I go quiet.
Aryan steps back slightly, giving space but he doesn't leave which I am grateful for. I take the first bite she offers.
And something inside me shifts. It’s small. This is what it feels like to not be alone. And I didn’t realize how much I missed it until it was right in front of me.
My throat tightens unexpectedly. I blink it away. But she notices. She studies my face for a second longer than necessary. Then, very gently, she sets the spoon aside. And pulls me into a hug.
I freeze. Just for a second. But then I give in because like Aryan she also radiates warmth and I miss it. “I don’t know much about you,” she says softly, her hand coming up to rest on my head, fingers brushing carefully around the bandage.
My breath catches.
“But I can see it.”
I don’t ask what.
I don’t need to.
“The fear,” she continues gently. “The loneliness.” My chest tightens.
I don’t respond. Because if I do, I might break something open that I won’t be able to close again.
“You don’t have to carry it alone anymore, beta.” The word hits harder than it should.
Beta.
“I won’t force anything on you,” she adds, pulling back just enough to look at me properly. “No matter how desperate I am for my children to settle down.” A small, broken laugh escapes me despite everything. She smiles, relieved.
“But if things don’t work out,” she continues, her voice softer now, more personal, “you can still come to me.” I blink it rapidly as I feel my eyes watering.
She brushes a strand of hair away from my face.
“I’m not your mother,” she says. I look up at Aryan finding his soft expression as he gazes at me only makes me want to sob more. “But I would like to be your friend.”
My vision blurs.
“I'm very old,” she adds with a small smile, “definitely not up-to-date with today’s trends kind of friend.”
I let out a shaky laugh.
“But you can count on me.”
There’s no hesitation in her voice and right now I can see the similarity between her and Aryan. How selfless they are, to offer this love, this...care without any conditions. No expectations.
“And one more thing,” she says quietly.
I meet her eyes.
“I have not raised my son to walk away from people who matter.”
My breath stills.
“And you matter to him.” She smiles gently and Aryan beams at me as he throws a wink in my direction. I don’t know what to say.
So I nod. Because anything else would break my voice. And I am not ready to cry in front of her. Not yet.
But something in my chest—Something that has been tight for years—loosens just a little.
CHAPTER 54
