Rossi One: Kian's Little Sky

81. goodbye

Third Person's PoV

Sky ate the lunch Kian had prepared, each bite a reminder of the care he had once shown her, care that now felt like a distant memory. After the meal, she retreated to her bed, seeking solace in sleep, choosing silence over the exchange of words that seemed too heavy to bear.

Kian watched her with a sad smile, his heart aching with the realization that he had lost her, perhaps irretrievably. “I totally lost her,” he thought as he tidied up the kitchen, the clinking of dishes a hollow soundtrack to his regret.

After tidying up in the kitchen, he sat by her bed, watching her sleep, the rise and fall of her chest a silent rhythm that spoke of life continuing despite the pain. Time slipped by unnoticed until the alarm on his phone jolted him back to reality at 4:00 pm. He hesitated, not wanting to disturb her peace, but knowing they had a schedule to keep.

With a gentle touch, Kian tapped Sky’s cheek, rousing her from her slumber. “Sky, it’s time,” he whispered, his voice laced with a tenderness that belied the finality of the moment.

Sky nodded mechanically and made her way to the small bathroom. She washed her face with care, mindful of the gauze bandaged around her head as Kian stood at the doorway, but Sky seemed oblivious to his presence.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back at her, lifeless eyes betraying the turmoil that raged beneath the surface. She looked like a shell of her former self, devoid of the spark that once animated her features. Kian extended a white fluffy towel towards her, a small gesture of comfort in the cold expanse of her grief.

She took the towel without a word, her hands moving with a detachment that spoke volumes. There was no ‘thank you,’ no acknowledgment—what was there to be thankful for when the world she knew had crumbled around her? Kian’s heart ached with the silence, a chasm that words could no longer bridge.

Sky walked past Kian, her steps carrying the weight of her world as she moved towards the door. Kian let out a soft sigh, his heart heavy with the sight of her retreating figure. He followed her, picking up the luggage that sat waiting on the couch.

Dragging the luggage to the door, Kian caught sight of Sky sitting by the side, her posture one of defeat, her head bowed as if the weight of her sorrow was too much to bear. He quickly locked the apartment and approached her, his presence a quiet offer of support.

Sky lifted her head, her eyes meeting Kian’s. He offered her a soft, sad smile, extending his hand to help her up. But Sky just stared at his hand, a silent refusal etched in her gaze. With a shaky effort, she stood on her own, though her body protested, revealing the struggle within.

Kian’s heart broke a little more at her determination to distance herself, even in her most vulnerable moments. He respected her wish for independence, but it pained him to see her push through her pain alone. “I’m here, Sky,” he whispered, “whenever you’re ready.” But he knew she might never be ready to accept his help again.

Sky moved with a purposeful detachment, her every step away from Kian a silent declaration of her newfound resolve to face the world alone. She ignored his presence and walked straight to his car, her mind seemingly miles away.

Kian followed, his heart heavy with each step. He clicked the key fob, unlocking the car with a soft beep that seemed too loud in the quiet street. He pressed another button, and the trunk popped open, ready to receive Sky’s luggage—the last physical tie to her life here.

Sky didn’t wait for him. She opened the back door of the car and slid inside, settling into the backseat without a backward glance. Kian watched her for a moment, the finality of her actions sinking in. He then lifted her luggage, placing it carefully in the trunk, before closing it with a soft thud that echoed the closing of a chapter in their lives.