Vihaan's POV:
The engine hummed softly, but my mind was elsewhere—Olivia's words replaying like a broken record. "She's being used… Jia's idea… Ama is just the messenger…"
The sting of doubt twisted uncomfortably in my chest. All day, I'd been walking the fine line between believing her and fearing the worst. And then there was the small pang of… hurt. She had prioritized Jia, even if unintentionally, and I couldn't help but feel a little left behind.
I was about to start the car, leave the library, and let the night air swallow my confusion, when movement caught the corner of my eye.
Ama.
In a single fluid motion, she opened the passenger door and slid into the seat beside me, her presence sudden and bright as sunlight spilling into a dim room. My chest tightened in a way I hadn't expected.
"Hey," she said softly, her eyes wide, searching mine for… something. Understanding, maybe.
"Hey," I managed, though my voice cracked slightly.
There was a silence—not uncomfortable, but loaded. Her hand brushed against the edge of the seat, and I caught myself watching, memorizing the simple lines of her fingers. Just like that, the heaviness of doubt wavered, if only for a heartbeat.
She leaned back slightly, careful, deliberate, giving me room but signaling she was here, right beside me. And just like that, the storm in my chest shifted—frustration mingled with relief, hurt softened by warmth.
"You… came," I said, barely above a whisper, though the words carried more weight than any roar could.
She gave a small smile. "I did. I wanted to see you… talk, maybe. Or just… be here. Without saying much."
The world outside blurred, leaving only her and me, the car, the quiet hum of the city. My fingers itched to reach for hers, to bridge the silent tension between us, but I held back. I needed her to know—without words—that I was listening, that I cared, that her choice to come here mattered more than anything else tonight.
Amara's POV:
Although I was quite happy inside, seeing how his face lit up when he saw me inside his car, I need to know what is bothering him, what makes him distant suddenly after a good time together.
"I wanted to talk," I said, mustering up all the courage.
"Me too," he said while his eyes met mine, and his eyes were a little red. Was he ..... crying or did I just mistake it.
A sudden pain I felt inside my heart, is he crying, is it because of me?
We went to the seaside, and it was quiet there, with only three or four local people. He got out of the car, so did I.
"What's happening, Mr. Mickelson?" I asked because now the last thread of my patience broke after seeing tears in his eyes.
"I trust you, don't think bad about me, it's just my insecurity, but," he stopped, and now I was even more confused.
I stepped closer, the soft sea breeze tangling in my hair. "Insecurity about what?" I asked gently, careful not to startle him.
He took a slow breath, his hands fidgeting at his sides as if trying to gather courage from the ocean itself. " About losing you, about ..... what Olivia said earlier that, you are here just because of Jia," he said, and he was not looking at me this time.
I wasn't mad or thinking badly of him, but just the first few words stuck in my mind: About losing me?
What Olivia actually said made him this vulnerable. He was hurt, and unknowingly, I always fueled it without actually trying to listen.
"You're scared I'm with you for the wrong reason," I whispered, understanding dawning. "You think I'm here because of Jia, because of someone else's plan?"
"I don't know, Ama, I don't know because it doesn't matter how hard I always try to be normal, try to trust someone, try to let someone in, but it always went in vain..... until you came, and I let you in." This time, he actually started crying. A twenty-six-year-old man, a well-composed person, was crying in front of me, and I don't know who to blame because it was only my fault.
"You know what my father said when he left me? He said I could never be loved, I am not worth anyone's love and care. You made me believe again that I could be loved, but that small world was shattering just by the thought that it might not be real." I couldn't handle it now. How could I let him cry like this? I swallowed the lump in my throat and hugged him and brushed his hair. "Mr. Mickelson, listen to me," I said softly. "I came here because I wanted to. Not because of anyone else. Not for Jia, not for Olivia, not for anyone. Just… for you."
His body shook slightly in my arms, silent tears tracing paths down a face that rarely revealed weakness. I held him tighter, feeling the weight of his pain and the fragility behind the composed man everyone else knew.
"I… I needed to hear that," he whispered, his voice raw and trembling. "I've spent so long thinking I wasn't enough."
"You are enough," I murmured, pressing my forehead against his. "You always were. I'm here, Mr. Mickelson. And I'm not going anywhere." and I was also crying.
For a long while, we stayed like that, hearts synchronized, letting the night wind carry away the last remnants of doubt. The waves crashed gently against the shore, a soft rhythm matching the steadiness returning to him.
When he finally pulled back slightly, his eyes—still glistening—met mine. "Ama… I don't want to ever doubt this again. Not you, not us. I… I'll do better. I'll try to trust, even when it's hard."
I smiled through the tears threatening my own cheeks. "We'll do it together," I said, brushing a tear from his cheek. "Every step."
And in that quiet, moonlit moment, the unspoken fear, the shadows of the past, everything that tried to wedge itself between us, melted away. For the first time, it felt like we were both truly seen—vulnerable, honest, and unafraid.
I wiped his cheeks with my hand, then let out a small, almost shy laugh—the first sound of lightness in what felt like ages.
"You… you really mean that?" he asked, his voice catching in the moonlight.
"Every word," I replied softly, leaning a little closer, feeling the warmth of him against the cool night air.
He shook his head, smiling faintly, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "I've never felt… this safe. Not with anyone."
"You can," I said, brushing my fingers gently over his hand. "With me, Mr. Mickelson. Always."
For a moment, we simply stood there, the world reduced to the sound of waves, the salt-kissed breeze, and the quiet rhythm of our hearts. He rested his forehead against mine, and I could feel his steadying breath.
"I don't want to let fear control me again," he murmured, eyes closed. "I don't want to hide… not from you."
"You won't have to," I whispered, tilting my chin up so our eyes met. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither should you."
A soft laugh escaped him this time, brighter, freer. He finally let himself relax, sinking slightly against me. "I think… I might be in trouble," he said, smirking weakly but genuinely.
"Why's that?" I asked, smiling despite the lump in my throat.
"Because I'm falling… completely," he admitted, and there was no teasing, no guard, just honesty, raw and unfiltered.
I laughed lightly, my own tears mingling with the cool breeze. "Good. Because I was already lost."
And just like that, under the silver glow of the moon and the rhythmic lull of the sea, the last thread of doubt unraveled. It wasn't a perfect moment, but it was ours—messy, tender, and infinitely real.
I was just looking at him and thinking how a person like him, being so silent and a little arrogant(to others), could be this outspoken and cute from the inside. He is just way too adorable, and then my mind remembered the words he said about his father. His father must be a crazy, blind, and least minded person to say all this to a man like him. Oh, he was just a kid when he left him; how could he say such harsh words to his own son? And upon thinking that, I loudly said: "Monster".
"Hnn?" he asked while being confused.
"Nothing, I am just hungry," I said, trying to divert his attention because I don't have any answer for this Monster thing.