CHAPTER 57
ISHIKA
The silence greets me before anything else does. It’s the first thing I notice when I unlock the door and step inside—how still everything feels. Not in a peaceful way. Not in the way Aryan’s house feels quiet at night, wrapped in warmth and leftover laughter. This is different. This is…hollow.
I close the door behind me and lean against it for a second, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains. Nothing has changed. Of course it hasn’t. The same books stacked in their uneven piles. The same throw blanket folded too neatly over the couch. The same faint smell of coffee lingering in the air.
Everything exactly where I left it. And yet—It doesn’t feel the same.
I walk further in, dropping my bag onto the chair without much thought, my fingers trailing lightly over the back of the couch as I pass. The apartment has always been my refuge. Controlled. Predictable. Mine. No noise. No interruptions. No expectations.
Just me.
That used to be enough.
More than enough.
I used to come home and feel relief settle into my bones the second the door clicked shut behind me. Like I had escaped something loud and unnecessary. Like I had returned to something safe.
Now—Now it feels like I’ve walked into a place that’s been waiting too long. Like it forgot how to breathe. I exhale slowly and move toward my room, flicking on the light as I go. The brightness feels harsher than usual. Or maybe I’m just not used to it anymore.
I sit on the edge of the bed and look around. This space has held every version of me I’ve allowed to exist. The guarded one. The efficient one. The one who knew how to function without needing anyone. The one who built walls so carefully that even I started believing they were permanent. I let out a quiet breath, my fingers curling slightly into the bedsheet beneath me.
Did I really think I could live like this forever?
The question doesn’t feel dramatic. It feels…honest. Because I did. I thought this was it. That this—this quiet, controlled existence where nothing could touch me—was enough. That needing more was a weakness I couldn’t afford.
And for a long time, it worked.
It kept me safe.
It kept me…untouched.
But it also kept me alone. I lie back slowly, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the fan the only sound in the room. The past few days flicker through my mind without permission. His house. His family. The way his mother fussed over me like I wassomething fragile she had decided to protect. Radhika’s loud, unapologetic presence. Vedant’s quiet observations.
Aryan—Always there. Always steady. Always…choosing to stay.
My chest tightens.
I turn my head slightly, staring at the empty space beside me. It feels strange. How quickly something can become…familiar. How quicklysomeonecan.
I sit up after a moment, shaking my head lightly as if that will somehow clear the thoughts. I don’t have the luxury of lying around and overanalyzing every feeling.
I change quickly, pulling on something comfortable, tying my hair up absentmindedly before moving to my desk.
Work helps.
It always has. I open my laptop, pull out my sketches, force my brain to focus on lines and dimensions instead of the way my chest feels too full.
It works.
For a while.
Until it doesn’t.
My eyes drift to my phone. He said he’d come. He insisted, actually.
“No arguments,” he had said, looking entirely too serious for something as simple as picking me up.
