Chapter 66: Chapter 63

As the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, the Desai house fell into an eerie silence. The world outside seemed to move forward, unbothered by the devastation within, but Siya remained frozen in her grief. Each tick of the clock echoed in the stillness, mocking her, and the air inside the house felt heavy and stale, as if mourning alongside her.

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing, her arms wrapped around herself. The walls seemed closer than before, and the coldness seeped into her skin like an unwelcome touch. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, each one a battle against the weight pressing down on her.

Days blurred into week, but the ache inside her chest never dulled. Siya wandered through the Desai house like a ghost, her skin pale, her eyes hollow, her movements mechanical. Every corner seemed haunted by Raghav’s memory—his laughter echoing faintly in the dining room, the rhythm of his footsteps lingering in the hallway, and his voice, soft and teasing, whispering her name.

The nights were worse. She would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, her heart writhing under the weight of her regrets. The dark amplified the memories: the arguments she wished she hadn’t started, the laughter that now felt so distant, and the unspoken words that clung to her throat like thorns.

“I should’ve told him,” she whispered into the darkness one night, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow. “I should’ve told him I cared. That I… that I loved him.”

But it was too late.

Exactly one week after Raghav’s death, Siya found herself suffocating. The house, once a sanctuary, felt like a prison. The walls loomed, whispering reminders of what she had lost. The air tasted stale, her breaths shallow. She couldn’t stay here.

With a heavy heart, she began packing her belongings. Each item she touched brought with it an avalanche of memories—his faint cologne still clinging to a scarf, the shoes he had gifted her on a whim, the pen he had once teased her for borrowing.

As she reached into the back of one of his drawers, her fingers brushed against something smooth and familiar. Pulling it out, she found a neatly folded envelope. The paper was thick, the handwriting unmistakably Raghav’s.

Her heart stopped when she read the name on it: Noorie.

The name hung in the air like a bitter accusation. Siya’s chest tightened, her fingers trembling as she clutched the envelope. Her breath caught in her throat as her mind conjured images of Raghav and Noorie—together, laughing, happy.

“He never moved on,” she whispered, her voice hollow, the realization cutting through her like a blade.

The weight of her mourning shifted, tilting into something sharper, more painful. “He always belonged to her.”

Overwhelmed, she dialed Noorie’s number—one she had gotten from Rudra in the chaos of grief. Her hands shook as she waited for the call to connect. When Noorie picked up, her voice was soft but laced with confusion.

“Siya?”

“I found something,” Siya said, her tone cold, her emotions barely concealed. “It’s for you. Raghav wrote it before… before the accident.”

There was a pause, a hitch in Noorie’s breath, before she answered hesitantly, “I’ll come by.”

When Noorie arrived, her eyes were rimmed red, the dark circles under them a testament to her grief. But there was something guarded about her expression, as though she knew the storm brewing between them.

Siya stood rigid, her face a mask of indifference, though her heart thundered in her chest. She extended the envelope, her hand steady despite the turmoil within. “This belongs to you.”

Noorie hesitated, her fingers brushing against the paper before she finally took it. Her voice was soft, trembling. “Siya, I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Siya snapped, her voice cracking. “Whatever is in there… it doesn’t matter. Just take it and leave.”

Noorie opened her mouth, perhaps to offer comfort, perhaps an apology, but the look in Siya’s eyes silenced her. With a quiet nod, she clutched the envelope to her chest and turned to leave.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Siya stood alone, her legs weak beneath her. For a moment, she stared at the spot where Noorie had stood, her mind spiraling into the darkness of her own insecurities.

That evening, Siya finished packing the last of her belongings. The silence in the house was deafening, pressing down on her until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know where she would go—only that she couldn’t stay here.

Just as she zipped her final bag, a knock broke through the stillness. Her heart jumped, fear and hope mingling in her chest. Wiping her face, she approached the door cautiously.

When she opened it, a delivery man stood on the porch, holding a small package.

“Mrs. Siya Desai?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice hesitant.

“This is for you,” he said, handing her a bouquet of several red roses and a single yellow rose tied with a delicate ribbon.

Siya took it, her hands trembling. The flowers were beautiful, their scent fresh and clean, but it was the attached letter that caught her attention. Her fingers fumbled as she turned it over, her breath catching in her throat as she read the sender’s name.

It was from Raghav.

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, the bouquet clutched tightly to her chest. Her tears fell freely, soaking the delicate petals as she realized what it was.

The bouquet he had ordered for her. A gift meant for her, delivered far too late.

Her sobs filled the empty house as the weight of her grief finally broke through the walls she had built around herself.