Arv stepped into the room, pausing at the threshold. There they were—Vihaan and his wife, their hands entwined like two lost butterflies finally meeting after seasons of wandering, their silent understanding a horizon where the ocean of his grief kissed the sky of her patience. He coughed lightly, a grin tugging his lips. "Looks like everything's….. fine."
Their faces flushed, twin suns burning through the twilight of their guarded hearts. Vihaan's wife stood abruptly, smoothing her dress. "I'll… talk to the doctor about your discharge. And fetch some food." She hurried out, leaving a trail of unspoken words in her wake.
Arv turned to Vihaan, his playful demeanor hardening. "Are you done now? Done chasing ghosts? You know she stayed up all night, calling every contact. Her voice was shaking, Vihaan. "She cares. Don't shut her out."
Vihaan stared at the wall, jaw clenched.
"And that concert at Cadencea," Arv added, softer now. "The one in the crystal valleys where music echoes for miles? She's performing there. Half the city's buzzing about it. Go. For once, be where you're needed, not where you're haunted."
Vihaan's voice was a low rumble. "Let's see."
Arv rolled his eyes. "Your stubbornness is a masterpiece." He left, the door clicking shut behind him.
The secretary lingered at the door, his fingers fidgeting with the clipboard. "Sir… about last night," he began, voice wavering. "Madam… she… she didn't sleep. When your phone died, she called everyone she knew. Paced the halls until dawn. Refused to eat, to breathe, until she saw you."
Vihaan's gaze dropped to his bandaged hands, the weight of the words settling like ash.
"Sir, about the concert at Cadencea... I believe you should attend. Not just for her, but… for yourself. For the part of you that's still fighting."
A beat of silence. The secretary bowed, shame coloring his cheeks. "Forgive me. I overstepped."
Vihaan's voice was quiet, frayed at the edges. "It's okay." As the secretary left, Vihaan turned to the window. Outside, dusk bled into the sky, its amber light mirroring the memory surfacing like a ghost.
Flashback: Six Years Earlier —
4 PM. The air hummed with the lazy buzz of a school day's end.
She walked briskly, her bag clutched tight, senses sharp. Shadows tailed her—rough laughter, boots scraping concrete. She darted into alleys, heart drumming, but they closed in. Her ankle caught a crack in the pavement, and she fell, gravel biting her palms.
"There you are," a voice sneered. "Nowhere to run now."
Before they could touch her, a figure emerged—Vihaan, then just a storm in human form, eyes dark as coiled thunder. "Leave. Her. Alone."
The thugs scoffed. "Mind your business, pretty boy."
"This is my business," he said, stepping into the light. A fight erupted—fists, grunts, the crunch of bone. Vihaan moved like the streets had taught him: ruthless, efficient, using walls and momentum as weapons. One thug lunged; Vihaan sidestepped, slamming his head into a dumpster. Another swung—he caught the arm, twisted, and dropped him.
When silence fell, he knelt beside her. "Are you alright?"
She nodded, breathless. "Yeah. Thanks."
The late sun gilded their faces—hers flushed with fear and awe, his softened by an unfamiliar tenderness. In that moment, the world narrowed to the space between their shared breaths, a prologue to a love that would unravel as fiercely as it began.
Present —
Vihaan stared at the horizon through the hospital window, where the sun melted into the distant silhouette—a jagged crown of crystal valleys humming with unseen music. His fingers brushed the locket in his palm, its broken chain coiled like a question mark.
Maybe I should attend it.
The thought flickered, tentative as a candle in the wind. He pictured her there—his wife—standing in Cadencea's amphitheater, her voice weaving through the resonant stone, reaching valleys that even grief couldn't touch. Her face flashed in his mind, the girl from six years ago, her laughter now a ghost. But this time, the ache felt different.
The door creaked open. His wife stepped in, holding a paper cup of tea, her golden hair haloed by the hallway light. She paused, sensing the shift in the air. "The doctor says you can leave tomorrow."
He didn't turn, but his grip tightened on the locket. "Cadencea… your concert. When is it?"
She stilled, the cup trembling slightly. "Two days. But you don't have to—"
"I'll go."
To be continued... 😊 😊