39

Aryan stepped into his flat, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. His body was aching from the game, but his mind was far from tired. If anything, the moment he was alone, the weight of everything settled even heavier on his shoulders.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. His anger hadn't faded. If anything, it had simmered, turning into something deeper—frustration, exhaustion, maybe even guilt.

Because no matter how much he wanted to hate his mother, no matter how much he told himself that she deserved his anger, a part of him still felt bad for lashing out the way he had.

But that didn't mean he forgave her.

His eyes flickered toward the living room, expecting her to be distant. Upon entering, he found her sitting on the couch, quietly flipping through the pages of a book.

She looked up the second he walked in.

"Beta—"

"I'm gonna shower," he muttered, cutting her off before she could say anything else.

She didn't try to stop him.

Inside the washroom, he turned on the water, letting it run scorching hot before stepping in.

His hands pressed against the cold tiles, head hanging low as the water streamed down his back.

Why did everything feel so suffocating?

He had spent the last year trying to bury this pain, trying to distract himself, but now it was like every wound was being reopened all at once.

And Tara—

He clenched his jaw.

He wasn't even sure what to make of it.

By the time he stepped out, his skin was still burning—not just from the water but from the frustration he couldn't seem to shake off.

He grabbed a towel and ran it through his damp hair as he walked back into the living room.

Then he saw it.

A single chai cup sitting on the small table near the couch.

His brows furrowed.

"What's this?"

Meeta hesitated, looking at him carefully. "Beta... Tara gave it."

His body stiffened.

"What?"

"She... she brought it for me," she added quietly.

Aryan let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And this is the girl you threw away?" His voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp—each word cutting, each syllable laced with something raw and unfiltered.

Meeta flinched but held her ground. "Beta, I know what I did was wrong. And I'm sorry. Truly, I am."

Aryan scoffed, but she continued, her voice urgent.

"I want to make things right," she said. "Please, just give me a chance."

He exhaled through his nose, his patience fraying.

"Forget it, Mom," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's a lost case. Me and Tara. You and me."

Then, without another word, he took the chai cup, and turned and quietly washed it. Then, he cleaned it dry and walked outside.

He wasn't even sure why his feet carried him to her door. He didn't need to do this right now.

But before he could second—guess it, he knocked.

The door creaked open a few seconds later, revealing Tara.

She was barefoot, wearing an oversized sweatshirt, her hair slightly messy. Her lips parted in surprise when she saw him.

But then her eyes flickered behind him—toward his flat.

And the second she saw his mother standing there, her entire body went rigid. The color drained from Tara's face, and without thinking, she took a small step back.

Aryan noticed. His fists clenched.

Meeta, too, noticed.

Tara didn't say anything.

Neither did Aryan.

The air between them felt heavier than ever.

Tara's fingers curled slightly around the doorframe as she stood frozen, her breath uneven. She didn't know what to say, what to do—especially with her standing there.

Meeta.

She could feel the weight of the woman's presence without even daring to lift her eyes toward her. But Aryan didn't give her much time to think.

Without a word, he extended his hand toward her.

She blinked, looking down, and her stomach twisted when she saw what he was holding.

Her cup of chai.

She hesitated before reaching out and taking it from him, her fingers brushing his just slightly.

"Thanks for this," Aryan said, his voice steady but distant. "But it wasn't needed."

Tara swallowed hard. She wanted to respond, to say something—anything—but her words failed her.

Her eyes flickered past Aryan, just for a second, toward Meeta.

The older woman was watching them, standing still. Tara couldn't bring herself to meet her gaze properly, but from the little she saw, she couldn't figure out what she was thinking.

So she quickly looked back at Aryan.

"It's... it's okay," she mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Aryan held her gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then, to Tara's shock, Meeta took a small step forward.

"Tara..." Meeta started, her voice softer than Tara had ever heard it before.

Tara's grip on the chai cup tightened slightly. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

But before Meeta could say anything more, Aryan's voice cut through the air.

"Take care, Tara."

And before she could process it, before she could react, Aryan reached for her door and gently shut it for her.

The click of the lock echoed in her ears.

She stood there, still, her fingers trembling around the chai cup as she tried to understand what had just happened.

On the other side of the door, Aryan turned to his mother, his expression unreadable but his voice firm.

"Don't make this worse, Mom," he said quietly, before walking past her and disappearing into his flat.

Meeta just stood there.

For a moment, she did nothing.

Then, slowly, she exhaled, a deep sadness washing over her.

Just then, the elevator dinged, and she turned to see Rajeev stepping onto the floor.

He paused, his eyes flickering between her, Aryan's shut door, and Tara's studio. His brows furrowed.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Meeta didn't answer immediately. She just looked away, pressing her lips together.

Rajeev sighed. He understood enough.

"Come inside," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She hesitated but nodded, following him into Aryan's flat, the door closing behind them.

Meanwhile, inside her own studio, Tara stood frozen in place.

Confused.

Overwhelmed.

Still hearing the soft click of the door shutting on her.

💜