If the Sun Has Faded Away (UNDER REWRITING)

Chapter 22: Butterflies

As I whirled, my dress seemed to wrap itself around me. I didn't even try to hold back the heartfelt laugh that escaped my lips, despite the suspicious glances from passersby on my way to the railway station. My feet hit the ground again, leaving me slightly dizzy, but that didn't stop me. I added a few silly dance steps, almost slipping on the wet pavement. I managed to balance myself just in time, arms outstretched, grinning to myself. A tear rolled down my cheek—pure happiness—but I didn't bother wiping it away.

Nothing else seemed to matter.

My father's words echoed in my mind, "This boy is one of a kind, Divya love. He's in a league of his own. He'd been nervous about coming to meet me, I could tell right away. But still, he set aside his fears just to thank my mefor the sunglasses."

"You should have seen the determination in his eyes. Such a young boy, and already so brave, so righteous. He refused to take the glasses, you know? You're lucky to have him as your friend, Divya."

The fondness in my father's eyes when he spoke of John had left me speechless. I hadn't expected it. Tears had welled up when he told me why John hadn't wanted to keep the gift. My thoughts kept drifting back to him—John.

Everything in me, every part of my heart and soul, wanted to rush to John's house where I knew I would find him. Even if just for a fleeting moment, I wanted to see him—to share his happiness, to tell him how proud I was. Proud of him for summoning the courage to speak to my father, despite his fears. Proud of him for dressing simply yet thoughtfully, making an effort to impress.

I knew that conversation had eased some of the insecurities John carried with him, the ones that had always lingered beneath the surface. He'd longed for years to feel valued by my parents, and today, my father had given him that validation.

The two most important men in my life—John and my father—growing closer? For so long, it had felt like a distant, impossible dream. But now... it was starting to come true. It was almost too wonderful to believe.

Just before I left my father's practice, I had hugged him like I used to when I was a little girl, clinging to him with a happiness so deep it hurt. The butterflies that had taken flight in my stomach then were still fluttering, making my entire body fizz with excitement. Would I be brave enough to tell John how breathtaking he'd looked, so refined and confident?

No, I probably wouldn't. But I knew my face had given me away the moment I saw him. He had noticed my surprise too—no doubt about it. He'll tease me endlessly about it, I'm sure. And honestly, I wouldn't mind.

Since the minute I had left my father, a foolish grin had been playing on my lips, one that refused to leave.

A quick glance at my watch told me it was twenty past eight. My train to Manchester would be arriving in less than fifteen minutes. I needed to hurry. I started running toward the station, my vision blurred by the tears that kept flowing—happy tears. I didn't even try to wipe them away. It felt as if my feet weren't touching the ground anymore, as if they were carrying me somewhere above the clouds.

"Ouch!"

I was jolted back to reality when I collided with someone.

"Sorry... I'm... sorry," I blurted out, my words as garbled as my thoughts. Somehow, I managed to stay upright.

I quickly wiped my eyes and looked up at the person I'd bumped into. To my surprise—and embarrassment—it was a familiar face.

"Hello, beautiful girl," Krishna Kumar Uncle grinned at me.

A sudden, uncomfortable tension tightened in my chest. He was staring at you with lust in his eyes, Lucy, John's words came rushing back, hitting me like a storm.

For a few moments that felt like an eternity, I was frozen, unable to speak.

"Are you all right, Divya?" Krishna Kumar asked, concern etching lines into his face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm... fine, Uncle," I whispered, struggling to force the words out. Damn it, Divya. Collect yourself, girl.

"Then what are these tears for?" he asked, his frown deepening.

My hand flew to my face. The tears—I had forgotten about them.

"Oh, these..." I tried to give him a warm smile. "Don't worry, Uncle. These are happy tears."

Krishna Kumar studied me silently for a moment. Then, before I could react, he reached out and gently wiped the tears from my cheek. It happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to step back.

His touch sent a cold shiver down my spine.

"Tears don't suit you, Divya, whether they're happy or not." He smiled, but something about the way he looked at me made my stomach churn. Was it kindness in his eyes—or something else?

He doesn't see you as his daughter. John's words echoed again, louder this time. He was staring at you with lust.

Was there lust in his touch too? In his smile? No, of course not, I tried to shake off the thoughts, to dismiss the growing unease inside me.

"It'll be fine," I told myself silently. "It'll all be fine."

I forced myself to speak, though my voice trembled. "You didn't have to do that, Uncle."

"Do what?" He frowned again, this time in confusion.

"Wipe my tears. I mean... thank you, but it wasn't necessary."

"Did that bother you?" he asked, his gaze sharp.

Yes, it did.

I silenced the voice in my head before it could grow louder.

"It's lovely to see you, Divya," he said, changing the subject with unsettling quickness.

"Same here, Uncle," I replied, though my words felt hollow.

"Mind if we take the train together? I'm heading to Manchester this morning."

"You've been going to Manchester a lot lately," I remarked, unable to suppress the observation. And we keep bumping into each other almost every day. Coincidence?

He chuckled, "That's true. My son just moved into a new flat and he's been furnishing it. I've been helping him out."

I nodded silently.

"If I don't lend him a hand, who will?" he added with a smile.

"Very true," I mumbled, trying to smile back.

"So... will you join me on the train?" he asked, eyes expectant.

Don't go, Divya. Walk away while there's still time.

But something stopped me. Was it the way he looked at me, waiting for an answer? Or was it because, despite everything, I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt?

I couldn't explain it, but I found myself whispering, "With pleasure, Uncle. Let's go."