In the Hope of Love

His Bitter Past

Niha's POV

The waves rolled in steadily, humming a lullaby that filled the silence between us. The bonfire crackled softly a few feet away, casting an amber glow on Dev's features as he sat beside me, legs stretched out, fingers idly running through the sand.

I glanced at him, hesitating for a moment. He looked relaxed, but I'd seen enough of him lately to know when that calm was just a mask.

A soft sigh escaped me. "Dev..." I began, keeping my voice quiet, cautious. "Can I ask you something?"

He didn't look at me. "Hmm?"

I looked down at the sand. "A few days ago... I saw the pills in your drawer. And last night, I... I heard you. You were having a nightmare, weren't you?"

Dev's fingers stilled in the sand.

He didn't answer. For a moment, the only sound was the tide pulling back, and the wind whispering through the palm trees.

"I know it's not my place," I continued, gently, "and I don't mean to push. But I've been worried."

He finally spoke, his voice low, almost guarded. "Niha... please don't read too much into it. It's just something I take when things get... overwhelming."

I turned to face him, fully now. "But Dev... these pills... they aren't a solution. Not forever."

He looked at me then, something flickering behind his eyes. Defensiveness. Shame. Maybe both.

"They help me get through the day," he muttered.

"But for how long?" I asked softly. "You know better than anyone—they come with their own cost. Your focus, your memory, your willpower... all of it can start to fade."

He sighed, looking away.

"You need something more permanent," I said, gently. "Something real."

He raised an eyebrow, still not fully meeting my eyes. "And what do you suggest? Meditation? Therapy?" he asked, half-joking, half-deflecting.

"No," I said, firmly. "I suggest you talk. To someone. To me, if you want."

He stilled.

"You've carried it alone long enough, Dev. Maybe it's time to share the weight."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Just stared out at the sea.

And then—quietly, barely above a whisper—he asked, "What if talking about it doesn't fix anything?"

I reached for his hand, fingers brushing his knuckles lightly.

"Maybe it won't," I said, meeting his gaze with steady calm. "But it'll stop you from breaking under it."

Dev's POV
She sat beside me, her hand still gently wrapped around mine. The warmth of her touch should've comforted me—but instead, I felt that familiar weight creep into my chest. That hollow ache that I'd buried deep for years.

Niha's voice echoed softly in my mind.
"You've carried it alone long enough, Dev."

God, if only she knew.

I turned away from her, pretending to focus on the ocean. But the truth was—I couldn't look at her. Not right now. Not when her eyes held so much trust, so much care. She didn't deserve to be pulled into the mess I carry.

What if I told her everything, and it changed the way she looked at me?

What if I lost her?

A part of me wanted to open up—desperately. To take her advice, to let her in, let her help. But the other part? The darker one—the one that had learned to survive by silence—it whispered warnings.