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۶ৎ Inayah's pov ۶ৎ
The curtains fluttered with the morning breeze, casting faint shadows across the room. The sky outside was a muted gray, heavy clouds hanging low as if the universe itself was mourning the day.
My birthday.
I rolled over, my fingers brushing against the cold sheets where Arhaan should’ve been. His side of the bed was empty, the covers slightly rumpled, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. I pressed my hand to the mattress, feeling the lingering warmth, but the absence felt louder than anything else.
I should’ve been used to this feeling by now the hollow ache that came with this day.
I slipped out of bed, the marble floor cold beneath my feet as I padded across the room. The house was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of house helpers outside. I checked the living room, the kitchen, he was nowhere to be found.
Not a note. Not a text.
Nothing.
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and shook off the disappointment. It didn’t matter. My birthday didn’t matter. It never had.
I showered in silence, the water scalding against my skin as if I could wash away the heaviness pressing down on my chest. By the time I got dressed and slipped on my shoes, my mind was already made up.
I was going to the studio.
As I was about to leave I got a text, as I instantly Pick up the phone hoping it was from Arhaan.
But to my disappointment, it wasn't. It was a birthday text from Avni, mentioning how she misses me. I smile reading it.
Followed by that a text from Dhruv and Aunty aswell, this surprised me because I never expected that they would even know it. Both Dhruv and Aunty are not at home, they will be staying at Kamla aunty's house for some time for some urgent work. Whatever that is, thanking both of them I make my way to the studio.
The streets were crowded despite the gloomy weather. People hurried by as I watched them pass, wondering what it must feel like to move through life so effortlessly.
To exist without carrying the weight of a past that refused to let go.
When I reached my studio, I exhaled a shaky breath of relief. The familiar smell of paint, varnish, and old wood wrapped around me like a cocoon. I locked the door behind me, flicked on the lights, and let myself dissolve into the quiet sanctuary of my art.
I set up my easel, squeezed paint onto my palette, and lost myself in the rhythm of my brush. The canvas swallowed my emotions like it always did, each stroke bleeding out the things I couldn’t say.
Time slipped away.
I didn’t notice the door opening until I heard footsteps.
