Shining Fragments of a Heartbeat

Breakfast

After the morning drama, Ranath sought refuge in the shared room with his father. The room was modest yet comfortable, its large windows allowing the early morning sun to spill across the wooden floor. A vase of fresh jasmine sat by the window, filling the air with its delicate scent. He sighed, feeling the weight of the last few hours pressing down on him. He needed clarity, but his mind was a storm of thoughts—thoughts of Anaya, their kiss, and the pain in her eyes when she said, "If you want to go, to get away from me, I won't stop you."

Did she mean that? The question echoed in his mind as he stepped into the bathroom, letting the hot water cascade over his body, hoping it would wash away the tension knotted in his muscles. But the memory of Anaya, the way her lips felt against his, and the hurt behind her words refused to fade. She tried to reach me when I left... Eight years ago, she wanted answers, and I gave her nothing. His thoughts shifted to the voice messages Anaya had left after he disappeared. The pain, anger, and desperation in her voice still haunted him. "Why, Rana? Why?" He could still hear the anguish in those words. "I left her to fend for herself, to deal with everything alone. I was a coward."

After his shower, Ranath wrapped himself in a robe, staring out the window at the leaves rustling in the morning breeze. I'm not going anywhere this time. I'm back for good—back for her. He paced the room, his mind a whirlwind. She still feels something for me; I'm sure of it. She was still drawn to me even if she didn't recognize me. Ranath paused, remembering a conversation with his father shortly after returning. "Anaya has been struggling, Ranath," his father had said. "She went through a deep depression after you left. She's still fragile, still trying to find her footing." His father's words had weighed on him ever since, a reminder of the damage he had caused. I broke her. I need to make amends, but will she ever forgive me?

His thoughts drifted back to a memory he cherished and feared: a warm evening, driving down a winding countryside road in his Jeep, Anaya beside him, her laughter filling the air like music. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over her face.

"I wanted to ask you something," Ranath had said, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

Anaya turned to him, her expression soft and open. "What is it, Rana?"

He hesitated, unsure of how to voice his concerns. "Are you...happy with the decision? The engagement? We're supposed to be apart for a year before our wedding, scheduled after I finish my MBA. Are you okay with that? With waiting for me?"

Anaya had smiled then, a smile that melted his doubts. "Rana, I've loved you since I was 14. I'd wait a lifetime for you if I had to. You're my first love, and I promise you, I'll wait, no matter what."

Ranath had reached over, taking her hand in his. "I just needed to hear you say it. I needed to know if this is what you wanted too."

"It is," she had replied softly, her hand warm in his. "It always has been."

The memory faded, leaving a bittersweet ache in its wake. If only she knew what happened on the wedding night. If only she knew why I left. His thoughts darkened as he remembered the letter—that letter—delivered on their wedding night, filled with secrets that shattered everything. "Why did the letter have to come then? Why did I have to find that secret right after our wedding? It felt like the universe was mocking me. I couldn't face her with that knowledge—my wife, the girl I loved, declared taboo. I couldn't face it. I couldn't face her."

Ranath clenched his fists, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. "I did what I thought was right then but didn't think of her. I was selfish. I hope she can forgive me and understand why I did what I did." His resolve hardened. "I need to tell her everything. She deserves the truth, no matter how much it hurts."

Determined, Ranath dressed quickly, ready to face Anaya and reveal the secrets he had kept for so long. But as he opened the door, he found his father, Raghuvaran, standing there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"You kissed her," Raghuvaran said bluntly, his voice stern.

Ranath stiffened, caught off guard by his father's directness. "Yes, I did," he admitted, meeting his father's gaze. "I couldn't help myself. I love her, Appa. I always have."

Raghuvaran's eyes narrowed, his face a mask of concern and frustration. "And what makes you think you have the right to return to her life like this after all these years? Do you think a kiss will erase the pain you caused her?"

Ranath took a deep breath, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "No, I don't think that. I know I've hurt her. But I want to make things right. I need to tell her the truth about why I left."

"And what good will that do?" Raghuvaran shot back, his voice sharp. "The truth will only hurt her more. She's been through enough because of you."

"I know," Ranath replied, his voice steady but persistent. "But she deserves to know. She deserves to know everything. I can't keep this secret from her any longer. She needs to hear it from me, not anyone else."

Raghuvaran's expression softened slightly, but his concern remained. "Just be careful, Rana. Anaya's been through a lot. She's fragile. Don't break her again."

Ranath nodded, fully aware of the gravity of his father's words. "I won't, Appa. I promise. I'll be honest with her, no matter what. It's the least I can do." With determination, Ranath left the room and headed toward the breakfast area.

The dining room was an intimate space decorated in a rustic style that felt inviting and homely. The long, dark wooden table was polished to a shine, reflecting the soft light pouring in from the large bay windows. The pale morning sun spilt across the table, casting delicate patterns of light and shadow over the simple place settings of ceramic plates and silver utensils. A vase of yellow marigolds sat in the centre, their vibrant petals offering a bright contrast to the earthy tones of the room. The faint smell of fresh bread and spices lingered in the air, adding warmth and comfort. The chairs, cushioned and worn from years of use, slightly creaked as he shifted in his seat. The crackle of the old ceiling fan hummed above, its gentle breeze rustling the lace curtains. Despite the welcoming atmosphere, Ranath felt no solace.

He noticed everyone was there except Anaya and his grandparents.

His heart sank a little, the anticipation of their conversation building up inside him like a storm. He sat down at the table, his appetite nonexistent. Where is she? he wondered, glancing around the room. Is she avoiding me?

I need to find her, he resolved. I need to talk to her and explain everything. I owe her that much. With that thought, Ranath's resolve solidified. He would find Anay and tell her the truth. No matter what happened next, he knew he owed her that—a chance to finally understand.