𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 2

New York

A soft giggle echoed through the misty landscape, light and carefree like a chime in the wind. Tiny footsteps pattered across the grassy field, the delicate sound mingling with the gentle rustling of leaves. The air was warm, tinged with the scent of blooming flowers, as a little girl with curly brown hair ran ahead, her laughter filling the space with an innocent joy.

"Come here, Shya ! Don't run too far!" The man's voice, deep yet laced with warmth, called out as he chased after the small figure. His long strides, usually so confident and firm, softened with each step as he watched her move farther away, her joy infectious and pure.

She paused, her small form silhouetted against the setting sun. Slowly, she turned to face him, her giggles fading into the sweetest of smiles. Her big, gray doe eyes met his, filled with mischief and love. For a moment, the world seemed to still, and he found himself captured by the sight of her. Those eyes, so familiar to his own yet fleeting, made his heart swell with an emotion he could hardly describe—something deep and primal, a love that transcended time and space.

He knelt down, extending his arms towards her, and the little girl ran into his embrace, her tiny hands wrapping around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. He held her close, feeling the softness of her curls against his cheek, his heart beating in rhythm with hers. The warmth of her small body against his chest brought a peace that he is craving for.

In the waking world, the man's stern face, often cold and distant, softened into a gentle smile. His brow, usually furrowed with the weight of countless responsibilities, was relaxed, his entire being at ease.

As he lay there, lost in the dream, a single tear slipped from beneath his closed eyelids, tracing a path down his cheek.

A woman in her late twenties entered the room quietly, her footsteps soft against the polished wooden floor. She was elegant yet understated, her presence a blend of grace and strength. As her eyes fell upon the man seated in the large, leather armchair, her words caught in her throat.

He was asleep, his head tilted slightly to the side, a rare, serene smile playing on his lips. It was a sight she had longed to see—a smile so genuine, so unguarded, that it took her breath away. She hesitated, standing in the doorway, her gaze locked onto his face.

Another man, older, in his early fifties, stood beside her. His eyes, though hardened by time and experience, softened as they too rested on the sleeping figure. There was a weight in his chest, a mix of sadness and guilt that he carried like an old, familiar burden. He watched his son, and in that moment, he could see the echoes of the boy he once was, buried deep beneath layers of duty, pain, and regret.

The woman's heart ached. Her love for him was like an open wound—tender and raw, especially now as she observed him in this rare moment of peace. She had seen him smile before, but never like this. There was always a distance in his eyes, a coldness that she could never quite breach. But here, in his dreams, he was different—unburdened, almost content.