The temple bells rang faintly in the distance, but the Gowda home was cloaked in stillness. The fragrance of jasmine hung in the air, not in celebration—but in mourning.

Rudran stood by the verandah steps, watching as relatives poured in dressed in white. The brass lamp near the threshold flickered against the somber sky.

Inside the house, Roopa knelt beside her father's lifeless form. Her usually composed face crumbled, pain radiating from the depths of a wound long buried.

She had held it in—years of silence, separation, suppressed love, and regret. Not because her father hadn't forgiven her—he had, long ago, when Rudran was just two. But the hurt she harbored ran deep. She had carried the anger for not being accepted when she needed them the most. When she chose love and was met with rejection.

Now, seeing him still and quiet, she realized how much she had missed by staying angry. And in that moment, she wept. For the years lost. For the stubborn silence. For the love that had always been there, waiting.

Rudran placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She turned to him, and through tears, whispered, "He forgave me... long before I forgave him."

Rudran didn't speak. Some moments were meant to just hold space.
---

Later that evening, as the smoke of the last rites curled into the pink-hued sky, the household gathered in the outer courtyard. Conversations were hushed until Leelavathi broke the silence with her piercing tone.

"We shouldn't delay Nivi and Rudra's engagement any longer. It's what Appa wanted too. We must honor that."

Roopa's grief-hardened eyes met hers. "He wanted Rudran's happiness. Not arrangements decided without asking him."

Leelavathi narrowed her gaze. "And who's to say you know what makes him happy?"

Rudran stepped forward.

"I do."

The air stilled.

"I've been quiet out of respect. But this—this pushing, this planning, this pressure—none of it is what I want. I care for Nivedita, but not in the way you're all hoping."

Leelavathi scoffed. "You're still chasing that city girl?"

Roopa stood to respond, but Vikas's voice boomed instead.

"Enough, Leela."

Every head turned.

Vikas stepped forward, eyes cold. "He's not a boy anymore. And even if he were... this isn't how we tie people together. Our daughter deserves someone who chooses her. And so does Rudra."

Leelavathi's mouth fell open in disbelief.

"I've made my share of mistakes," he added, softer now. "I won't force another one through silence."

Rudran looked at his uncle, surprise flickering behind his eyes. Vikas didn't look back, but his stance said enough. His way of loving, like everything else he did, was quiet—but firm.

Nivedita, who had been standing behind the pillar, slowly walked back inside. She didn't cry. But something in her dimmed.

One week later — Bangalore.

The first thing Rudran noticed as he stepped back into the apartment floor was how quiet everything felt. No village sounds, no murmured family feuds, no heavy eyes watching him. Just... freedom.

He stopped at Aarna's door. For a long moment, he just stood there.

Then, as if she'd sensed him, the door opened from the inside.

She looked tired. Her hair was loosely tied, a pencil tucked behind one ear. A scribbled notepad was in her hand.

They just stared at each other.

"I didn't message you," she said quietly. "I wasn't sure if I should."

He smiled faintly. "I came anyway."

A pause.

"I want to start again," he said, voice low. "No hesitations. No lines drawn by anyone else. If you still want this."

She didn't say anything.

Instead, she stepped aside, leaving the door open.

He walked in.

They sat together on the floor of her living room, close but not touching. At first, there were only shared silences, like they were relearning the language of each other's presence.

She looked over at him, her voice soft. "You really back for good?"

He nodded. "For you. For me. For the peace I only seem to find here."

Aarna reached out, brushing her fingers lightly across his hand. He turned his palm to catch hers, holding it gently.

The city hummed beyond the walls, indifferent to the quiet shifting of hearts.

He leaned closer, forehead resting against hers.

"No more running," he whispered.

She tilted her head up, and their lips met—hesitant at first, then certain. It wasn't desperate or hurried. It was the kiss of two people who had lost each other once, and were choosing—deliberately—to begin again.

Outside the balcony, fireflies blinked like little echoes of everything unspoken.

And for the first time, there was no fear left between them.
---

AUTHOR'S NOTE❤️:
They are finally together!! 
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