Ayaan's P.O.V...
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What the hell was I thinking?
Why did I say that?
I stared at my phone, my breath coming out in short bursts. The screen had gone dark, but I could still see it in my mind—her name, or rather, what I had saved her as.
Precious.
My thumb hovered over the contact, heart thudding painfully against my chest.
I didn't even mean to say it.
It just... slipped out.
The moment I heard her breath on the other side—soft, unsure, a little guarded—I forgot everything I had rehearsed in my head. Every line. Every reason for calling.
And instead, I said the one word I shouldn't have.
The one word that used to make her smile.
The one word that probably stabbed her now.
She hung up.
And I didn't blame her.
I deserved that.
I deserved worse.
But now I couldn't stop staring at the screen, my finger trembling over the contact name.
I swallowed hard, jaw tightening as I tried to make sense of the mess inside me.
I wasn't supposed to miss her like this.
I wasn't supposed to need to hear her voice like air.
But there I was.
Torn.
Restless.
Desperate.
Because even though everything between us had collapsed... even though time had created a canyon of silence... she was still the only person I trusted with my chaos.
And now?
Now she probably hated me.
Still, my thumb moved before my brain could argue.
I tapped on the contact again.
Dialing...
Because if there was even the slightest chance...
Even the tiniest hope...
That she'd pick up—
I needed to hear her voice one more time.
Even if all she did was scream at me.
Even if she never called me her Ayaan again.
Even if "Precious" was just a wound now.
She didn't pick up.
I stared at the screen, waiting... hoping... praying she'd change her mind in the next second. That maybe—just maybe—she'd call back. That her name, her voice, her presence would break the silence that was swallowing me whole.
But nothing.
Just the dim glow of the contact name still flashing across my screen like a cruel reminder.
Precious.
It burned like a scar.
I let out a slow, heavy breath and placed the phone back on the side table, forcing my hand to pull away as if it were weightless when in reality, it felt like I was carrying boulders in my chest.
What the hell was I thinking?
Why did I call her that?
That word.
That one word—so small, yet so heavy. It had slipped out before I could stop it. Before I could weigh the consequence of resurrecting something that once meant everything to both of us.
But how could I not?
She had always been precious to me.
And that truth—no matter how buried, how bruised by the mess we'd become—had never changed.
Yet, the moment I heard the silence on the other end and realized what I'd said... the call was already gone. Disconnected.
And I was left staring at the nothingness again.
The silence of a phone line that used to carry laughter, late-night secrets, sleepy whispers, and now? Only ghosts.
I looked at the phone again—hovered over the call button—but didn't press it this time.
She wasn't ready.
Maybe she hated me now.
Maybe that one word brought back memories she had spent months trying to bury.
I rubbed my face with both hands, letting out a frustrated groan. My temples ached. My heart throbbed with something I couldn't explain—guilt, regret, helplessness?
All of them.
I laid back down, the mattress groaning quietly beneath me. My daughter was beside me, her tiny hand clutching the corner of her blanket, her chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Peaceful. Dreaming. Innocent.
Unlike me.
Unlike this world I had dragged her into.
I looked at her, my little girl, the only source of pure love left in my life right now. And guilt gripped me again.
She deserved better.
She deserved more than broken promises and a father caught in the crossfire of power and politics. More than headlines and heated arguments. More than a legacy soaked in conflict.
She deserved quiet mornings.
Fresh air.
Smiles that didn't hide pain.
And Sanya... she deserved that too.
Even after everything.
My mind drifted, uninvited, to the life I wished I could give to my daughter.
A simple house nestled in the hills. Somewhere far away from this suffocating city, from deals and campaigns, from fake handshakes and deeper betrayals. A place where the breeze smelled of pine and wildflowers. Where it could rain in the middle of the day, and no one would complain. Where the world would feel smaller, gentler, safer.
I imagined sending my daughter to school with little braids and a pink ribbon. Packing her favorite snack—those stupid animal-shaped biscuits she always loved. Watching her run back home with muddy shoes and stories that made no sense but lit up her eyes.
A kitchen full of quiet chaos.
A couch full toys.
A heart full of peace.
That's all I wanted now.
Not votes.
Not power.
Not headlines.
Just peace.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back onto the pillow.
"Just a minute," I whispered to the silence. "Let me feel like I can breathe... just for a minute."
And as the soft hum of the night filled the room, and my daughter's breathing anchored me, I held on to that small dream.
Because sometimes, even if the world is burning, the hope of a quiet life is enough to keep going.
---
It was 2:00 a.m.
And I was still staring at the ceiling.
Blank. Silent. Restless.
My eyes burned from lack of sleep, but sleep itself? It refused to come near me. My mind kept circling back to things I couldn't change. Words I shouldn't have said. A name I shouldn't have whispered.
Precious.
God, why did I call her that?
I shut my eyes tightly, trying to force the guilt away. But it lingered. Just like everything else I'd tried to outrun.
I turned slightly, glancing at my side table, where my phone sat face down. The screen would flash every few minutes with random notifications, reminders from meetings I had no mental space for.
What I needed was peace.
Not just silence.
Peace.
And it felt like I hadn't tasted that in years.
I shifted under the covers and pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. I needed to shut off. I needed just five damn hours of sleep. Five.
I closed my eyes again.
Tried to.
And just as my body began to give in, just as I began to sink into that small crack of calm—
Rrrrrrring.
My phone buzzed to life on the table.
I groaned.
Of course.
Because why the hell would I be allowed peace at two in the morning?
I rubbed my face with both hands. Someone probably got arrested again. A cousin, a minister's son, or a drunk idiot from my circle who believed being "Ayaan's contact" was a ticket out of stupidity.
It was always like this.
Like I wasn't a person anymore—just a phone number to bail people out at odd hours.
I grabbed the phone lazily, not even bothering to check the caller ID, and brought it to my ear.
"Hello," I muttered, half-asleep, eyes still shut.
No reply.
Just breathing.
Soft. Faint. Like the sound of someone trying to build courage.
"Hello?" I asked again, sitting up slightly, a frown knitting my brows. Who the hell is this now?
And then... I looked at the screen.
My heart stopped.
"Precious."
The name glowed softly, and everything inside me flipped.
My breath caught in my throat.
It wasn't some drunk idiot.
It wasn't anyone I was prepared for.
It was her.
Sanya.
My fingers tightened instinctively around the phone as I brought it closer to my ear again, this time fully awake—every nerve on edge.
"Sanya?" I whispered, my voice suddenly hoarse like it hadn't been used in days.
From the other side, came a reply. So faint, so raw, it sounded like it had traveled across lifetimes.
"Ayaan..."
She said my name like it was a question.
Or maybe a memory.
My heart thudded in my chest. The silence between us suddenly felt alive—breathing with unsaid words and aching history.
I sat up straight, the blanket sliding off me as I blinked in the darkness.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice lower now, gentler. Protective, even though I didn't know what I was protecting her from.
Another pause.
My fingers trembled slightly, unsure if she would say anything more, or if this moment would slip away like so many others had.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice softening instinctively, dropping into a gentler tone I didn't know I had. There was a kind of protectiveness in it—unspoken, uncertain—like I wanted to shield her from something I didn't fully understand myself.
Silence.
A heavy pause stretched between us, filling the space like thick fog. I could hear her breathing, barely, like she was weighing her words—or maybe holding something back. My fingers curled slightly around the edge of the phone, the nerves in my chest growing restless. Every second that ticked by felt longer than the last.
Then finally, her voice came through.
"Yes... I'm fine."
It was calm. Steady. Too steady.
But I knew her. I knew that 'fine' didn't always mean fine. Not when her voice was that quiet. That careful.
"You called me?" she asked, a faint edge of curiosity woven into her tone—trying to sound neutral, casual even. But I caught it. That undercurrent of something deeper. Like maybe... she'd been waiting.
"Yeah. I just..." I hesitated. The words stuck somewhere between my chest and throat. What was I even trying to say? I looked around my empty room like the walls could help me form the sentence. "I wanted to talk. About... something."
"About?" she repeated, this time with more weight.
I inhaled. Let it sit in my lungs for a moment. Then finally let it out.
"Can we meet tomorrow?"
Again, a pause.
My heart thudded against my ribs. I wasn't sure if I should brace myself for a no or a maybe—or worse, silence again.
But then she breathed out, a soft, slow exhale.
"Okay... I'll come there tomorrow."
Relief passed through me like a tide pulling back from the shore.
"Alright," I said, nodding to no one. "Message me before you leave. I'll send my driver to pick you up."
"No, it's fine. I can come on my own."
"Okay," I replied, though a part of me still wanted to insist. But I let it go.
The line went quiet for a beat, and then the call ended.
I didn't move for a moment. Just stared at the screen. Her name still glowing there, unchanged. Still saved the way it always had been.
And I didn't even realize I was smiling.
A small one. The kind you try to hide from even yourself.
Like maybe... something had shifted.
Like maybe tomorrow mattered more than I was ready to admit.