Yeh Hai Aashiqui

Two

The bench was quiet, just like the night. The sounds of Diwali had softened to distant murmurs and the occasional crackle of a final firecracker, leaving an unexpected calm in the air. Aakash sat next to Diya, glancing at her profile as she gazed up at the stars, her expression somewhere between wistful and content. After a moment, he broke the silence, his voice low and tentative.

"Don't you... want to go home?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Everyone else has already left."

Diya smiled, a soft, knowing smile that seemed as old as it was young. She didn't look at him but kept her gaze on the stars, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the bench.

"I will," she said, her voice gentle, "but... just give me a little more time. Diwali only comes once a year, you know?" She exhaled slowly, her breath carrying a kind of reverence for the night. "These are the moments we're meant to hold on to... to keep close."

Aakash watched her, his curiosity now mingled with something he hadn't felt in a long time—a sense of wonder. Diya turned to him, a glint in her eyes as if she saw through to the questions he didn't know how to ask.

"Diwali, Navratri, all these festivals... they aren't just celebrations," she began, her tone thoughtful. "They're reminders. Reminders to pause, to find a bit of joy in the ordinary, even when life feels like it's full of shadows. These lights... these crackers, the diyas... they're supposed to chase away the darkness, even if only for a while." 

She tilted her head, watching him with gentle insistence. "It's easy to forget how beautiful life can be, isn't it?"

He swallowed, her words pressing against the walls he'd built, each one scraping away at the edges of his numbness. He looked down, his hands clasped tightly together, his fingers digging into his palms as if he could ground himself against the flood of emotions her words had stirred.

"You... you really believe that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Diya nodded, a flicker of sadness ghosting across her face as she spoke. 

"Life is hard, Aakash. It throws things at you that you don't think you can handle... losses, pain... but that's why we have these moments, these festivals. To remind us that there's still something worth celebrating. That even when things fall apart, there's still light." 

She paused, her eyes searching his. 

"Even if we have to create it ourselves."

Her words struck him like an echo of everything he had lost. The lights, the laughter, the rituals of Diwali—all of them were things he had shared with his family, each memory now shadowed by their absence. A tightness grew in his chest, his throat constricting as he fought to keep the emotions at bay. But the darkness he had tried so hard to ignore was already unraveling, her words scraping painfully against his grief.

He looked away, blinking rapidly as the weight of it all pressed down. 

"You make it sound so easy," he whispered, his voice thick. "But not everyone can just... let go like that."

Diya's face softened, her eyes filling with empathy. She reached over, her hand resting lightly on his arm. 

"I never said it was easy. In fact, it's the hardest thing in the world. But life isn't just about pain, Aakash. It's about the people who love us, the moments that make us smile... and the strength to keep going, even when it feels impossible." Her gaze held him steady, unwavering. "The darkness will always be there, but so will the light. Sometimes, you just need someone to show it to you."

He tried to swallow the knot in his throat, but her words had already pushed past his defenses. The grief that he'd kept locked away surged up, overwhelming him, and he felt a tear slip down his cheek before he could stop it. Diya didn't look away; she just gave his arm a gentle squeeze, her presence warm and steady beside him.