Chapter 50 My Solace
Aanya’ POV
Raaz’s voice came without warning, deep and sure, cutting through the quiet of the morning.
“Jaan… get ready. We’re going somewhere.”
I turned, Milo still tucked under my chin. “Where?”
He was standing by the doorway, already dressed in one of his dark, perfectly tailored suits. His expression gave away nothing. “You’ll see when we get there.”
I wanted to ask again, to push, but something in his tone told me the answer wouldn’t change. I just nodded. “Alright.”
He waited there, watching me for a moment before turning away. I could still feel his gaze even after he’d gone.
In my room, I opened my wardrobe and ran my fingers over the clothes he’d had sent for me. My eyes landed on a long, soft maxi dress—cream-colored, flowing, light. It wasn’t something I would normally pick, but today I didn’t want to fight.
I slipped it on, the fabric whispering against my skin. My hair fell loose over my shoulders. I picked up Milo, kissing his little head, breathing in that warm, sleepy-puppy smell.
“I’ll be back soon,” I whispered. “Be good.”
When I stepped outside, the air was cool, the sky heavy with clouds. At the front of the farmhouse, a convoy of cars was already waiting—sleek, black, silent. The sight of them always tightened something in my chest. Protection, he called it. But to me, it was also a reminder: I was never really free.
Raaz stood by the open door of the lead car, holding it for me. His eyes traveled over me slowly, lingering for just a fraction too long before he stepped back, allowing me inside.
I slid to the far end of the leather seat, settling by the window. The door shut with a heavy sound, and the car began to move.
For a while, we rode in silence. I kept my gaze fixed on the blur of the road, on the tall trees bending in the wind. I could feel him there beside me—close, but not touching.
Then there was a soft whir, and I glanced up to see him sliding the partition shut between us and the driver. Before I could speak, his arm was around my waist, pulling me sharply across the seat.
I gasped, my hands braced against his chest. “Raaz—”
He didn’t give me time to finish. His lips found mine in a kiss that was deep, claiming, yet somehow… gentle. My heartbeat stuttered.
When he pulled back, his voice was low, almost rough.
“You’re my solace, Aanya.”
The word lodged itself somewhere deep inside me. I searched his eyes—dark, steady, and for once, stripped of all their usual danger. There was only… love. Or something so close it was impossible not to believe in it.
I stayed there in his lap, my dress pooling around us, my palms still resting on his chest. My mind whispered questions I couldn’t ask—Will we ever be normal? Will this ever feel like more than a fragile truce between fear and longing?
But I didn’t move. And he didn’t let me go.
The journey blurred into quiet moments—his fingers lightly tracing the curve of my waist, the low hum of the tires, the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.
When the car finally slowed, I straightened, glancing out the tinted window. A vast building came into view, its gates tall and iron, the grounds stretching far beyond.
“What is this place?” I asked, but he only smiled faintly, stepping out first and offering me his hand.
The air here was lighter somehow, fresher. I stepped down, my eyes sweeping over the building’s elegant façade, the manicured lawns dotted with children in uniforms.
And then—
“Aanya di!”
I turned toward the voice. My breath caught.
Kabir.
My brother was running toward me, his school sweater flapping, a grin so wide it hurt to look at. Before I could think, I was moving—running the few steps to him and pulling him into my arms.
He felt taller, stronger, but when he hugged me, he was still my little brother. I could feel his heart racing against mine. “I missed you so much,” I whispered, my throat tight.
“I missed you too! You won’t believe it, Didi—this place is amazing. Everyone’s so nice. I have my own room! And the food—oh, you have to try the parathas here—”
His words tumbled over each other, and I just laughed, holding him tighter.
Over his shoulder, I saw Raaz watching us. Something in his face shifted—like the sight of my smile was both a gift and a wound. His chest rose slowly, and for a moment, I thought he might come closer. But instead, he turned away, striding toward a man in a suit—the school director, I guessed.
Kabir and I sat together on a bench near the edge of the school ground. The air was full of the sounds of laughter and running footsteps.
“Everyone here’s really kind,” Kabir said again, his eyes shining. “I’ve made so many friends already. And the teachers—they really care, Didi. I’ve never been anywhere like this.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing. “I’m so glad you’re happy.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “You know… I think Raaz jiju made all this happen for me. He didn’t say it, but I know.”
The truth of it hit me like a wave. Of course he had. And now, looking at Kabir—healthy, smiling, safe—I felt something crack open in me. Gratitude. Guilt. Love. All tangled together.
I hugged him again, closing my eyes against the sting of tears. “I’m so proud of you.”
For the first time in a long while, my chest felt both heavy and light.
And somewhere behind us, I could feel Raaz’s gaze—not demanding, not controlling—just there. Watching.
The sun was beginning to dip when Raaz finally returned from his conversation with the school director. His stride was calm, controlled, but I noticed the faint crease between his brows—the one that appeared when he was thinking about something more than he’d admit aloud.
Kabir jumped up as soon as Raaz came near, grinning as if he had no idea this man’s name alone made grown men nervous.
“Thank you, Raaz jiju!” my brother blurted out before I could stop him.
Raaz’s gaze flicked to me, just for a second, then back to Kabir. His lips curved—not quite a smile, but softer than I’d seen in a long time.
“You don’t need to thank me, Kabir. Just… make something of yourself here.”
“I will,” Kabir promised, standing a little taller.
Raaz nodded once, then looked at me. “It’s time.”
I turned to Kabir, holding his shoulders, trying to memorise his face, his voice, the way his sweater hung loose over his frame. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, though there was a small flicker of sadness in his eyes. We’d spent too much of our lives saying goodbye.
I hugged him one last time, then followed Raaz to the car.
Inside, I sat where I had before—by the window, my hands folded in my lap. I could still feel the warmth of Kabir’s hug lingering on my skin. For a while, I said nothing, staring at the buildings fading behind us, the gates closing, the road stretching into the horizon.
It was Raaz who broke the silence.
“You’re quiet.”
I didn’t look at him. “I’m thinking.”
“About?” His tone was mild, but I could sense the undercurrent—the way he always wanted to read my mind before I could guard it.
I turned, meeting his eyes. “About what you did for Kabir.”
He leaned back, one arm draped casually over the seat, as if my words didn’t reach him. But I could see the flicker in his gaze. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Raaz,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “You’ve given him a place where he can be safe. Where he can… just be a child.”
For a moment, he was silent. Then he said, almost too quietly, “He’s your brother. That’s enough reason.”
The partition between us and the driver slid up with a soft click. Raaz turned toward me fully now, his presence closing the distance.
“Jaan…” His voice was lower. “I don’t want your gratitude.”
I frowned. “Then what do you want?”
His eyes searched mine in a way that made my breath catch. “I want you to understand. Every move I make… every decision… is to keep you safe. Even if you don’t see it yet.”
My chest tightened. There was no easy answer to that—not when safety came tangled with control, with choices stolen from me. But Kabir’s laughter still echoed in my mind, and I couldn’t ignore that, either.
“I do understand,” I whispered. “At least… part of it.”
Something in his expression shifted—just slightly, like a shadow easing. He reached for me then, his hand warm against my waist, tugging me toward him.
I resisted for half a heartbeat, then gave in, letting him pull me across the seat. My dress bunched around my knees as I ended up perched in his lap again, my legs awkwardly to the side.
His gaze didn’t waver. “I told you earlier—you’re my solace. Do you know what that means for me, Aanya?”
I shook my head slowly.
“It means,” he said, his thumb brushing my jaw, “that when I see you smile, it’s the only time the noise in my head goes quiet. When you’re near, I can breathe. Without you…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “Without you, I’m not sure I’d care what happened to me.”
The confession hit me harder than I expected. For a long time, I’d thought of Raaz as untouchable—unshakable. Hearing him admit something so raw was like seeing a crack in steel.
My throat felt tight. “Raaz…”
“I’m not telling you this to make you stay,” he continued, though we both knew I didn’t have a choice in that. “I’m telling you because it’s the truth. And I don’t want lies between us.”
I searched his face, the intensity there almost too much to hold. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything,” he murmured.
And then his mouth was on mine again—not demanding this time, but lingering, like he wanted to seal the moment into memory. His hand at my back kept me anchored against him, the steady beat of his heart thudding against my palm.
The drive stretched on, the hum of the road blending with the quiet rhythm of our breathing. I rested my head against his shoulder, my fingers idly tracing the line of his tie. I still didn’t know if we’d ever be “normal.” Maybe we never could be.
But as the farmhouse gates came into view, I realised something I hadn’t before—there were moments, however small, when the world between us felt less like a battlefield and more like a fragile kind of peace.
And right now, in his arms, I wasn’t ready to let that go.