Chapter 34

Evening comes like a slow bruise.

The sky is a watercolor mess-deep purples bleeding into oranges, the last gold of the sun clinging to the edges like it doesn’t want to leave yet. Shadows stretch long against my walls, stretching over me, swallowing the room whole.

I don’t move. I haven’t moved in hours.

I’m still sitting on my bed, my back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling like it has answers, like if I stay still long enough, I’ll stop feeling like I’m unraveling.

It doesn’t work.

My room is dim now, only the glow of my laptop casting a weak halo of light.

I haven’t touched it in an hour. Haven’t moved, either.

Because my head is too full of Raj.

Of the way his voice had lingered, too careful, too aware.

Of the way he had looked at me, as if trying to understand something even I didn’t know.

Of the way I had snapped-not because he did anything wrong, but because he got too close.

It shouldn’t feel like this. Like guilt.

I press my fingers to my temple, exhaling sharply. It’s fine. It’s nothing.

Tomorrow, Raj will probably still be Raj. Probably won’t care. Probably won’t-

“Dev?”

My mom’s voice drifts up the staircase.

“Come down for a second.”

I blink, grounding myself back into the room.

Then, slowly, I push myself up, stretching out the stiffness in my back.

I don’t rush. I don’t expect anything important. But when I reach the last step and glance toward the door-

I stop.

Because standing there, in the fading glow of the sunset, is my father.

And beside him–A bicycle.

I stare. Not because I don’t understand what I’m looking at.

But because I don’t know what to do with it.

It’s sleek, simple-black frame, thick tires, clean handlebars. The kind of bike I used to watch other kids ride when I was younger. The kind I never had.

My dad is standing next to it like he doesn’t quite belong there, hands shoved into his pockets, like he doesn’t know how to do this.

He glances at me once, then at the bike, then back again. And for a second, he just… hesitates.

“I, uh-” His voice is rougher than usual, like he had rehearsed this and still got it wrong. “I thought maybe you’d… like it.”

I don’t move.

My mom shifts slightly, watching me carefully, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s leaving this to me.

I take a step forward. Just one.

The bike gleams in the last bit of sunlight, looking like something that should’ve existed in my childhood, but never did.

“Why?” I ask.

It comes out flatter than I mean it to, but my dad doesn’t flinch. He just exhales, like he expected that.

Then, after a long pause-

“Because I never taught you.”

I blink.

Something tightens in my chest.

It’s not an apology. Not quite.

It’s not a request, either.

It’s just… a fact. A truth I had known my whole life, but never thought I would hear him admit.

When I was a kid, I used to watch my friends learn how to ride.

I used to see their fathers jog alongside them, steadying them, laughing when they wobbled, catching them before they hit the pavement.

I used to tell myself it didn’t matter that I never had that.

That I never had this.

But now it’s here. Years too late, but still here. I swallow. My throat feels tight.

My dad watches me, shifting his weight like he doesn’t know what to say next.

Like maybe this was the part he never figured out.

Like maybe he wanted to say I’m sorry.

Or I wish I had been there.

Or Can we start over?

But instead, he just clears his throat, looking away.

“You don’t have to take it,” he says quietly. “I just… wanted you to have it.”

The sun dips lower. The sky turns from orange to deep blue.

I step forward again, slowly reaching out, my fingers grazing the handlebar. The metal is cool, sturdy, real.

Something shifts in my chest. Not anger. Not resentment. Just… something softer.

I glance at him.

For the first time in a long time, I really look at him.

At the way he stands, hands still shoved into his pockets, his expression caught between hopeful and unsure.

Like he’s not expecting me to forgive him.

Like he’s just hoping I’ll take the first step.

“…It’s nice.”

My voice comes out quieter than I expect.

My fingers curl around the handlebar, feeling the cool metal, the slight give of the rubber grips beneath my palms.

The evening air is thick with something unnamedsomething that presses into my ribs, something softer, making it hard to breathe.

And when I glance up-just for a second-I see something shift in my dad’s face.

Not relief. Not quite. But something close to it.

For a few beats, neither of us speak. The streetlamp buzzes softly overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slams.

Then, before I can stop myself-before I can think too hard about it-I say the thing that’s been sitting in my throat since the moment I saw the bike.

“…You know I still can’t ride, right?”

It’s not sarcastic.

It’s not bitter.

It’s just the truth.

My dad blinks, caught off guard. For a second, the silence stretches too long. I almost regret saying it. Then—

He laughs.

A quiet, breathy sound, like he wasn’t expecting it either. Like it just escaped.

“I know.” He exhales, shifting his weight, looking at the bike like it’s some kind of puzzle. “You always had your nose stuck in books or that guitar. Never really saw you running around with the other kids.”

He says it casually, but something in his tone makes my stomach twist. Because it’s true.

And it’s also his fault. But today, I don’t say that.

Because right now, he’s here. And that still feels too strange to ruin.

From the porch, my mom speaks for the first time.

“So?” She crosses her arms, her expression hovering between amused and expectant. “What are you two waiting for? Go on, teach him.”

Teach him.

I freeze slightly. My dad does too.

Then, slowly, his eyes flick to mine, asking something without saying it.

I swallow. I could say no.

Could say I’ll figure it out myself. Could roll the bike into the garage and never touch it again. Could turn and walk away, like I’ve done a hundred times before.

But instead–

Instead, I shrug.

“…I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

And maybe it’s just the light playing tricks, but I swear-for a second-he almost smiles.

My first attempt, it’s a disaster. Obviously.

I get on, awkward as hell, gripping the handlebars like they might attack me. The seat is too high, too unsteady, too weird.

“Relax.” My dad’s voice is lighter than I’m used to, like he’s trying to keep things easy. “You’re acting like the thing’s gonna throw you off.”

“It might.” I deadpan. “You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

From the porch, my mom snorts. “It’s a bicycle, Dev, not a wild animal.”

“Debatable.”

But I still let my dad adjust the seat, still let him check the brakes, still let him exist in this moment with me.

Still let myself want to believe that this can be something good.

“Okay,” my dad says, standing beside me, one hand on the back of the seat. “I’ll hold on while you start. Just keep pedaling.”

I nod.

Breathe.

Push off.

The wheels wobble dangerously, my balance tipping immediately, heart slamming into my ribs-

“Shit-“

I almost tip sideways, the world tilting beneath me, the pavement rushing up too fast-

But then-his grip tightens.

A firm, steady weight at my back, grounding me before I can fall. Before I can even panic.

“I’ve got you.”

His voice is low, certain. Like it’s not a question. Like it was never even a possibility that he wouldn’t catch me.

I blink, disoriented. The air is thick with dusk, with something I can’t name but can feel.

He doesn’t laugh.

Doesn’t tease.

Doesn’t let go.

Just stands there, solid and unmoving, like an anchor I never expected to have.

“You’ll be okay,” he says, the words settling into my ribs. “I won’t let go.”

And this time, I believe him.