Dons of Punjab: Fluke of Reality✔️

chapter 7

Amandeep Singh Aulakh

It had been two weeks since Prabh left for England, and I felt like I was losing my mind. Every day without her felt like an eternity, and no matter what I did, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I hadn't heard from her since the day she left. No texts, no calls—nothing.

I tried to keep myself busy, but no matter what I did, my mind always wandered back to her. I would pick up my phone a hundred times a day, hoping to see a message from her. But the screen remained empty, and every time I put my phone down, a sinking feeling settled in my chest.

At night, sleep refused to come. I would stare at the ceiling, thinking about what she might be doing. Was she making new friends? Did she ever think about me? Or had she already forgotten me in the excitement of her new life?

One evening, as I sat alone in my room, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, Jashan phabi, walked in. She was the older of Prabh's 3 sisters, wise and observant. From the moment Prabh and I met, Jashi phabi had sensed something between us.

"You look terrible," she said, sitting down on the couch across from me.

I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face. "I feel terrible."

She studied me for a moment before speaking. "It's Prabh, isn't it?"

I looked away, not wanting to answer. But there was no point in hiding it—she already knew.

"She hasn't called?" Phabi asked softly.

I shook my head. "Not once."

Phabi exhaled and leaned back. "She's probably just busy settling in. You know how excited she was about this opportunity."

I nodded, but it didn't make me feel any better. "I just... I miss her. I thought she'd at least text."

Phabi gave me a small smile. "Maybe she's trying to make the distance easier by keeping some space."

I scoffed. "It doesn't feel easier. It feels like hell."

She didn't say anything for a moment, just watched me with understanding eyes. Then she leaned forward. "You love her, don't you?"

The words hung in the air between us. I had never said them out loud before. Never admitted it—not to myself, not to anyone. But deep down, I knew it was true.

"Yes," I whispered. "I do."

Phabi smiled knowingly. "We all knew. Everyone except Prabh."

I let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "She sees me as a friend."

Phabi tilted her head. "Are you sure?"

I hesitated. There had been moments—tiny ones, fleeting but real. The way she would look at me sometimes, the way she laughed a little softer when I was around, the way she never hesitated to come to me when she needed help.

But then, I remembered Canada.

I was 24, and she was just a kid at the time—only twelve. Our families had traveled to Canada for a wedding, and that was when things changed for me.

I still remember the moment. We were at the airport, waiting for our luggage, and Prabh had been clinging to my arm all day. It was normal—she had always been comfortable around me. But then, with a big smile, she turned to one of her cousins and said, "He's like my big brother!"

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Brother.

I had always protected her, always looked out for her, but I had never once thought of her as a sister. Hearing her say it made my stomach twist.

Something inside me snapped. I pulled my arm away and scowled. "I'm not your brother," I muttered, my tone sharper than I intended.

She blinked at me, confused. "What?"

I looked away, jaw clenched. "Nothing."

But the damage had already been done. She looked hurt, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. And when I saw that, I felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

I wanted to take it back. I wanted to tell her I didn't mean it, that I was just being stupid. But instead, I let my frustration control me, and I barely spoke to her for the rest of the trip.

For five years, I had carried the guilt of that moment. Even as our bond grew stronger, I never forgot the way I had made her cry that day.

I leaned back against the couch and let out a deep breath. "She'll never see me the way I see her."

Phabi crossed her arms. "You don't know that."

I shook my head. "She's twelve years younger than me, Phabi. Even if I do love her, what does it matter? It's impossible."

Phabi raised an eyebrow. "Why? Because of the age gap?"

I didn't answer.

She sighed. "Look, Prabh is still young, and right now, she's focused on her studies. But love isn't about numbers—it's about connection. And you two have always had something special."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Even if that's true, what can I do? She's in England, living her dream. I don't want to hold her back."

Phabi smiled. "Then don't. Support her, let her grow. But don't give up on her. If your love is strong enough, it'll find its way back to you."

I wanted to believe that. I really did.

But for now, all I could do was wait.

It was late—past midnight—when my phone rang. I was half-asleep, groggy, but the moment I saw her name on the screen, my heart nearly stopped. Prabh.

I fumbled to answer, my hands suddenly shaky. "Prabh?"

There was silence for a second, and then a soft sniffle. "Hey..." Her voice was quiet, hesitant.

I sat up immediately. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She let out a shaky breath. "I don't know... I just—" Another pause. "I needed to hear your voice."

My heart clenched. "Prabh, talk to me. What happened?"

She was quiet for a long moment before whispering, "I feel so alone here."

I closed my eyes, my grip on the phone tightening. "You're not alone, Prabh. You'll never be alone."

She let out another soft sniffle, and I could imagine her curled up somewhere, hugging her knees. The thought of her feeling this way, so far from me, made my chest ache.

"I miss home," she admitted. "I miss... you."

My breath caught. She had no idea what those words did to me.

"I miss you too," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could finally breathe again. And in that moment, I knew—no matter how much time passed, no matter how much distance was between us—she would always be mine to wait for.