Kyra

The laughter in the room barely touched me. It floated like sunlight across the walls, warm and golden, but I sat in its shadow, fingers tangled in Riri's soft fur, stroking her absentmindedly. My sister's voice carried from somewhere close, Dadi's chuckle stitched itself into the air, yet all of it felt distant, like I was watching life through glass. I was here, surrounded, but not really part of it.

I don't feel like I belong anywhere anymore. Not to a corner of this house, not to the soft hum of voices drifting around me, not even to the world itself. I don't belong to warm arms or to a name spoken softly in the dark. I'm alone again. Like always. Only this time the loneliness doesn't feel like a passing season; it feels endless, stitched into my skin, destined to stay.

I don't know how to piece back together the parts of me I've lost over these months. How do you reclaim a heart you left in someone else's hand, someone who vanished so completely it's as if he'd never existed at all?

And yet, the irony burns: it's his absence that stings, when I was the one who forced him to leave. I chose this. I chose to walk away because I couldn't love a man who lied, who betrayed me. At least that's what I tell myself. But my heart knows better than anyone how much pain, how much tender affection it still holds for him. It's a love that clings like a shadow, a love that refuses to die, condemned to an eternity of quiet suffering.

Ansh has vanished from my life without leaving a trace. That day, when the rain softened into a drizzle, I waited for a call, for a message, for anything. If he had asked me to stay, if I had heard his voice just once more, I would have caved. I would have run back into his arms without a moment's hesitation.

My chest still aches with the weight of a name I no longer speak aloud, with the memory of a touch that feels like it belonged to another lifetime. It's as if he carried away the part of me that knew how to hope, and left behind only this hollow ache.

So I sit here, pretending to belong in a room full of laughter and warmth, when the truth is, I don't.

"Kyra?"

The sound of my name slices through the fog of my thoughts. My eyes snap up, startled, to find Dadi watching me with quiet concern, her knitting paused in her lap. I force a small smile, the kind that never quite reaches my eyes, and run my fingers once more through Riri's fur as if that simple motion can anchor me back into this moment.

"Bolo, Dadi," I reply softly, my gaze lingering on her, heavy and aching.

(Yes, Dadi)

She hesitates, her knitting needles stilling in her lap, before shaking her head. "Kuch nahi, beta. Bas... aaj kal itni khoi hui rehti ho na, main darr jaati hoon. Lagta hai tujhe kuch ho na jaaye." Her sigh carries the weight of her worry, the love of someone who's watched me unravel thread by thread.

(Nothing, child. It's just, these days you're so lost, I get scared. I hope nothing happens to you)

My heart twists. I hate how my silence, my retreat into myself, is wounding the very people who have given me nothing but love. And God, how I long to tell them everything, to collapse, to spill every shard of pain into their open hands. But I can't. I won't. I refuse to drag them into this mess, to risk their peace for my ruin.

So I swallow it down, force a small smile, and shake my head. "I'm okay, Dadi. Aapko bas aise hi lag raha hoga."

(I'm okay, Dadi. You're just thinking like that)

From across the room, my sister's voice cuts in, light and teasing. "Haan, ya phir Di apne prem ke khayalon mein khoi hui hai."

(Yes, or Didi is lost in the thoughts of her lover)

Heat rushes to my cheeks as my eyes snap to her, sharp as daggers. She only grins wider, clearly enjoying herself. I roll my eyes, glaring hard enough to burn holes through her, but the damage is done, my chest aches with the reminder, with the truth hiding beneath her joke.

I haven't told her yet, not about Ansh leaving, not about the emptiness he's carved into me. All she knows is that there was someone, and she was overjoyed at the thought. I couldn't bear to break her little dream of me being happy, even if it was only a fragile illusion.

Dadi's eyes shift to me, her brows lifting, surprise softening her face. "Sach, Kyra?" she asks, her voice dipped in tenderness, in a hope that slices through me. "Have you found someone for yourself?"

(Really, Kyra?)

The question makes my throat tighten. I feel Riri stir in my lap, as if sensing my unease, and my hand stills in her fur. My chest burns with all the words I can't say, the truth that would only shatter them.

I force a laugh that doesn't quite reach my eyes, shaking my head too quickly, too nervously. "Nahi, Dadi. It's nothing like that. Kaynaaz bas pagal ho gayi hai."

(N,o dadi, It's nothing like that. Kaynaaz has lost.

My sister smirks knowingly, as if she can see through me, and Dadi only hums, unconvinced, her gaze lingering a second longer than I can bear.

Dadi studies me for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing the way they always do when she's not convinced. Then she lets out a quiet sigh and shakes her head. "Agar koi hai, Kyra, toh chupana mat. Humein bata dena. Shaadi ki baat kar lenge."

(If you like someone, then don't stay quiet. Tell us, we will talk about your marriage)

Her words make my breath catch in my throat. For a second, my heart stutters, as if it's been thrown into unfamiliar waters. Marriage. The thought is too sharp, too raw, and for the briefest moment, I feel myself falter, caught between the ghost of a future I once dreamed of and the ashes of what's left.

And then Kaynaaz bursts into laughter, loud and unrestrained, clapping her hands in delight. "Bas Dadi, abhi se shaadi ki baatein shuru mat karo!"

(Just don't start talking about marriage right now, Dadi)

The sound startles me, and despite myself, a smile tugs at my lips. The heaviness in my chest loosens just a little, replaced by the warmth of their banter. My heart lightens, even if only for a fleeting second.

I can't help it, my smile widens, unbidden, the kind that feels foreign after so many days of silence. For a fleeting heartbeat, it almost feels normal, sitting here with them, teasing and laughing.

But the moment is cut short by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Kanishk appears in the doorway, his brows lifting as his gaze sweeps over us. "What's going on here?" he asks, half-curious, half-suspicious, like he's just walked in on a secret.

Kaynaaz immediately straightens up, still giggling, while Dadi hides her smile behind her hand. I glance at him, shaking my head quickly, as if to brush it all away, but my cheeks are still warm with the trace of laughter.

Kaynaaz, still unable to hold back, lets out another giggle, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Bas, Kanishk bhai... hum Kyra didi ki shaadi ki baat kar rahe the," she blurts, and collapses into laughter all over again.

(Kanishk Bhai... we were talking about Kyra didi's wedding)

Dadi chuckles too, the sound warm and indulgent, like the crackle of a hearth on a winter night. For them, the idea of my marriage is a source of joy, of hope. They laugh easily, their hearts unburdened by the weight of what I've lost.

I watch them, their faces glowing with amusement, and a bittersweet ache curls in my chest. For a second, I almost let myself be swept into it, their laughter, their love, and the life they dream for me. A life where I am whole, where I belong, where I am not haunted by the ghost of a man I still can't let go of.

But reality is sharper than any dream. I know what waits when the laughter fades: the silence in my room, the emptiness in my bed, the echo of his name I can never say aloud. My heart squeezes painfully, a reminder that my truth is nothing like the picture they paint for me.

And then my gaze shifts, landing on Kanishk. Unlike the others, he isn't smiling. His expression has faltered, his features heavy with something unspoken. The laughter fades from my ears as I take in the sight of him, his jaw tight, his eyes distant, as though the word shaadi has stirred something deeper, darker, inside him.

I know what he's thinking about. Dad.

About the deal our father had tried to strike, with me at its centre. My marriage. Handing me over like I was nothing more than a contract waiting to be signed. And all Kanishk can see now is the echo of that day, the argument we'd stood shoulder to shoulder in, our voices clashing against our father's will.

I can read it in his face, the storm brewing there. Anger and concern twist together, dark and fierce, like he's ready to unleash a war on the world this very second if it means protecting me. His eyes lock onto mine, sharp and searching, and for a moment, I see the brother who has always stood between me and every fire.

But I shake my head gently, refusing to let that storm ignite. My lips soften into a small, assuring smile, a silent promise.

This isn't about that, Bhai. I'm here. I'm safe.

And slowly, I watch the tightness in his jaw ease, even if only a little.

Kanishk finally tears his gaze from mine and shakes his head at Dadi and Kaynaaz, his voice calm but edged with quiet firmness. "Abhi us sab mein bahut time hai," he says, as if drawing a line, ending the conversation before it can spiral further.

(There's still time for that)

Then he steps closer to me, the heaviness in his face softening. His hand reaches out, ruffling my hair the way he used to when I was little, a gesture that both annoys and comforts me all at once. Before I can protest, he leans down and scoops Riri gently from my lap, cradling her against his chest.

The sudden loss of her warmth makes my arms feel strangely empty, but I watch the scene, my brother, my cat, the small ordinariness of it, and something fragile stirs in me, a reminder of the family that still anchors me here, even when everything else feels like it's slipping away.

Kanishk adjusts Riri in his arms, scratching behind her ear as he glances toward Dadi. "Maa kab tak wapas aaengi?" he asks, his tone casual, but I catch the flicker of calculation in his eyes.

(When will mom come home?)

"In a few hours," Dadi replies, tugging at the end of her dupatta as if she's measuring the time in her head. "Kyun?"

(Why)

Kanishk shifts his weight, his gaze darting briefly toward me before landing back on Dadi. "Lunch thoda jaldi karna hoga. Shivyansh aa raha hai."

(Lunch might be a bit early today, Shivyansh is coming over)

The words hang in the air for a moment, heavier than they should be. Even Kaynaaz's grin falters into something curious, while Dadi's brows lift in mild surprise. "Toh theek hai," she says finally, pushing herself up from her chair with the determined air only she can manage. "Main bana deti hoon."

(I'll make it)

But before she can take a step, I'm already on my feet. The scrape of the chair legs against the floor feels louder than it should. "Nahi, Dadi," I say quickly, shaking my head. "Main banaati hoon." My voice steadies as I add, "That idiot, he's a picky eater. You all know he'll sulk through half the meal if there's too much oil or the spices aren't right. I'll handle it."

(No, dadi, I'll make it.)

For a second, the room stills around me. Kanishk's expression flatters briefly, as though he wants to argue, but then he nods, resigned. Kaynaaz, meanwhile, tilts her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

I smooth my palms down the folds of my kurta, as if the small motion can steady me, anchor me against the sudden thrum in my chest. Cooking lunch for Shiv shouldn't feel monumental, but it does. Maybe because it's easier than facing the silence of my room again. Or maybe because it's something I can do, something within my control, when everything else in my life feels like it's unravelling.

I slip away into the kitchen, the hum of conversation behind me softening with each step. Inside, the space greets me with its familiar warmth, the faint tang of masalas in their jars, the lingering sweetness of cardamom from the chai made earlier. I pull open the fridge, gathering vegetables in my arms: tomatoes, coriander, green chillies, and paneer tucked into a corner. The clatter of utensils against the counter fills the silence as I set them down, my hands moving without needing to think.

But my mind doesn't stay quiet.

Kaynaaz's giggle from earlier seems to follow me in here, still ringing, still tugging at the part of me I try so hard to bury. Kyra didi ki shaadi ki baat. The words had been a joke, harmless, but they landed on my chest like a weight I can't shake off. And worse, Dadi's voice presses further, agar koi hai toh, don't hide it.

My fingers linger on the knife as I begin to slice the tomatoes, their red juices bleeding across the board.

Love.

The word itself feels dangerous. Heavy. Fragile. I want to laugh at the thought, dismiss it the way I always have, but my heart betrays me. Because somewhere beneath the weight of duty, the teasing of my sister, the concern of my brother, there's Ansh.

The thought of him rises unbidden, sharp and clear as the scent of onions I pull from the basket. The way he looked at me, as if I'm more than a person, more than flesh and bone, as if I'm some promise carved into existence. It unsettles me how often his presence haunts my edges, sneaking into quiet moments like this.

I press harder against the knife, my slices too quick now, uneven.

Was this love?

My lips part slightly at the question. Love is supposed to be soft, simple, a thing sung in laughter like Kaynaaz had framed it. But what I felt with Ansh wasn't simple. It was heavy, consuming. Some days, it terrified me, how much it tugged at me, how much of myself I found mirrored in him without meaning to.

I pause, staring at the half-cut onion in my hand, my reflection faint in its glossy surface.

If Dadi knew the truth, if any of them knew, that the name in my heart isn't just a passing thought but a storm I carry quietly... what would they say? Would they still laugh? Would my brother still look at me with protectiveness, or with questions I can't answer?

My chest rises sharply, a breath caught between ache and longing. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the silence of the kitchen swallow me.

And in that silence, the truth pulses steady, undeniable.

It isn't that I don't believe in love.

It's that I already know mine is ruined.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't even hear the footsteps behind me until a voice cuts through, loud and teasing.

"Kya kar rahi hai, chudail?"

(What are you doing, witch?)

I jolt so violently that the half-cut onion slips right out of my fingers and lands on the chopping board with a dull thud. My heart jumps into my throat as I whip around, clutching the knife like a shield. And of course, it's him.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" I snap, pointing the knife dangerously close to his chest. "Mera haath kat jata toh?"

(Are you completely out of your mind? What if I cut my hand accidentally?)

Shiv grins, utterly unbothered, leaning casually against the counter like he owns the place. "Arre, drama queen. Onion kaat rahi thi na, khud ko thodi kaat rahi thi. Tu aur tera overacting."

(Hey, drama queen. You were chopping onions, weren't you? You weren't cutting yourself. You and your overacting)

"Overacting?" I glare at him, hand still clutching the knife. "Tu piche se chupke aake chudail kehkar daraoga, aur main shanti se haan ji Shiv bhaiya bolu? Pagal hai kya?"

(You sneak up behind me and call me a witch, and I should calmly say, "Yes, Shiv Bhaiya?" Are you crazy?)

"Main bas confirm kar raha tha," he says, his grin widening. "Waise bhi, itna ghurti hai mujhe, bilkul wohi vibes aati hai. Dracula ki beti."

(Just confirming, anyway, you stare at me so much, you get the same vibes. Dracula's daughter.)

He hops onto the counter like a child, swinging his legs. "Kya bana rahi hai wese?'

(What are you making, though?)

"I'm making something, you'll see," I reply casually, throwing him a look over my shoulder before turning back to the cutting board.

"You do know I don't like onions, right?" he says, sceptical, almost accusing.

I glance at the board, at the half-chopped onion staring back at me, and a grin creeps onto my lips. "Yeah, I know."

His eyes narrow. "Then why are you chopping them?"

I shrug innocently, sliding the pieces into a bowl. "Just for you. Special onion seasoning, extra."

His jaw drops. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would," I smirk, brandishing the knife like a weapon.

"You really think I'm going to eat that?" he challenges, crossing his arms.

"You won't even know," I reply sweetly, turning back to the pan. "I'll chop it so fine it'll disappear. Like your common sense."

He gasps dramatically. "Excuse me! Did you just call me stupid?"

I flash him a sugar-sweet smile. "No, I'm just stating facts."

He groans, dragging a hand down his face before muttering, "I swear, on your wedding day, I'll bribe the caterer to serve nothing but onion salad."

He clutches his chest like I've stabbed him. "Ouch. Ye wala dil pe lagi hai, Kyra."

(This one hit the heart)

"Accha? Dil hai bhi?" I tease, raising an eyebrow. "Mujhe laga sirf ego hai andar."

(Oh? You have a heart? I thought it was just ego)

That finally earns me a glare, but it lasts barely a second before he bursts into laughter. And annoyingly, despite myself, I feel my own lips twitch too.

"You know," he says, quieter now, "it feels good to see you like this."

The knife is still in my hand. I pause, glancing over my shoulder at him, trying to read what he means. Shiv's eyes settle on me with a look I can't quite decipher. He leans back against the counter, arms folded, but there's no teasing edge this time when he speaks. His grin isn't mischievous this time; it's softer, genuine. Warm.

"Like what?" I ask cautiously, wiping my hands on a towel.

"Smiling," he says simply.

The word hangs in the air, heavier than it should be. Smiling. Something so ordinary, so simple, and yet when he says it, it feels like he's holding a mirror up to me, reminding me of what I've lost along the way.

I stare at him for a beat longer, at that unguarded expression on his face, before looking down at the counter again. The onion pieces blur for a moment, my breath catching. It stings, not because of what he said, but because it means even he noticed.

It's not just my dadi, not just Kanishk, not just Kaynaaz, it's everyone. My silence isn't invisible. My quiet isn't contained. It spills out, it touches them, it weighs on them. I thought if I stayed quiet, if I carried this weight alone, I could protect them from it. But I can't.

Even Shiv, who mocks, who laughs, who barely lets a second pass without teasing me, he noticed too. He noticed enough to call it out, in the only way he knows how. Not dramatic, not heavy-handed. Just honest. And the truth is, it makes something in my chest ache. Because for the first time in a long while, I realise how much I've starved myself of moments like this, light, unguarded, and free. Moments where I can smile without feeling guilty about it.

I grip the knife tighter, pressing my lips together, not trusting myself to speak.

"I've been smiling," I say quickly, almost defensively, like the words themselves can cover the cracks in me.

Shiv shakes his head, that knowing little smirk tugging at his mouth again. "You forget who you're talking to, Kyra. You can't hide shit from me. Even if you tried, I'd figure it out eventually."

My breath catches, but I don't turn back to face him. I keep my eyes on the cutting board, pretending the knife needs all my focus, though my hands tremble faintly.

He pushes off the counter then, his voice softer, gentler than I've ever heard it. "It's okay, you know. Whatever it is that's weighing on you... It's okay to feel it. You don't have to pretend with me."

I finally look up, startled by the raw sincerity in his eyes. He shrugs, almost like he's trying to play it off, but the truth is written clear across his face. "I'm here," he adds simply.

For a second, I can't breathe. His words hit harder than I expected, because it's not pity, it's not obligation, it's just him, offering something steady, something real. And God, a part of me wants to collapse into it, to tell him everything, to finally stop carrying this weight alone.

But instead of breaking completely, I decide to give him a small piece of me. Just enough to hear the reassurance I've been craving from someone out there.

"I feel so... weird, Panda," I whisper, the nickname slipping out like a reflex. "Like everything is weighing down on me all at once." My eyes drop to the counter, the knife still and forgotten. A weight settles over my heart, heavy and unmoving.

Shiv doesn't say anything right away. He just approaches me quietly, his footsteps soft against the kitchen tiles. Then, without a word, he wraps his arms around my still body. He does his usual swaying, the same one he's done always, left to right, left to right, his hand gently patting my head.

"You'll get through it," he murmurs, voice low but steady. "We're all here for you. You're okay."

"I'm not," I start, my voice cracking as the words escape before I can stop them. "I'm not okay as a person. I'm not okay as a human. I'm definitely not okay." My throat burns, but I keep going, spilling my heart out just a little more, anchored by his warmth. "I feel like I'll never be okay. I'm a mess."

His arms tighten around me, no judgment, no false promises. Just a quiet, solid presence that holds me there while I let the smallest fraction of my pain slip free.

"I feel like a bad friend," I murmur, my voice breaking on the edges. "I've left you all alone while I cocooned myself in my own problems. I don't even know what's going on in your lives anymore, how everyone is."

Shiv shakes his head immediately, his grip on my shoulders firm but gentle. "Kyra, you're not a bad friend. Everyone's been busy, wrapped up in their own mess. This is the first time in months I've even seen Kanishk properly, or your sister. It's not just you. It's all of us."

"I don't know..." I whisper, uncertain, my eyes fixed on the floor.

"Hey," he says, his voice quiet but firm, tilting my chin up so I have to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. Tu jese bhi soche, tu jesi bhi ho, tere liye humara pyaar kabhi kaam nhi hoga. Tu jesi hai, wesi achi lagti hai."

He squeezes my hand once, a small grounding pressure. "Everyone needs a friend like Kyra in their life," he says softly. "And we're lucky we already do."

The words slip into the cracks of me like sunlight, warm and steady.

A smile slips out before I can stop it, unsteady but real, tugging at my lips as my eyes blur with unshed tears. I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back, but one slips free anyway, betraying me.

"There it is," Shiv says, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he tilts his head at me. "I was starting to wonder if I'd ever see that smile again. Took me forever to pull it out of you, you stubborn little panda."

I roll my eyes, sniffing softly, but the warmth of his words lingers. "You're impossible," I mutter, swiping at my cheek quickly before he can comment.

"Impossible? Excuse me, I just saved you from drowning in your own gloomy thoughts." He leans against the counter, smirking. "Pretty sure that makes me a hero. A very handsome one, by the way. You should be thanking me."

That earns him a laugh, small at first, then bubbling up until it spills out of me fully. I giggle, shaking my head, the sound almost foreign after everything, but welcome all the same. "God, you're so full of yourself."

He raises a brow, pretending to be offended. "Full of myself? Wow. That's how you repay me? Maybe I should take back my hug and my heartfelt pep talk."

"You can't take back a hug," I shoot back, smacking his arm lightly with a dish towel.

"Ow," he says dramatically, clutching his arm as if I've just wounded him. "This is how you treat your guests?"

"You're not a guest," I laugh, swatting him again for good measure. "Now get out of my kitchen before you burn something, or worse, try to 'help.'"

Shiv grins, clearly satisfied with himself. "Fine, fine. But admit it, you feel better now."

I glance at him, softer this time, the weight in my chest not gone but lighter, like he's lifted a corner of it just enough for me to breathe again. "Yeah," I whisper. "I do."

His eyes linger on me a beat longer, as if he wants to say something else, but then he straightens up and waves a hand. "Good. Mission accomplished. Now, carry on, ma'am. Don't burn the house down."

I throw the dish towel at him as he walks away, laughing when he ducks at the last second and lets it flop to the floor.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I feel like myself again, even if just a little.

. . .

"What??" I stare at Shiv with wide eyes, my mouth falling open in disbelief.

He shifts immediately, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish hand, eyes darting anywhere but mine until they settle on the trimmed hedges and flowering shrubs ahead of us.

"You both started dating, and this is how you tell me? So casually?" I press, my voice rising. "I would've expected this from you, but Mari too? I feel fucking betrayed."

"Arey, arey, madam, bas." He holds up his hands quickly, as if to ward off the weight of my glare. "I'm sorry. We had to keep it hidden for a while, for the sake of everything. And you know my father is your father's best fucking friend, so their tendencies seem to be extremely similar to each other. Dad would've threatened Mariam out of the company."

I stare at him for a long beat, letting his words sink in, before finally giving a small nod. "So then why tell me now? I mean, unless you plan on murdering your father so he doesn't come between you and your premika."

"Something like that."

I sit bolt upright on the swing, gaping at him. "Shiv, please tell me you aren't planning to rot in jail. Ishaan hasn't graduated from law school yet; he can't save you."

He exhales sharply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, fingers tightening together. "I want to kill him, Kyra, but knowing everything, I can't. So I'll do the closest thing I can to killing him. Taking him away from his company."

My eyes widen. I study his face, the hard determination etched into it, and it leaves me both startled and oddly proud. Slowly, a smile tugs at my lips. "Just be careful. And keep her safe."

He leans back, closing his eyes for a brief second, as though the weight of that request digs deep into him. When he opens them again, his voice is heavy. "I can't keep her around me, Kyra. Not until Dad is gone. She's going to go on leave from tomorrow, away from the city for a while. I really can't risk her being here."

He pauses, turning his head toward me with something close to desperation in his gaze. "I won't be around for a while either. I can't be around her too long. Take care of her for me. I love her, Kyra. This is a phase of testing, and I'm willing to pass through it to make it back to her. But I need assurance that she'll be okay."

"She will," I say softly, reaching up to pat his head like I always have since we were kids. He closes his eyes briefly at the gesture, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

We sit there for a while longer, the garden sinking into a deeper shade as the sun edges lower. He tells me how he plans to take over the company, to throw his father out once and for all, his words tinged with a mix of fury and resolve. I listen, swinging us gently with the tips of my toes brushing the grass.

When the evening starts to dull and the sky slips into dusky blue, Shiv finally pushes himself up from the swing with a creak. Brushing his palms against his jeans, he gives me a fleeting smile.

"I'll get going now. I'll see you, try to text. And Kyra?"

"Hmm?" I hum, tilting my head at him.

"I'm still waiting for that book of yours."

With that, he turns and walks away, his figure retreating down the stone path until it disappears behind the hedges.

As Shiv's figure disappears beyond the hedges, silence folds back over the garden. The swing creaks gently beneath me as I lean back, my head tilting toward the sky. Above me, the clouds have thinned into soft streaks of gold and lavender, painted against the fading blue. For a long moment, I just breathe, letting the stillness press against the edges of my restless thoughts.

My mind drifts, unbidden, to the book I abandoned weeks ago, the one that once felt like a lifeline. Page after page left untouched, the words stilled because the very heart of the story, the meaning behind it, had been ripped out of my life. How could I write about something that no longer existed? How could I hold onto a dream when grief had hollowed me out from the inside?

But as I stare at the vastness of the sky, an ache pulses in my chest, an ache that feels stubborn, defiant. I don't want my grief to steal this from me, too. I've fought too hard, worked too long, built too much to simply let it all slip through my fingers. My dream isn't something I'm ready to bury yet.

The thought lingers, rolling around until it sharpens into clarity. Maybe love didn't vanish entirely from my world; it just changed its shape. Around me, I still had so many people. Each of them carried a different kind of love: quiet, fierce, flawed, patient, healing and pure. And even if mine was gone, even if my own story was doomed from the start, theirs could fill the empty spaces. Maybe not all the way, maybe not perfectly, but enough to soften the gaps so I could breathe easier.

A spark catches in me, a flicker of an idea that grows warmer the longer I let it stay. What if my book wasn't about my love anymore? What if it was about them, these people, their lives, their stories, their tangled, imperfect, beautiful versions of love? And maybe, in the middle of it all, I could be the quiet hand weaving the strings together, the cupid no one sees but everyone feels.

My gaze drifts down from the sky, and it lands on the lilies sprawled at the far edge of the garden. Once so full of bloom, now their petals lie shrivelled and browned, slumping against the soil as though the earth itself could no longer hold them upright. The sight presses against my chest like a hand, squeezing until breath feels thin.

And just like that, the ache returns, sharp, unyielding, the kind that makes my heart beam with sorrow rather than light. Because even as the thought of love stories and laughter flickers inside me, there is still the truth I cannot outrun: mine lies in ruins.

Only if it hadn't crumbled, only if he hadn't disappeared into shadows and silence, then maybe, just maybe, this cupid I imagine myself to be would have had a lover of her own. A heart that wasn't just the one writing, stitching together others' happily-ever-afters, but living one too.

But I don't.

And so I watch the lilies, their death mirroring my own love, and I hold the ache close to me, like a reminder, like a secret. A cupid without a lover. That is what I am. That is what I'll always be.