Siya's POV

"That was the roughest... and sweetest punishment I could ever wish for."

His chuckle was deep, rich, sending shivers down my spine.

For a moment, we just stood there, lost in each other. No words, no movement—just the sound of our breaths mingling, the electricity crackling between us.

His blue eyes held mine captive, filled with something raw, something unspoken.

Ahh… those blue eyes.

They held the whole sky within them. Every time I looked, I forgot the ground beneath me. They pulled me in like the ocean tide, drowning me in a love I never wanted to escape.

When his eyes searched for me, I felt found.

When they lingered on me, I felt claimed.

And when they softened with love, I felt alive.

“I missed you butterfly” his voice broke my thoughts.

“I missed you too veer” I replied , peering at his face with kisses due to which a pink hue formed on his cheeks. It's rare to see veer blushing and I love it, this side of him is just for me.

"Let’s dance," he said, his voice softer this time.

The song playing in the background was one of my favorites—

Ek din aap yoon hamko mil jaayenge
Phool hee phool raahoon mein khil jaayenge, maine sochaa naa tha
Ek din zindagi itanee hogee haseen
Jhoomegaa aasamaan, gaaegi ye zameen
Ek din zindagi itanee hogee haseen
Jhoomegaa aasamaan, gaaegi ye zameen, maine sochaa naa tha

God, this song. It was pure love.

Veer led me to the center of the room, and I followed. The moment his arms wrapped around me, everything else faded away. We swayed, slow and close, I put my head on his chest, his heart beat is music to my ears.

His hand moved to my waist, pulling me in. My fingers tightened on his shoulder, we looked into each other's eyes and forgot all the chaos happening around.

Dil kee daali pe kaliyaan see khilne lageen
Jab nigaahen nigaahon se milne lageen
Dil kee daali pe kaliyaan see khilne lageen
Jab nigaahen nigaahon se milne lageen

Ek din is tarah hosh kho jaayenge
Paas aaye to madahosh ho jaayenge, maine sochaa naa tha
Ek din aap yoon hamko mil jaayenge
Phool hee phool raahoon mein khil jaayenge, maine sochaa naa tha

No words were needed. The music spoke for us.

Ek din aap yoon hamko mil jaayenge
Phool hee phool raahoon mein khil jaayenge, maine sochaa naa tha
Maine sochaa naa tha

He twirls me around my laugh echoes in the whole house.

By the time the song ended, Veer was grinning. "Come on, Butterfly. Let’s eat. I made your favorite. I know exactly what your health-freak brother has been feeding you all week."

I gasped dramatically. "Oi! Shut up! He’s my brother!"

"So what?" He shrugged. "He’s also my best friend. That means I can say whatever I want."

"Fine, then I’ll also give you names," I shot back, crossing my arms.

His smirk widened. "Oh? And I also know how to make that pretty mouth of yours shut, Butterfly."

I swallowed, my heart stuttering at the way his voice dropped an octave. But before I could challenge him, he pulled me to the dining table.

Lunch was chaotic.

We laughed, teased, and stole food from each other’s plates. He wiped sauce from my lips with his thumb, I smacked his hand when he tried to eat from my plate.

And when we were done, we leaned back, watching each other with nothing but love in our eyes.

This was us.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Shaurya’s POV

I sit at a distance from her. Not too far, not too close.
Just enough so she doesn’t feel trapped. Just enough so she doesn’t feel alone.

I looked at her.

She is so small. Fragile—like a child who has been forced to grow up too soon. The world has shown her no mercy.

Her ankles and wrists look better now, the swelling gone. Her hands, her legs—delicate, tiny. She can’t be more than 5'2", at most. Her skin is dry, pale… drained of life.

Her brownish-black strands are tangled, twisted into knots. It must be painful. I make a mental note to tell Siya to brush her hair gently, with care.

And then… my gaze reaches her face.

Oh God.

A scream threatens to break out of me.

Brown eyes—piercing, raw—looking right into my soul.

I immediately turn my face away, panic tightening around my throat. Shit. What must she be thinking? Did I make her uncomfortable? That’s the last thing I want.

Forcing an awkward smile, I turn back towards her, but the moment I meet her gaze, my own shifts downward. I don’t know why. I just… can’t bring myself to hold her stare.

Clearing my throat, I break the silence.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean—”

Nothing. No response.

I follow her gaze. She’s looking at the tiffin box in my hands. I pass the tiffin towards her, making sure to keep a safe distance.

“She went out for a while. So I… brought your lunch.”

Still no words.

But she takes the tiffin and starts eating.

And this—this is why I like cooking for her. Because she eats. Like this is the one thing she wants. Like, for a brief moment, food is a comfort she allows herself.

I exhale, my eyes roaming around the room. The silence has stretched too long. 

I opened my phone and go through so emails.

When I glance at her again, she has finished eating.

Now it's my chance.

But what should I even ask?

"Are you okay?" She isn’t.

"Do you want anything?" As if she’s going to tell me.

"Are you angry with me?"

That… that I can ask. That glare she keeps giving me—uff.

Turning towards her, I clear my throat. She looks up, waiting. But the moment our gaze meet, mine drop again.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The same man who silences people with a single glare now can’t even hold the gaze of a mere girl—

"One who has been throwing angry looks at you since the moment she regained consciousness." Ugghhh..  subconscious mind not again

I force myself to speak.

“Are you angry with me?"

Silence.

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me. Instead, she stares at her fingers, playing with them as if they hold all the answers in the world.

I sigh. I should’ve expected this.

But something inside me refuses to give up.

My gaze lands on a piece of paper on the table. Without thinking much, I pick it up and scribble:

"Are you angry with me?"

Folding it into a paper plane, I toss it gently toward her.

For a moment, she stays still. I think she’s going to ignore it. Maybe even push it away.

I lean back, ready to accept defeat.

But then—she picks it up.

She unfolds it. Reads it.

A few moments pass. Then, she finally reaches for a pen.

I watch, holding my breath as she writes something.

She folds the paper into a small ball and tosses it back at me.

My heart pounds as I pick it up.

It’s the first time she’s responding to anyone.

I unfold it, my eyes scanning her delicate handwriting.

"Why would I be angry with you? You're nobody to me!

A small, almost relieved smile tugs at my lips.

I pick up my pen again and write back:

"You’re right. Who am I to be angry with? But your eyes say something else."

This time, instead of a simple fold, I shape the paper into origami—a habit I’ve always had. A crane. A symbol of hope.

I throw it toward her.

She catches it, her fingers tracing the delicate folds before she opens it.

Then, with a teasing challenge in her expression, she picks up the pen and writes something.

She tosses the paper back at me.

I open it.

"Oh? So you can read eyes? Then tell me, Mr. Eye Reader, what do mine say?"

Something in my chest warms.

I write back quickly:

"They want to say many things. But for now… they show anger. Whenever they look at me, it’s as if I’ve stolen something from you."

This time, I shaped the paper into a butterfly, a symbol of freedom, before sending it to her.

She catches it. Reads it.

But she doesn’t reply immediately.

My heartbeat stutters.

Did I say something wrong?

Seconds feel like hours before she finally moves, picking up the pen again.

The paper ball lands in my lap.

I open it.

"Yes. You should have let me die."

A bitter curse burns in my throat.

Frustrated, I grab the pen again, my grip so tight I fear the ink might bleed through the paper.

There’s so much I want to say.

Because you deserve to live.
Because the world doesn’t get to decide when you stop breathing.
Because if I had arrived even a second later, I would have never forgiven myself.

But all that comes out is:

"Marte huwe ko aur kya marta, isliye bacha liya…..But if you still want to die, then maybe I should have let you."
("What more could I do to someone already dying… so I chose to save them.")

This time, I don’t even toss it gently. I throw it toward her, my jaw clenched, my chest tight.

I can’t stay in this suffocating silence anymore.

As I reach the door, Siya walks in.

 Without another word, I walked out.

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