THE IInd DECISION

52. Love we make

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listen with songs like aaj se teri , ranjhya ve , saiyaan 

Ayan Pov:-

A month had passed, yet every second of it felt like an eternity. A month of pain. A month of helplessness. A month of nightmares that refused to fade.

Ashi had been in the hospital all this time. She had lost so much blood that, for a moment, we feared the worst. Thankfully, a timely transfusion saved her, but it wasn't just her body that suffered—something inside her had shattered beyond repair. When she finally woke up after a week, she barely spoke. She ate only because she had to. She smiled, but it never reached her eyes. It was forced, hollow, like a puppet mimicking life.

And I felt the same.

I thought I could handle it, that I could be the strong one. But with each passing day, the weight grew heavier. Watching Ashi drift further into herself, seeing Riya struggle to hold everything together—it drained me. And then there was that day. The memories of it lurked in the corners of my mind, waiting for the darkness to bring them to life. Sleep became a battlefield, my nights haunted by nightmares that felt too real. I had no choice but to seek therapy. It helped, at least a little. Now, I could sleep without feeling like I was drowning.

But in this entire month, I couldn't bring myself to meet Maa. I didn't have the courage. She had been sentenced to life imprisonment. A part of me refused to accept it, refused to believe that the woman who raised me was now behind bars.

Today, Ashi is finally being discharged from the hospital. Riya made all the arrangements, ensuring that everything would be smooth for her return. And now, we were on our way to bring her home.

"Bhai, please turn off this boring song," Riya muttered from beside me as she buckled herself in.

I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts, and simply nodded. "Hmm." I reached for the stereo and switched to another track.

Riya had been struggling too, though she never let it show. She never cried in front of me. But I knew. Every night, when the world quieted down, she let her tears fall. She thought I didn't notice, but I did. And so, I made it a habit to check on her before going to bed—just to make sure she was still holding on.

Over the past month, Ashi's mother often sought me out, her eyes searching mine for answers—answers about Navya.

She wanted to know everything. How did she look? How did she smile? Did she have dimples like Ashi? She wanted to know the little things too—What made her laugh? What foods did she love? Did she hum while doing chores? And then came the harder questions. Did she know about them? About the truth? Were her adoptive parents kind to her? Did she ever feel loved?

I answered each question with as much honesty as I could, my own heart aching with every word. And when words weren't enough, I showed her pictures—frozen fragments of a life she never got to be a part of. I played voice notes, letting her hear the voice of the daughter she never got to hold.

Each time, her reaction was the same. Her hands would tremble as she reached for the phone, her breath uneven. The moment Navya's voice filled the air, her eyes would well up with tears—tears of love, regret, and longing all tangled into one. She would press a hand to her mouth as if holding back the sobs threatening to escape.

I never knew what to say in those moments.

What could I say? That time could heal wounds this deep? That fate had been cruel? That the love of a mother was strong enough to reach beyond death?