Heartstring

Chapter 16

Amira's POV
Over the Next Five Months

In the five months that followed, I tried everything to get close to Agastya. I made his favorite foods, hoping to bring a smile to his face, but he barely acknowledged my efforts. I went shopping for him, picking out clothes and gifts that I thought he would like, but he showed no interest. I brought him presents, small tokens of my affection, but he left them untouched.

I tried to create moments where we could talk and reconnect, but every time I approached him, he pushed me away. His cold demeanor and distant attitude made it clear that he was determined to keep me at arm's length.

Despite my best efforts, nothing seemed to work. I felt a growing sense of despair, but I refused to give up. For Yaksh, for the family, and for myself, I continued to try. I hoped that one day, Agastya would see my sincerity and let me in. Until then, I would keep fighting for our future, even if it meant enduring his constant rejection.

Agastya's POV

It looks like everyone in this family really likes her. Actually, they love her. I've noticed Amira trying everything to fix things between us, but I can't let her get close to me. Even though it pains me to see her making those efforts and me ignoring them, I can't let her into my heart again. I'm afraid she'll leave one day, just like before.
Yes, I am upset with her, but this is the girl who once helped me find myself. Yet, I can't let her come inside my heart again. The fear of being abandoned once more is too overwhelming. Her presence stirs up memories, both beautiful and painful. It's a constant struggle to keep my guard up, especially when I see the genuine care and effort she puts into everything she does for the family and for me.Over the past five months
Amira has been trying so hard. She makes my favorite foods, which always bring back memories of simpler times. She buys thoughtful gifts, trying to bridge the gap between us. She engages with Yaksh and the family in such a loving way, creating a warm and cheerful atmosphere at home.

Yet, I remain distant, cold. I brush off her attempts at conversation, push away her gestures of kindness, and maintain a facade of indifference. I tell myself it's for the best. If I let her in, I risk the pain of losing her again.

Despite my resolve, I can't help but notice the hurt in her eyes when I ignore her efforts. There's a part of me that aches to reach out, to comfort her, to let her know that I still care. But I bury those feelings deep, convincing myself that keeping her at a distance is the only way to protect my heart.
Everyone in the family sees the tension between us, but they don't understand the depth of my fear and my pain. They see Amira's kindness, her dedication, and they love her for it. They don't see the scars left by our past, the wounds that haven't fully healed.

In these quiet moments of reflection, I sometimes wonder if I'm making a mistake. If by pushing her away, I'm only hurting both of us more. But the fear of vulnerability, of opening myself up to her only to be left alone again, keeps me firmly in place. So, I continue this charade, hiding behind my walls, even as part of me longs to tear them down.