Chapter 58

The sky is inked in deep violet, the sun just a ghost bleeding out behind the hills. I sit in silence as Raj drives, one hand on the wheel, the other limp against his thigh. He’s not tense—not anymore.

He just looks… hollowed out. Like someone who walked through fire and made it to the other side, but left something behind in the ashes.

The road curves out of town, the world thinning into quiet. No headlights. No sound but the hum of the engine and the occasional sigh he doesn’t know he’s making.

It’s almost night when he pulls off the road near a break in the trees.

He kills the engine.

Neither of us moves.

Then he turns to me, slow, like the weight’s still shifting inside his chest.

“Come with me?” he says, voice low, almost shy.

I nod before I even know what I’m agreeing to.

The air outside is cooler, crisp against my face. Raj walks ahead, just a few feet, but I feel the pull like a tide. He parts through the trees and I follow—branches giving way to a clearing, and beyond that—

A lake.

Or maybe a creek. Something in between. Still, glassy, moonlit. The kind of quiet that feels sacred.

The water catches the sky like it wants to hold it forever. And for a second, I forget how to breathe.

Raj stops near the edge. His voice is barely louder than the wind.

“My dad told me… she used to bring me here. My mom.”

I turn to look at him. His eyes aren’t on me. They’re on the water—like it’s holding something he doesn’t have words for.

“She said I used to love it here as a kid. Said I’d throw rocks into the lake and laugh like it was magic.”

He pauses. His jaw clenches once. Loosens.

“I don’t remember her much. Just… flashes. The scent of her perfume. The way she used to braid my hair in the morning. Her laugh—God, I wish I remembered her laugh. Dad said it filled rooms.”

He exhales like he’s trying to let go of something that won’t leave.

“He doesn’t talk about her a lot. Says it hurts. But sometimes, when he’s had a drink or two, he’ll tell me these stories—about how she used to dance in the kitchen with me in her arms. How she’d hum old Bollywood songs off-key just to make me giggle. How she said I’d never be afraid of anything, not while she was alive.”

He smiles, but it’s cracked at the edges.

“He told me she was kind. Fierce, too. The kind of person who loved like it was war—loud, messy, all in. Said she would’ve been proud of me.”

The wind moves between us, soft and cold. The lake shimmers beneath the moonlight like it’s listening.

“I come here sometimes when it’s too loud in my head,” he says. “When I miss her—I don’t even when know if you can miss someone if you never knew them,” he pauses for a second too long, then continues ” I come here when I feel like I don’t know who I am. And I think… I think this place remembers her for me.”

He turns to face me then, really face me, like the lake has said all it could.

“I’ve never brought anyone here.”

A beat.

“But I wanted her to meet you.”

It takes a second to land. But when it does, it knocks the air out of me.

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s just a sentence. Like he didn’t just hand me the most personal part of his life without asking for anything back.

And it hits me—he really did. He brought me here. To her.

Not to impress me. Not to fix anything. Just… to let me exist in her space. Like I belonged here.

This boy. This boy who’s been nothing but patient with me. Who never asked me to explain myself but always seemed to understand anyway. Who let me fall apart, and didn’t flinch. Who kept showing up.

Who stayed even after I told him every bit of my past— Amit. Vikram. Video. Assualt. Bullying. And he just hugged me like he was feeling my pain as his own.

Who looked at me like I was something he wanted to stay for.

And suddenly I can’t breathe. Not because I’m panicking, but because I know.

It spills out of me before I even realize my mouth is moving.

“I love you.”

Soft. Raw. Real. So honest it startles even me.

I freeze. My eyes snap to his, heartbeat going sideways.

Did I say that out loud?

Raj turns, blinks. Stares. Then—

“What?”

I open my mouth, then close it again. I want to take it back, rephrase it, bury it in some joke—but it’s too late. It’s already out there, echoing in the space between us.

I stumble back a step. “Shit. No, I didn’t mean— I mean I did mean it, I just—” I run a hand through my hair, already spiraling. “It just came out, I wasn’t trying to pressure you or make it weird or—”

But Raj is already moving.

He grabs my wrist and pulls me back in, and he’s smiling—grinning, actually—like I just gave him the best news of his life.

“Dev,” he says, eyes so wide and soft it hurts to look at him.

“Say it again.”

I blink. “What?”

He’s beaming now. Laughing a little, like he can’t believe it.

“You said you love me. Say it again. Please.”

I shake my head, already blushing, eyes darting everywhere but at him.

“No. You imagined it.”

He makes a sound—something between a gasp and a growl—and suddenly he’s grabbing me by the shoulders like I’ve just committed a felony.

“Dev Sharma, don’t do this to me.”

He’s holding me like he might shake the words back out of my mouth. His smile is ridiculous. His eyes are wild. He looks like someone who just got handed the entire universe and doesn’t know where to put it.

“Come on,” he begs. “Say it again. Please. I swear my heart is doing cartwheels right now—don’t leave me hanging like this.”

I try to glare. I really do. But I’m grinning like an idiot, and my face is so hot I might combust.

“You’re so dramatic,” I mumble.

“I know,” he says, bouncing slightly on his toes. “Say it again anyway.”

And I do. Quiet this time. Soft. Just for him.

“I love you, Raj Mehra.”

What happens next isn’t graceful. It’s not romantic in a movie-perfect way. It’s just—Raj.

He makes this inhuman noise, like he can’t contain it, and then he’s wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in so tight I nearly lose my balance.

“You love me,” he says, like he has to keep repeating it to believe it.

“You love me. You actually—God, Sharma—”

And then he starts kissing me. Not my lips—not yet—but everywhere else.

My cheek.

My jaw.

My nose.

My forehead.

My temple.

My other cheek.

Each one like he’s trying to stamp the moment into existence.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmurs between kisses. “I’m not hallucinating, right? This is real? You’re real?”

I’m laughing. Actually laughing. Which is insane, because my chest is aching and my eyes are stinging and my whole body feels like it’s shaking apart from the inside out.

“You’re such a loser,” I whisper, half-choking on tears.

“Yeah,” he says, pressing another kiss to my chin, still holding me like I might disappear. “But I’m your loser, now.”

I bury my face in his shoulder, and I don’t know if I’m crying or laughing anymore. Probably both.

And then, quieter—almost like he’s telling it to the night, or maybe to the water behind us—

“My mom would be proud of me.”

I don’t say anything. I just hold him tighter. Because she would be.

Because I am.

Of him.

Of us.

Of everything we survived to get here.

***

The road curves softly under the streetlights, and Raj’s playlist hums low in the background—some indie guitar thing he swears is “vibe-setting.” The window’s down. My elbow’s resting on the edge. I’m still kind of wet from the lake, still carrying the echo of his laugh in my bones.

He hasn’t said much since we left. But he doesn’t need to. Raj exists like silence isn’t awkward. Like peace is a language we’ve started to learn together.

We turn and it’s our street.

Out of reflex—habit, maybe—I glance to the left.

And freeze. My breath stutters.

I sit up straighter, blinking fast, like maybe I’m imagining it.

There’s a truck in the Amit’s driveway. Big, open-backed, with furniture sticking out like bones.

Did they come back?

A man’s lifting something off it, and inside the porch light, I see a little opening up boxes.

There’s a kid—tiny, maybe six or seven—bolting across the lawn with wild curls and a Spiderman shirt. He laughs. Loud. Unbothered. And a woman—his mother?—calls after him, steps outside, barefoot and smiling.

New people.

New people.

A new family.

The house has been empty since Amit left. Just sitting there, hollow, like it was holding its breath. And now—

Now it isn’t waiting anymore.

I sit back in my seat slowly, blinking once, twice.

They sold it.

Of course they did. It’s been over a year.

Still, a part of me—some quiet, stubborn part—had always imagined I’d turn the corner one day and find him standing on that porch again. Maybe by accident. Maybe on purpose. Maybe something.

But not now. Not after this.

He’s not coming back.

He’s gone. Like, gone gone.

And it hurts. Not in the way it used to. Not sharp. Not collapsing. Just… real.

Because that house isn’t his anymore.

Because he left.

And weirdly? That doesn’t crush me.

It’s not a knife. It’s not a flood. It’s just… a soft click. A door closing.

And I already know which one opened instead.

The car slows, easing to a stop in front of my building.

I don’t say anything. Still staring back, one last glance at the porch.

Then Raj says, “You’re home, boyfie.”

My head whips around. “What?”

He’s grinning. Like a smug little bastard. One hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping rhythmically on his thigh. Green eyes shining in the glow of the dashboard.

“Boyfie,” he repeats, casual as hell. “Y’know, a very new term of affection. Super inclusive. Very now.”

I stare at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m adorable.”

“You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“Hot and humble,” he nods. “It’s exhausting being the full package.”

I laugh. Actually laugh. Loud and sudden, like it surprises me. Like it wakes something up in my chest I didn’t realize was still asleep.

Raj leans in slightly, just enough for his breath to brush my cheek. “Admit it again. You love me.”

My heart lurches.

Not because it’s wrong.

Because it’s terrifyingly, quietly, obviously right.

I lean in. Close the distance.

His lips are soft and familiar. He kisses like he knows me. Like he’s been waiting for me to finally believe this is allowed. That I’m allowed.

When we break apart, he’s still grinning. “So that’s a yes to the boyfie?”

I roll my eyes, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

He laughs. I laugh. And for once, I don’t feel like I’m betraying anyone by being happy.

Amit is a ghost.

Raj is here.

And I think I’m allowed to live now.