54

Aryan shut the door to his studio and leaned against it, his breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, his chest tightening with an emotion he hadn't let himself feel in years.

Then, the tears came.

Raw, silent, and unstoppable.

He hadn't realized how much he needed that hug until he actually had it. Two years of bitterness, anger, and pain had melted away in a single moment when his mother's arms had wrapped around him. He had missed her. He had missed her so much.

Wiping at his eyes, he exhaled shakily. He felt like a weight had lifted, yet at the same time, something inside him still ached. He needed another hug—one that grounded him.

His feet moved on their own.

Before he could second-guess it, he was knocking on the door right across from his.

Tara opened it, her brows furrowing instantly when she saw his tear-streaked face. Her expression shifted from confusion to full-blown panic within seconds.

"Aryan? What—what happened?" she asked, stepping forward.

He didn't answer.

He just pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

Tara stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but then, without hesitation, she relaxed against him, letting him hold onto her. Her hands slowly came up to rest on his back, her touch hesitant but reassuring.

Aryan closed his eyes, inhaling her familiar scent. He didn't know how long he stood there, just holding her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against him. And for the first time in a long time, he felt safe.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled back just enough to look at her.

"I spoke to Mom, Tara," he whispered, his voice still thick with emotion. "I fixed things with her. Like you said."

Tara's lips parted slightly in surprise. Then, slowly, she smiled to herself.

She was glad.

Tara looked at him, her eyes softening as she took in his tired yet relieved expression. She could tell how much it had taken out of him, how deep this moment ran for him. She had seen Aryan in a lot of ways—angry, stubborn, playful, even vulnerable—but this? This was different.

"Good," she finally said, her voice quiet but firm.

Aryan exhaled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then, he looked at her with something deeper in his gaze—something that made Tara's stomach flip.

"I want both my women in my life, Tara."

Tara froze.

Her heart stilled, her fingers tightening slightly where they rested against his arms.

"Aryan—"

"My mom isn't my only woman," he interrupted gently, knowing what she was going to say, his eyes not leaving hers.

Tara swallowed hard, shaking her head as she tried to step back, to create space, to breathe. But Aryan didn't let her go. His grip was firm, not forceful, just... certain.

"Aryan, stop," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

He didn't.

Not yet.

He watched her, waiting, reading every flicker of emotion in her eyes. He could see it—the way she was fighting herself, the way she wanted to run but couldn't bring herself to.

After a long moment, Aryan sighed, finally loosening his hold on her.

Tara immediately took a step back, needing the distance. But before she could fully retreat, Aryan reached up, gently pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Thank you, Tara," he murmured against her skin.

Tara's breath hitched, her entire body going still.

And just like that, he pulled away, stepping back toward the door of his own studio.

She stood frozen in place, her mind scrambling to process everything as she watched him walk away.

He didn't turn back.

He just left her there, standing in the middle of her studio, confused, overwhelmed, and feeling far too much all at once.

~•~

Tara sat in her studio, her legs curled up on the couch as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone. It had been three hours since Aryan had left, and yet, her mind refused to focus on anything else.

The way he had hugged her. The way he had kissed her forehead. The way he had looked at her like—like he still meant every single word he had ever said to her.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple.

"Ugh, what the hell was that?" she muttered to herself.

She debated for a while—should she check on him? Would it be weird? Would it make things worse?

After a few more minutes of struggling with her thoughts, she finally stood up with a huff.

"That's it. I'm just going to check if he's okay. Nothing else," she told herself firmly as she grabbed the pizza box she had ordered earlier.

She walked across the hall, stopping at Aryan's studio door. Knocking lightly, she waited.

"The door's open," his voice came from inside.

Tara frowned slightly—he never left his door open. Pushing it open, she stepped inside and immediately paused at the sight before her.

Aryan. Cleaning.

Like, actually cleaning.

Her jaw almost dropped.

His usual messy, chaotic space was being transformed before her eyes. His work desk was being wiped down, his books stacked neatly, and—was he seriously dusting the shelves?

"You're cleaning?" she blurted out in shock.

Aryan turned around, a cloth in one hand, looking amused. "Yeah?"

"You never clean."

"I do when I'm in a good mood."

Tara blinked, processing his words. He was in a good mood.

She felt something warm settle in her chest at that.

"I, uh, got you some pizza," she said, holding up the box.

Aryan grinned, stepping closer. "My favorite," he said, before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

Tara froze.

She blinked at him, stunned, as he casually took the pizza box from her hands like he hadn't just done that.

"What—"

"You're the best, Star," he said, already setting the box down on his desk. "Oh, and I made us some chai. Come sit."

Tara shook her head, trying to shake off the effect of his actions. "No, I—"

Aryan smirked. "Aare, ye naatak band kar. Ye ghe." (Come on, stop this drama. Take this.)

Tara rolled her eyes but, for some reason, found herself sitting down anyway.

Aryan handed her a cup, watching her as she took the first sip.

"How is it?" he asked.

She swallowed, pretending to contemplate. "It's good."

Aryan scoffed. "Obviously. I'm the best at making chai."

Tara just shook her head, sipping again.

A comfortable silence settled between them, but as Aryan leaned back against the couch, his gaze flickered to her lips.

Tara felt her heart skip a beat.

The tension was back, thick and undeniable. She could feel it in the way Aryan's fingers tapped against his cup, in the way his eyes darkened just slightly.

She had to get out of here.

"I should go," she said quickly, placing her cup down and standing up.

Aryan raised an eyebrow, smirking as he stretched his legs out, blocking her path. "Leaving so soon? Afraid of something?"

Tara narrowed her eyes. "No."

He tilted his head. "You sure, Star?"

Her breath hitched slightly. He was so close. Too close.

She pushed his legs aside and practically bolted toward the door.

Aryan chuckled behind her, shaking his head as he called out, "You can't run forever, baby."

Tara didn't look back.

She couldn't.

💜