𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

•Chapter Twenty-Nine

TW: Domestic Violence

-Dhivti-

I am finally home. Home. In all senses.

Jahaan and Chhaya aunty will be staying with us for a week more. We have all gone through a lot and we want to be there for each other. To heal together.

Akash Gupta is gone. Forever. That is what Jahaan said. He said nothing more- asked us to question nothing more related to him.

But I noticed what others didn't. His eyes.

His eyes were blank but full of pain when he talked about Akash Gupta.

I know for a fact that it is not because Akash Gupta died. There is more to it. I will find out.

"Dhivti, go and rest," Mumma says and I nod absentmindedly- my thoughts still stuck on Jahaan.

I look towards Jahaan and he smiles slightly- almost forced. He watches me until I reach towards my room before he moves towards his, as if waiting- thinking if I might need help or support.

I enter my room, close the door and sigh heavily.

I quickly freshen up because I want to go and talk to Jahaan. I have to. I need to know what is going on with him.

He thinks he can read through me and he can but- Dhivti can also read through Jahaan. Especially now that, I have finally realized my love for him- I am going to be there for Jahaan. Always. Just like he has, for me.

A few minutes later, I walk towards his room and knock gently. It was 12am.

"Dhivti?" Jahaan opens the door, looking disheveled, "are you okay? What is happening?" he comes closer and touches my forehead with the back of his hand, checking for fever. I hold his hand, stopping him, "I am fine. Can I come in?" I ask.

He gently takes my hand and walks me inside while shutting the door, "you don't have to ask to come in," he whispers.

I sit on the sofa near the bed and pat next to me, asking him to sit with me. He does.

"Kya hua, Dhivti?" he whispers, looking at me.

"Tum batao?" he frowns, confused.

I sigh and take his hand in mine.

"What happened, Jahaan? I noticed, you have been tense since you informed us about Akash Gupta," I say and his frown disappears, understanding what I meant to ask.

He looks at me, before sitting on the floor and resting his head on my knee while holding my hand.

"Every son wishes to be like his father when he grows up- because a father is a son's first hero," he whispers.

"Bachpan mein, baap ke pyaar ke liye sab kuch kiya- nadaan tha," he chuckles sadly, "pata nahi tha, ki mere naseeb mein baap ka pyaar hi nahi hai."

PAST (Author)
Jahaan at age 10

The ceiling fan whirred above, swaying slightly, as ten-year-old Jahaan lay on his stomach on the floor, colouring a picture of a car with crooked crayons. His tongue stuck out in concentration, and a glass of warm milk sat untouched beside him.

The front door clicked open and Jahaan perked up, his smile wide.

"Papa's home!"

He scrambled to his feet, crayons forgotten and rushed to the door, expecting - as he always did - a warm hug, a lifted toss in the air, maybe even a smile. He took his colouring paper with him to show his father - maybe finally making him notice the little Jahaan.