentence, barely able to get the words out.
Her eyes shimmered, her lips trembling faintly.
But she didn't look at him.
She couldn't.

She stared at the lake.
At the nothingness before her.

And she confessed.
Not to herself.
Not to her therapist.
To him.

Her voice was barely more than a breath.
"Arjun..."
She blinked sharply, her vision blurring.
"Bohot saal tak mujhe laga ki... shayad main mar jaun toh zyada behtar hota. Shayad kisi ko fark bhi nahi padta."

A faint sob escaped her throat.
Her chest constricted sharply, the ache pressing against her ribcage.

And that was it.
That was the moment.
The moment Arjun moved.

He was in front of her before she could blink.
His hands cupped her face, warm and steady.
Fierce and gentle all at once.
His thumbs brushed against the dampness on her cheeks.

And his voice-low, rough, filled with emotion-was barely above a whisper.

"Dobara mat bolna yeh, Riya."
His voice was hoarse.
Raw.
"Kabhi nahi."

Her lips parted faintly, but no words came out.
Her throat was too tight.
Her eyes stung too much.

But he wasn't done.
His hands held her face firmly, grounding her, anchoring her.
His forehead touched hers, and his voice cracked faintly when he spoke.

"Tumhari zindagi ka koi mol nahi laga sakta, Riya."
His breath was shaky against her skin.
"Tum sirf takleef nahi ho. Tum sirf dukh nahi ho."

Her eyes burned, her vision swimming with tears.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, trembling.

And softly, he whispered,
"Tum roshni ho."

Her throat tightened violently.
She choked on a breath.

And she broke.
Right there.
Into his arms.

Her fingers fisted into his shirt as she sobbed softly against his chest.
Her shoulders shook faintly, her breath coming in uneven, broken gasps.
And he held her.
Firm.
Unwavering.
Steady.

His arms curled tightly around her, one hand on the back of her head, the other around her waist.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
He simply held her.
Letting her break.
Letting her heal.
In his arms.

And when she clung to him, trembling with the weight of everything she had held in for so long, he pressed his lips softly against her temple.

No words.
No promises.
Just him.
Just his presence.
Steady.
Anchoring.
Whole.

***

The sun had long disappeared by the time Riya finally stilled in his arms.

Her tears had dried against his shirt, leaving faint damp patches.
Her breathing had evened out, though her eyes were still swollen and red.

But she was calm.
Soft.
Light.
Almost free.

Her head rested against his chest, her cheek pressed to his heart.
And for the first time in a long time, she let herself feel... safe.
Completely.

She slowly lifted her head, her eyes meeting his.
They were raw.
Vulnerable.
Open.
And she let him see her.
All of her.
The brokenness.
The weariness.
The hope.
Everything.

And he did the same.
No masks.
No defenses.
Just him.
And her.

Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Tumse milne se pehle... mujhe nahi lagta tha ki koi mujhe is tarah dekh bhi sakta hai."

His throat bobbed faintly.
His fingers brushed softly against her cheek, his voice low and hoarse.

"Main tumhe dekhta hoon, Riya."
His voice was rough with sincerity.
"Hamesha."

Her lips parted faintly, her breath shaky.
Her chest tightened, but this time, it wasn't with pain.
It was something warmer.
Deeper.
Something that made her heart ache in the best way.

And softly, she reached up.
Her fingertips traced his jaw, trembling slightly.

And then, in a voice barely above a breath, she asked,
"Main thak gayi hoon, Arjun..."

Her voice cracked faintly.
"Thodi der bas... saans lena chahti hoon."

And without a word, he leaned down.
His lips brushed against her forehead.
Soft.
Warm.
Steady.

And softly, he whispered against her skin,
"Main hoon, Riya."
His voice was barely above a breath.
"Hamesha hoon."