Chapter 40

Abhimanyu

She didn’t leave.

Even after the silence stretched between us, even after I gave her a way out, she stayed.

I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

I had expected her to leave once she had said what she needed to, once she had thanked me for whatever she thought I had done for her. But she didn’t. Instead, she just sat there—silent, unmoving, like she belonged in that moment.

And it terrified me.

Because no one had ever stayed before.

I shifted slightly, my fingers tightening against my knees as I forced myself to look ahead. I didn’t trust myself to look at her, not when I could still feel the warmth of her presence so close.

It was strange. I had spent so much of my life wanting to be left alone, pushing people away before they could do it to me first. And now that someone was sitting here beside me, choosing to stay, I didn’t know how to handle it.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated for a second. Then, just as softly, she answered, "I don’t know."

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. That made two of us.

The park was quiet around us, the sounds of distant voices and rustling leaves filling the spaces where words should have been. And yet, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the weight of loneliness pressing down on me.

I should have told her to leave.

I should have told her that sitting here with me wasn’t going to fix anything, that whatever she was looking for, she wouldn’t find it here.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I let the silence linger.

And for once, it didn’t feel unbearable.