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POV AUTHOR
The world had narrowed into soundless chaos.
Tara’s sobs shuddered against Tarun’s chest – harsh, broken sounds muffled by the steady beat of his heart. She clung to him with desperate strength, her fingers curled tightly into the stiff cotton of his scrubs, knuckles white. Her tears soaked through the fabric, branding him with her pain. But he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
His arms wrapped around her like armor, like a shield.
Like home.
She was unraveling – right there, in front of an entire corridor of stunned onlookers. But he held her. With stillness. With strength. With a kind of quiet that said: fall apart. I’ll hold the pieces.
Around them, the hospital seemed to pause.
Nurses who’d seen blood and birth. Interns who’d survived sixty-hour shifts. Senior doctors who walked like gods in white coats. All frozen – not from indifference, but reverence. Reverence for the moment when Dr. Tara Sharma – brilliant, composed, fiercely untouchable Tara Sharma – fell.
And Tarun caught her like she was made of sacred glass.
“Shh…” he whispered, his voice low and rough, as though pulled from someplace deep in his soul. His lips brushed the crown of her head, so tender it almost broke her all over again. “I’ve got you, meri jaan. I’ve got you.”
She sobbed harder – because his voice wasn’t cold or controlled, like she was used to hearing. It wasn’t wrapped in sarcasm or distance. It was raw. Undone. Real.
Human.
Hers.
His fingers threaded gently through her hair, then cradled the sides of her face, coaxing her to look up. When her eyes met his – wild with panic, blurred with tears – the chaos inside her stilled for a breath.
His thumbs brushed across her cheeks, sweeping away the tears as if they personally offended him. His touch was reverent. Like she was something precious he refused to see fall apart.
“I need to go home,” she choked out. “To Mumbai. I-I need to be there. He might-he could…”
“You will be,” he said. Not a question. Not a comfort. A promise.
Before she could respond, Tarun had already turned to his security team – two men in dark suits who seemed to materialize from thin air. One of them was already speaking rapidly into an earpiece.
“Get the car ready,” Tarun ordered.
The men nodded and vanished.
Tara blinked up at him, stunned. “Y-you’re coming with me?”
His jaw tensed, and for a moment, the mask of control slipped back over his face. But only for a moment.
“I’m not letting you go through this alone.”
And that was it.
No dramatics. No explanations.
Just truth.
******
The Range Rover waited outside the emergency bay like it had known she would need it. Like it had always been waiting – for her.
Sleek. Still. Silent.
The rain had stopped, but the air was thick with the kind of hush that falls after something breaks. The doors unlocked with a soft click as Tarun opened the rear door, saying nothing. Just holding it open for her, shielding her with his body from the wind like it was second nature.
Tara stepped in-and the moment she did, it hit her.
His scent.
It wrapped around her like memory.
Clean eucalyptus. Subtle cedar. That quiet undercurrent of sandalwood she could never quite forget. It was his signature – not some passing cologne, but him. The same warm, steady smell that had clung to his jackets years ago. It hadn’t changed. Not one note.
And that broke something in her.
Because while the world had tilted, cracked, and left her gasping, he hadn’t.
Her knees almost gave, but before she could stumble, he was there.
Not rushing. Just… there.
One hand at the small of her back, the other gently guiding her inside like she was made of porcelain. Like the slightest jolt might shatter her into dust.
She sank into the seat, surrounded by silence and leather and him – the warmth of his world pulled around her like a blanket she hadn’t realized she was freezing without. The interior lights dimmed as the door clicked shut, sealing them into a bubble untouched by the noise outside.
Then he slid in beside her, shutting the world out with a single movement.
No words.
Only presence.
His hand found hers like it had been waiting. Like her fingers were the only ones they were meant to hold.
Not desperate.
Not unsure.
Just… certain.
She looked down at their joined hands – his thumb stroking the back of hers in slow, grounding circles. She hadn’t realized she was shaking until he touched her.
And with that touch, the tremors began to still.
The city started to roll past beyond the tinted windows – faceless, fast, irrelevant. But inside the car, time softened. Slowed. It became a thing of breathing and closeness and not letting go.
Her eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall this time. Not yet.
*******
Soon the car rolled to a stop outside her apartment building. Familiar. Safe. And yet, with Tarun beside her, somehow different. His hand lingered on hers a second longer before she slowly let go, her fingers reluctant to leave the comfort of his.
She reached for the door handle but paused.
Her eyes flickered toward him, unsure.
Tarun noticed. Of course he did.
He tilted his head, his gaze never leaving her face. “Shall I come?”
A simple question.
But his voice – soft, gentle, laced with patience – told her he’d already seen the hesitation in her eyes. He wasn’t assuming. He wasn’t pushing.
He was asking.
Always giving her the choice.
Something swelled in her chest – that ache again, but not from grief. This time, it felt like gratitude.
She gave a small nod.
Just once.
And her heart, bruised and battered from the day, fluttered – because how did he know her like this? Like she was an open book only he had ever bothered to read.
They got out together. She led him through the quiet building – her apartment tucked neatly on the third floor of an aging but well-kept structure. It smelled of old wood, jasmine incense, and the faint warmth of morning chai drifting from a neighbor’s kitchen.
Their footsteps echoed in the corridor, but neither spoke. Words felt too sharp for the tenderness of this moment.
She reached her door, pulled out her keys with fingers that were steadier now. The lock clicked open.
She stepped in first, pushing the door wide with a soft creak. The faint scent of sandalwood and lavender greeted her – her home’s quiet perfume.
She turned to him, voice barely above a murmur. “Please, suit yourself. I’ll… I’ll pack my things.”
Tarun didn’t answer right away. He stood in the doorway for a heartbeat longer, as if sensing the threshold wasn’t just wood and metal – but something personal. Intimate.
Then he stepped inside.
“Do you need my help?” he asked, already setting his phone and keys neatly on the side table near the entrance.
She shook her head. “I won’t take long.”
He nodded, watching her disappear down the hallway toward her bedroom.
Then – for the first time – he looked around.
The apartment was small but bathed in natural light. Cream curtains swayed gently by the balcony doors. A soft grey sofa sat under a woven throw, a few open books stacked on the coffee table. A half-drunk cup of tea sat forgotten near a windowsill – steam long gone cold.
It was simple.
Unadorned.
But it had a kind of quiet poetry to it. Like her.
Like Noor.
His Noor.
And then, his eyes caught the wall.
He moved closer, instinctively drawn to it. A gallery of memories arranged neatly above a small console – black and white frames in a grid. Most of the photos were vibrant – smiling faces, moments captured mid-laughter.
Her with her parents – eyes bright, arms wrapped tight around each other during some holiday.
Her and her friends – the familiar faces from their childhood. Festivals. Study sessions. Holi colors smeared across cheeks.
But it was the photo in the middle that stilled him.
It was them.
School uniforms. Awkward teenage smiles. Her hair in a messy braid, his tie crooked, his hand brushing hers like they’d been caught reaching for the same pen.
They were barely sixteen.
But there it was – that moment frozen forever.
He hadn’t known she kept it.
His thumb brushed the glass frame, lingering over their young, unguarded faces. There was so much in that picture. Before life hardened them. Before ambition, heartbreak, and time pulled them apart.
He lost track of time.
Fifteen minutes, maybe more – lost in the silent ache of nostalgia.
“TARUN?”
Her voice – soft, surprised – pulled him back.
He blinked. Turned.
She stood in the hallway, suitcase beside her, a duffel slung across her shoulder. Her hair had come loose – strands falling across her cheek
She looked so small under the weight of it all – not just the luggage, but the guilt, the grief, the regret clawing at her chest.
But what caught his breath wasn’t the packed bags.
It was her eyes.
Red. Raw. Ringed with exhaustion.
As if she’d held in an ocean and hadn’t yet found a place to let it spill.
He exhaled slowly, a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh – more like something heavy he was carrying for her, quietly, willingly.
He stepped forward.
Not fast. Not sudden. Just… steadily.
And without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around her.
Tara didn’t resist.
Her face folded against his chest, her hands finding the fabric of his shirt again – just like at the hospital. She didn’t sob this time. She didn’t even move. She just let herself be held, like maybe, just maybe, she could borrow some of his strength for a little while.
Tarun lowered his head, lips near her temple.
“Everything will be fine,” he murmured against her hair. “Meri jaan… don’t worry.”
It wasn’t a promise. He knew better than to offer those.
It was a prayer.
She nodded slowly, exhaling against him. But even in that fragile moment, guilt flickered in her eyes.
“I should’ve gone,” she whispered, barely audible. “All these years… he kept calling me. He wanted to see me. And I… I just kept saying I was busy. Always too busy.”
Tarun’s arms tightened.
She didn’t have to finish the sentence. He knew what it meant. He felt the sharp stab of self-blame in her voice, that cruel thought that crept in during moments like this – What if I was too late? What if I never get to say goodbye?
“You’re going now,” he said gently. “That’s what matters.”
She didn’t respond. But she didn’t pull away either.
It wasn’t a perfect fix. Nothing could be. But for a moment, she allowed herself to lean. To rest.
To not be strong.
Until-
Ding-dong.
The doorbell shattered their cocoon of stillness.
They broke apart, slowly, reluctantly.
Tara cleared her throat, brushing a hand over her cheeks even though no fresh tears had fallen. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and walked toward the door with measured steps, trying to gather herself.
Tarun stood quietly behind her, his hands sliding into the pockets of his slacks, his expression unreadable once more – that mask of calm returning like armor. But his eyes never left her back.
Tara opened the door.
And blinked.
A massive man in black stood there, tall and broad, dressed in a sharp suit and military posture. His earpiece glinted faintly under the afternoon light. His face was unreadable – all angles and silence.
Before Tara could form a question, a voice spoke from behind her.
“Charles,” Tarun said coolly. “Take the bags and load them properly into the car.”
The man – Charles – inclined his head respectfully. “Yes, sir.”
“And?” Tarun asked, already knowing the answer.
Charles’s tone didn’t shift, but his delivery was efficient. “Your luggage has arrived. It’s been loaded into the aircraft. Final checks are underway. Crew is on standby.”
Tara turned slightly, brows raised. Aircraft?
Tarun didn’t look at her yet. He simply nodded once. “Good. Thank you.”
Charles stepped forward with practiced ease, taking the handle of Tara’s suitcase and the duffel from her shoulder without waiting for permission. His movements were precise, silent – the kind of efficiency born of long years in service.
And then, just as quickly, he was gone.
Once the door clicked shut behind Charles, Tara turned to Tarun with a faint frown tugging at her brows.
“Aircraft?” she asked, voice quiet but confused. “What does that mean? Aren’t we flying commercial?”
Tarun glanced at her, his tone even. “No. We’re flying on my jet.”
There was no pride in his voice. No dramatic pause. Just fact.
Tara blinked. “Your jet?”
He nodded once. “Yes.”
For a second, she just stood there. Processing.
And then a memory stirred – soft and faded, from years ago. School days. Sitting with him on the edge of the playground, book in her lap, talking about nothing and everything. She’d been flipping through a novel, laughing about the ridiculous fictional men in it – the ones with private jets, power, confidence – the kind of life that felt light-years away from theirs.
“I want to sit in a private jet one day,” she said, smiling. “Just once. Even if it’s just to see what it feels like. Fictional men and their fictional lives.”
It was a joke. A dream in passing.
But standing here now, in her doorway, she realized he had remembered.
He had carried that silly, faraway wish in some quiet part of his mind. And now… years later… he had built himself up with relentless effort, carved his own path, and made himself capable – not for show, not for the world – but just enough to quietly fulfill those forgotten little dreams she had once whispered between laughs.
She looked at him differently then. Not because of the jet. Not because of the gesture. But because of what it meant.
He remembered everything.
And more than that, he acted.
“You really did all the hard work,” she murmured, almost in disbelief. “Made yourself that capable. Just so… you could give life to those silly things I used to say.”
Tarun didn’t answer immediately. He just met her gaze and said, in that steady way of his, “Nothing you ever said was silly to me.”
Something in her chest tightened. She didn’t say anything more.
She didn’t need to.
A moment later, she turned to look around her apartment one last time. Then she reached for the door.
“Let’s go,” she said softly.
And together, they walked out – not just of the flat, but of something quieter and deeper that had lived between them for years.
No grand confessions. No fireworks.
Just love – in the way that lasts.
*******
The clock had just crept past midnight when the wheels of the private jet kissed the tarmac of Mumbai International Airport. The city, cloaked in its heavy monsoon night, seemed both familiar and distant to Tara – a place she once belonged to, now a ghost wrapped in haze and headlights.
As the doors of the aircraft opened, a rush of humid air filled her lungs. She hadn’t even taken a step onto the tarmac before a group of black-suited guards swept forward with synchronized efficiency, forming a protective arc around her and Tarun.
Seven cars.
She counted them without meaning to – seven sleek, bulletproof cars lined in military precision. Their engines hummed quietly, their tinted windows like watchful eyes.
Tara’s gaze flicked toward Tarun, who was walking beside her like it was just another Tuesday.
This was the weight of the man he had become – the life he had built brick by brutal brick. And yet, when he glanced at her, his eyes were the same. Gentle. Steady. Hers.
The back door of the lead car was opened for her. She slid in wordlessly. The cool scent of leather and eucalyptus wrapped around her again. Moments later, Tarun joined her from the other side, and the car pulled away into the dark Mumbai streets.
As they drove, Tara pulled out her phone, fingers instinctively dialing.
“Who are you calling?” Tarun asked softly.
“Manav bhai”
It rang four, five times.
Then, “Hello?”
“Bhai,” she breathed out, relief softening her voice. “I’m in Mumbai. Tell me which hospital. I’ll come directly-“
But Manav interrupted her, gentle yet firm. “Tara, go home. Visiting hours are over. I’m staying here with Papa tonight. He’s stable now. You and Maa come in the morning.”
“But-” she started, heart clenching. “I want to see him. I need to see him.”
“I know,” he said. “But you won’t be allowed in now. Go home. Maa’s waiting. She needs you too.”
The call ended with a soft click before she could argue more.
She sighed, placing the phone in her lap, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bhai is saying to go home… Visiting hours are over.”
Tarun turned his head, reading the flicker of emotion across her face. “He’s right,” he said gently. “Go home. Take rest. Aunty will be alone… and tomorrow you’ll see him with a clear head. Okay?”
She nodded slowly, pressing her forehead to the cool glass of the window. The streets rushed by in a blur of neon lights and rain-blurred signboards.
Her Mumbai.
Her city.
But everything had changed. Or maybe she had.
******
The car slowed near a quiet lane in the heart of the old suburb. As it came to a stop, Tara’s heart began to pound. She stepped out into the hushed night. The rain had paused, but the air was heavy, the scent of wet earth thick around her.
She looked up.
Her childhood home stood in front of her – familiar yet faded. The paint was older. The railings had rusted a little. But it was home.
Her eyes shimmered, overwhelmed.
Ten years.
She hadn’t stepped foot here in a decade.
Tarun, now on her side of the car, began to retrieve the luggage from the trunk when he noticed she hadn’t moved. He walked up behind her, his brows knitting.
“What happened?” he asked softly. “Why are you standing here?”
Tara didn’t answer immediately. She was staring hard at the building, her voice barely holding steady. “It’s… too quiet. And dark. All the lights are off. Maa never switches everything off like this, not even when she’s asleep.”
Tarun’s gaze narrowed. He followed her line of sight, his instincts prickling. “Come,” he said. “Let’s go inside and check.”
Tara nodded, hesitantly.
The moment she unlocked the gate and stepped in, the air seemed to shift. Heavy. Still.
She reached the front door, slipped the key into the lock, and turned it. A soft click echoed like thunder in the silence. She pushed the door open.
Darkness spilled forward like a wave.
She stepped inside, calling out cautiously. “Maa? Where are you?”
Silence.
Her voice echoed back to her.
Frowning, she moved deeper into the living room, pulling her phone from her pocket and turning on the flashlight. The beam of white light sliced through the dark – dancing over old furniture, draped curtains, a half-finished embroidery frame on the side table.
Then suddenly-
CRASH.
A loud, shattering sound erupted behind her. She whipped around.
Her suitcase lay on the floor, flung open. But Tarun – Tarun was gone.
“Tarun?” she called out, panic crawling up her spine.
Silence.
Then came a low, dragging sound from the hallway. Heavy. Measured.
She turned toward it, her breath catching.
And just before she could move-
A shadow crossed the end of the corridor. Quiet. Unhurried.
Coming closer.
******
Cliffhanger time🤭🤭
Hey, lovelies! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don’t forget to hit that vote button and leave your thoughts in the comments. Till then byy see you soon ❤️
Thank you for your love and support!
Love from,
Miss Sharma ❤️
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