I blow out the candles. I cut a slice and feed it to my mother, her eyes watering and I know it has nothing to do with any of us present in this room and everything to do with the absence of my father. I miss him too, especially on days like this, because he was the life of the party.
Later, when things calm down into smaller conversations, I find her again.
Standing near the edge of the room. “You okay?” I ask, stepping beside her.
She nods. Her fingers fiddle with her purse and I narrow my eyes, "What's up, Sunshine?"
"Um...I have a gift for you." She says, her words almost jumble together.
My breath hitches at the thought of Ishika thinking about what to give to me. She unzips her purse and takes out a thick envelope. I take it in my hand, she never meets my eyes but watches me carefully as I open the envelope only to find more tiny ones inside. “Thirty-four,” she says, arms crossing like she’s already defensive about it. “Don’t make a big deal.”
"You wrote thirty-four letters to me?" I ask, my heart beating fast against my ribs.
She nods. “I didn’t know you had this in you, Sunshine.”
Her cheeks go red instantly.
“Do you want it or not, Golden Boy?”
I grin. “Yes,” I say quietly. “Please.”
I reach for one.
She stops me immediately.
“Don’t,” she says quickly.
I pause.
“Why?”
“Not in front of me,” she says, softer now. “I’ve never…done something like this for anyone, Aryan.”
“Does that mean I’m special, Sunshine?”
My voice comes out softer than I expect.
She looks up at me.
And this time—There’s no hesitation. She steps closer, on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.
“Yes,” she whispers and leans in, her lips brushing my ear, “That’s because you’re the only person in my life, Golden Boy.”
She pulls back with a small chuckle. Like she didn’t just undo something in my chest. I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You and your need to bully me.”
She shrugs. “What can I say? It’s like oxygen to me.”
I smile and lean closer again. “Then please,” I whisper, my voice softer now, “continue to do so for the rest of my life.”
CHAPTER 51
ISHIKA
The road is quieter than it should be.
Not empty—but stretched out in that late-night way where everything feels a little too still, a little too aware of itself. Streetlights blur past in soft yellow streaks, the city humming low and distant like it’s already half-asleep.
I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear, mind drifting in that dangerous space between tired and calm.
