CHAPTER 54
ARIA
Four years later...
I stood on the edge of the high-rise sky bridge, the city stretching below in a haze of golden lights, each one a cruel reminder that he was gone, and would never return.
I closed my eyes as a tear traced a line down my cheek."
The wind whipped around me, cool against my damp cheeks, but I didn’t open my eyes. I kept them shut, letting the tears slip free.
The darkness behind my lids filled with him—his face, his voice, the way he used to look at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
And then I felt it.
A faint, ghostly touch against my cheek—so light it could have been the wind, so familiar it stole the air from my lungs.
My eyes snapped open, my heart lurching as I spun around.
“Lean!”
I called out, my voice cracking with urgency and fear. I ran along the narrow bridge, every step frantic, my eyes darting wildly as I scanned the shadows and the dizzying drop below, reaching, hoping to catch sight of him, to find some sign he was still here.
“Lean!” I shouted, tears blurring my vision as panic clawed at my chest.
But there was only silence—cold, vast, and crushing.
I clutched the railing, my fingers digging into the cold metal as my legs threatened to buckle beneath me. Instinctively, I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady the jagged rhythm of my heartbeat.
My eyes dropped down the side of the building, landing on the same dizzying space where Lean had jumped.
A sickening wave of vertigo hit me, and for a fleeting second, I imagined his body suspended there, weightless and gone.
My stomach twisted, bile rising as the memory of his fall clawed back, and a cold shiver ran down my spine, mingling fear with a grief I couldn’t shake.
Then.
My gaze froze, unwilling, as if my eyes had betrayed me.
A pool of blood.
His blood.
Everywhere.
It glistened in the faint light, spreading across the pavement like a stain that would never wash away, a brutal, permanent reminder of what I had lost.
A cold shiver ran down my spine, fear and grief twisting together into a jagged ache that clawed at my chest.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I squeezed my eyes shut, as if closing them could erase the horror etched before me—but it only tightened the weight pressing against my lungs.
Then it came—an uncontrollable, strangled sob that ripped from deep within me.
My knees gave way, and I crumpled onto the icy pavement of the bridge, my body shaking, my tears flowing freely, unstoppable.
The world blurred into a haze of red and shadow, and every heartbeat screamed his absence, every breath a reminder that he was gone.
I pressed my hands to my face, wishing I could erase it all, wishing I could bring him back.
“Lean…” I whispered, my voice breaking under the weight of longing and guilt.
“Why… why did you leave me?”
My knees pressed into the cold ground, trembling, as the world around me blurred.
I curled forward, clutching at myself, tears spilling freely down my face, unstoppable.
Then—through the hollow, aching silence—I heard it.
His voice.
Fragile.
Soft.
“Don’t cry…”
My chest tightened, my heart shattering. I blinked through the haze of tears—and there he was.
Lean.
Sitting just inches away, his eyes searching mine with a love so deep it tore through me.
His voice came again, soft but filled with aching tenderness.
“Don’t cry,” he said again, as if trying to soothe the storm inside me.
I nodded, trembling, reaching out with shaking hands to touch him..But before my fingers could meet his skin, he vanished, dissolving into the cold, empty air like a fading dream.
A sob caught in my throat as the emptiness crashed down around me.
My hands dropped to my sides, powerless.
The silence that followed was unbearable—a cruel reminder that he was gone, and all I had left was the ghost of his voice lingering in the wind.
I pressed my hands to the cold ground, clutching at the memory of him, wishing beyond reason that I could undo the past.
A strangled cry tore from my throat:
“Lean!”
My eyes snapped open, wild and unseeing at first, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to my skin like a cold sweat.
I wiped at my damp forehead, my fingers trembling, trying to steady the frantic rhythm of my heart.
Heart hammering, breath ragged, I realised I was on a plane bound for New York, surrounded by my colleagues who had no idea the battle raging inside me.
But the ache remained, raw and relentless, refusing to let me go.
My hands shook as I gripped the armrest, desperate to anchor myself to reality, but nothing could silence the echo of his name in my mind.
......
The cabin buzzed with low, relentless grumbles.
“Ugh, it’s like a sauna back here,” one colleague hissed, waving a hand in front of her face.
“And seriously, my TV won’t even work! How hard is it to get a screen that actually functions?”
She shot a pointed glare down the row, hunting for someone to vent at.
I let out a quiet sigh, shoulders sagging, eyes staring blankly ahead.
Lean’s voice still haunted me, the memory of that fall pressing against my chest.
Their whining was meaningless, like background static I couldn’t turn off.
“Why do they cram us in the back like sardines?” another groaned, shifting in her seat.
“I swear, did someone forget to change the air filters? It smells like a locker room in here,” sniffed yet another.
I clenched my hands in my lap, forcing myself to breathe. I tried to smile and nod along, trying to meet their complaints with polite attention, but it felt hollow, a mask I couldn’t quite hold.
Around me, the petty grievances droned on, but my mind had already slipped away, lost in memories that had haunted me for four long years.
Dreams of Lean—so vivid, so consuming—had plagued me since that night. More nights than I could count, I had woken calling his name, my throat raw, my heart hammering as if he were still beside me.
Even in the quiet moments of the day, my mind would circle back to him, replaying fragments I could neither forget nor escape.
Every word from my colleagues felt sharper, more irritating, yet I could not break free. I could have snapped, told them to shut up—but it wouldn’t have mattered. This—this endless, meaningless chatter—was my life now, while my heart still belonged to a ghost.
.........
Finally on solid ground, I let out a quiet, grateful sigh.
I couldn’t take another second of their complaints—the stale air, the broken screens, the endless griping.
Every word had grated on me, stretched over hours, and it had become unbearable. I was tired—bone-deep, soul-draining tired—but the venue attendance mattered. I had to be here.
I glanced around as we approached the entrance.
The grand hall sprawled before us, glittering lights bouncing off polished surfaces, the hum of staff and guests settling into place.
My colleagues fanned out beside me, murmuring in awe, whispering to one another, eyes wide at the scale of the venue.
I tried to take comfort in their excitement, but my mind felt miles away, heavy with exhaustion.
And then I felt it—the hairs on my arms standing on end, a familiar shiver running down my spine.
A feeling I couldn’t place fully, yet it tugged at something buried deep inside me.
My heart skipped, a sudden, jarring beat that made the world feel just a little sharper, a little too close.
My eyes darted across the room, scanning every corner, every movement, until they landed on the distant elevator.
Its glassy surface reflected the light, tall and imposing against the far wall.
At first, it was just another shape among many, but then I saw it—the posture, the effortless poise, the way the figure seemed to command the space without moving.
My chest tightened, a weight settling over me that I couldn’t shake.
Slowly, almost painfully, I recognised him.
The suit, the way he stood—so calm, so contained—and yet there was that impossible pull, that long-buried familiarity curling through me like smoke.
My breath hitched.
Lean?
Everything else—the venue, the lights, the murmurs of my colleagues—slipped to the background.
Only him.
Only that pull I hadn’t felt in years, and suddenly, every ounce of fatigue, every complaint, every frustrated sigh seemed trivial compared to the shock of seeing him again.