Her words hung in the cold air: "Please. Don't hurt yourself."
I stared at her, shocked. She saw right through me, through all the walls I'd spent years building. Walls meant to keep everyone out, to keep myself safe from the hurt I had never quite learned how to deal with. I thought I had mastered hiding my pain, but here she was, standing there, waiting for me to let her in.
"I'm fine, Saanvi," I said automatically. The lie slipped out before I could stop it.
"No, you're not," she replied, her voice calm but firm. "Let it out, Nikhil. You need this."
I shook my head, trying to convince myself more than her. She didn't understand—or maybe, just maybe, she did, which made it harder. Screaming wouldn't bring my parents back. It wouldn't undo the years of loneliness I'd buried. I'd built my life around work, hiding how empty I felt. If I let go now, if I let out all this pain, would I be able to put myself back together again? Could I survive the rawness of it all?
I turned away from her, walking toward the cliff. The wind hit my face, sharp and cold. I closed my eyes, and the memories flooded back.
I was a little boy again, running through the house, my laughter bouncing off the walls, pure and carefree. My mom was chasing me, her voice pretending to scold me, but I could hear the laughter in her tone. She was always laughing, always teasing, always making me feel like I was the center of her world
"Come back here, Nikhil!" she'd call, her voice warm, always in the background of every memory I had of home.
My dad's voice would follow, calling me "Champ" as he lifted me up onto his shoulders, his arms strong and steady beneath me. I'd cling to his neck, laughing as he carried me around, making me feel like I was invincible. My mother would tickle bhai and our laugh filled everywhere.
Those moments, those flashes of laughter and love, were everything to me. But then, in an instant, everything stopped
The news. The crash. The silence that followed.
I was ten years old when my parents died. Old enough to understand they were gone forever, but too young to understand why the world could be so cruel.
One moment, I was their mischievous little boy, loved and happy. The next, I was just... alone.
I stopped laughing after that. I stopped playing, stopped being the boy who filled the house with noise and life.
Bhai and Dadu, my brother and grandfather, tried their best. They gave me time, tried to comfort me, took care of me despite my withdrawn nature, despite my resistance to their kindness. And I loved them for it. But they couldn't fill the space left behind by my parents. I couldn't let myself be the same carefree kid anymore. I was too afraid to lose them, too scared to get close again.
So, I changed.
I buried myself in my studies, then in work. I became what the world wanted me to be—serious, focused, distant. People called me heartless, and I let them. I didn't argue. It was easier than explaining the truth. Easier than letting anyone see the boy who had been left behind in the wreckage of a car crash.
Now, standing here on this cliff with Saanvi, I could feel the cracks forming in the walls I'd spent so long building. The weight of everything I had locked inside threatened to pull me apart.
"Fine," I muttered, my voice heavy. "I'll do it."
She stepped back, giving me space. She didn't rush me. She didn't push. She just stood there, quietly, waiting for me to come to terms with it in my own time. It wasn't an easy thing to do. Screaming, releasing everything, meant facing things I had avoided for so long. But there was no turning back now.
I turned back to face the cliff, the cold wind tugging at my jacket, biting through the fabric. My chest felt tight, constricted, as though it might burst if I didn't let it all out. I didn't know if I could do it. I didn't know if I was ready. But the memories kept coming, each one like a wave crashing into me, dragging me deeper into the past.
I clenched my fists, took a deep breath, and screamed.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The pain, the anger, the loss—all of it poured out of me, each scream leaving me a little lighter, a little emptier in the best way. I screamed for the boy who had lost everything, for the man who had buried himself in work to avoid the truth. I screamed for the loneliness I'd kept hidden, for the fear I'd carried in silence.
When I couldn't scream anymore, I dropped to my knees. My breath came out in short, sharp gasps, and for the first time in years, I felt the tears fall without my consent.
Saanvi was by my side in an instant. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close.
"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm here."
I let her hold me. For once, I didn't pull away. Her warmth, her steady presence, made me feel safe. It was strange, letting someone hold me like this. But somehow, it felt right.
"I miss them," I said, my voice breaking. "I miss them so much, Saanvi."
"I know," she said softly, holding me tighter.
We stayed like that for a long time. It was as if the world had stopped moving, and all that mattered was this moment. Finally, I pulled away, wiping my face with my sleeve.
"You needed that," she said with a small smile.
I nodded, unable to speak.
"You're not heartless, Nikhil," she continued. "You've just been holding it all in for too long. But you don't have to do that anymore. You don't have to do it alone."
Her words hit me hard. For so long, I believed showing pain made me weak, that I had to keep everything locked inside. But here she was, showing me that it was okay to feel, okay to let go.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"For what?" she asked, a soft smile on her lips.
"For not giving up on me," I said, my voice steady for the first time in a long while.
She laughed quietly, the sound like a soft balm to my soul. "I told you, Mr. Jerk. I'm not going anywhere."
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