" I'm sor-"
"DON'T, JUST DON'T SAY IT. YOU DO NOT EVEN DESERVE TO SAY IT AFTER WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME! I BEGGED YOU, SCREAMED AND PLEAD, BUT YOU DIDN'T HEED MY WORDS. THEN WHY SHOULD I!"
I yelled with tears streaming down my face when witnessing m...
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The three of them clung to their returned souls as if the floor might vanish again. A primal, shuddering relief moved through them, a silent chant: They are safe. They are here. They are safe. The world beyond their tight circle; the grieving families, the frantic officials, the sterile horror faded into a distant, unimportant hum.
Amaira stood frozen within the cage of Suhail's arms. Her mind, still reeling from the emotional whiplash of the last hour, the gutting news, the frantic race, the sight of the covered bodies struggled to process this new reality. The feel of his shirt against her cheek, the frantic, thunderous rhythm of his heart against her ear, the sheer, desperate force of his hold... It was too much. It spoke of a terror and a relief so profound it stole her own breath.
She didn't dare hug him back. What right did she have? Their last conversation has been like a full stop. An end to whatever it was. Yet, beneath the shock, a quieter, more urgent instinct surfaced. He was trembling. His breaths against her hair were sharp, ragged gasps, the aftershocks of a panic that had not yet released him. He was holding onto her as if she were the only solid thing in a disintegrating world. So, slowly, hesitantly, she raised a hand and patted his back. A small, steadying rhythm. Telling him, I'm here. I'm real.
The gesture seemed to unravel him further. His arms tightened convulsively, a soft, broken sound escaping him. In that moment, nothing else existed for him not the public space, not the watching eyes of her brother Adithya, whose gaze she could feel burning into them, not the surreal tragedy surrounding them. He was simply anchoring himself to the miracle of her heartbeat.
"Suhail... I can't breathe," she finally whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.
He jolted as if electrocuted, releasing her so abruptly she swayed. He took a quick step back, his face a mask of flustered embarrassment. He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting anywhere but hers. "Sorry. I... sorry." The powerful, desperate man from a second ago was gone, replaced by one who looked awkward and chastised.
Rafeeq, who had been watching the reunion with a mix of his own overwhelming relief and a brother's sharp protectiveness, finally stepped forward. He pulled Amaira into a more restrained but no less emotional hug of his own. "We saw the news," he said, his voice thick. He then turned to Adithya, clapping a hand on his shoulder, a wordless communication passing between them.
Sharmila's crying slowly calmed. Rehan's hand kept rubbing her back, his voice soft and steady in her ear. He told her it was okay, to breathe, that he was right here. She held onto him tighter, her face pressed into his shoulder. She could feel his heart beating, strong and alive. That feeling, more than his words, finally chased the panic away.
He was here. He was solid and real. She had said such harsh things to him, pushed him away with cold, practical words. But he hadn't pulled back. He had held her while she fell apart. That meant something. It had to.
