-• valentine's day •-

The roaring winds slice through my hair, horror freezes my limbs like a slab of ice, hard and unmoving. But the emotions that pass through me are anything but. I take a shaky step out, practically force myself before the elevator closes again. He hasn't noticed me. I don't think he is even in the right state of mind to be conscious of his surroundings. Tears brim my eyes and fall heedless, trickling down my jaw that trembles harshly, channeling all of its strength in forcing back the sob that insists to break through.

I clutch the tiffin box tightly in my hands, not wanting to drop it and startle him. The edge of the railing is hardly a few centimetres. His toes are almost curled, gripping onto them, as though he is afraid of the only possibility this situation brings forward if anything goes wrong. A slight sway of his body and he'd be going down fifty feet.

I take a deep breath to get rid of the light headiness consuming me. My vision almost turns black but I fist my hand, trying to stay conscious.

How are you supposed to react when you see a family member on the verge of their death?

The world never taught me.

Not when I lost my mother, neither now.

Grief never teaches you how to overcome it, rather how to live with it.

And I'm still living with it.

I don't want another company of misery.

It's a strong, almost unbearable realisation, but I truly love this man. This man, who entered my life with his beaming amber eyes, shining like the sun, offering me his warm smiles and kind words, this man who accepted the brotherhood he was thrust with so abruptly, and still did justice to it. I can't lose him. I can't lose another person I'm in love with. Because this time, the grief that might come, would consume me forever.

I don't know how to approach him. How to let him know I'm here, and that I'll be haunted with this memory for the rest of my life if he took the wrong step, that he'd be not only losing his life, but taking mine away as well.

I decide it's better to let him know my presence physically than audibly. So I slowly walk to the other side of the terrace. It forms a L, and he's on the end side of the letter. When my shadow falls in the light, he becomes aware and slowly turns his head.

"Don't," I mouth, pleading him through my eyes.

His face transforms into shock and he blinks, hastily getting down the railing instead of diving forward. The relief that surges through me almost drains me off the power and I collapse on the ground. The tiffin hits the floor first, rolling away from my feet.

"Ta- Tara," he rushes up to me and crouches to my level. "Tara, I was not-" I throw myself in his arms, locking my hands on his lower back tightly.

I just hug him, demanding no explanation, wildly grateful he didn't act according to his body language. Because despite him saying he wasn't going to, I knew he was contemplating it. It reflected on his face. The man who clings to hope, looked despaired and lonely.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, stroking my head gently, rocking us back and forth as I break down in sobs. The terror overshadowing every other emotion vanishes, causing anguish and gratitude to surge forward with force. I've felt helpless countless of times, but the one that stuck with me, was when I was compelled to unplug my mother's life support and now today, in the moment that almost snatched my brother from me.

"I thought I was going to lose you," my words don't make sense to my ears, but I hope they do to his. Because in my head, they are comprehensive, yet when I let go of them through my mouth, they sound blubbered, a messy string of words shakily strung together.

"No, my love, no," he murmurs, holding me tightly in his arms. I'm almost sitting on his lap at this point, and while there have been a few instances when I was insecure about my weight, this is not one of them. I don't even care if he's comfortable, I just need to hear him breath. "I'm fine, Tara, look-" he tries to pull away to prove his point but I don't let him. My arms are determined to latch onto him as long as time allows. "Tara, I'm sorry, please you're breaking my heart, sweetheart." He kisses the top of my head.

I soak his white shirt with my tears, my legs tucked behind as I sit between his legs, with him resting his back against the railing. He holds me in his arms because I don't let go of him. I can't. I never got to hug my mother in her last moments. She was in the surgery room when I lost her. Then she never woke up, and her body always felt cold.

What if Yuvraaj never came to me with the tiffin box?

What if Rohit insisted I stay in his office and I had agreed?

What if I was late?

What if I had lost him?

I just got him. I can't lose him so soon. I can't lose him ever.

My phone begins to vibrate in my front pocket. I ignore it. But he doesn't. He takes it out and answers on my behalf.

"Bhai," then he pauses. "Yeah, she is here." He replies and stops to hear the other side. "She can't take the phone right now." He halts, his breath going deeper. I snuggle more into his arms, desperate to comfort him. "She can't, Bhai. She saw something she shouldn't have." I shake my head. I saw something I should have. I can't imagine losing my brother like this, a forever absence and millions of unanswered questions. "I'll tell you later. We'll be home late. Don't wait up for us." He states. "Yeah, bye." Then he hangs up and puts the phone on the floor.

"Why did you do that?" I ask softly, but I feel like screaming from inside.

"I was not going to jump, Tara." He tries to convince me. I sit straight to look into his eyes. They appear honest. But the memory burnt into my subconscious wipes away the sincerity of his words.

"What were you doing then? Measuring the distance between you and the ground?" I deadpan sarcastically, frustration slipping through my tone.

He sighs, and his long fingers gently raise, touching my cheek with nimble grace, tucking the strands of my raven locks behind my ear. "Trust me, I'm not lying. I wasn't going to jump."

"No one in their sane mind randomly steps on such heights without taking safety precautions, Bhai!" I snap, irked at his half assed explanation. "What were you doing there? Why? One wrong step, and you'd have lost your life! I'd have lost you! What forced you to step on there!?"

"A memory," he whispers, taking me aback with his answer.

"What?" The tone of my voice drops low, shock holding it hostage.

He nods, digging his teeth into his lower lip, a strange reluctance flashing through his eyes, and the awkwardness pushes us both slightly apart, so we can look at each other in a better light.

"Are you not comfortable sharing it?" I hold his knee, and his leg stops shaking. He seems restless.

"I was twelve," he sighs. "Dad went to London since it was fourteenth of February. They weren't in a relationship, your mom and him. I don't think your mom even knew every year, on this day, Dad would go to her, even if to catch a glimpse of her from the distance. This holds a special memory for them. I heard, when they were young, she confessed her love to him on valentine's day."

"How do you know?" I ask, shocked at the turn of events. How come every tragedy in this family ends up starting with those three?

"My mother told me," he replies. "I was really fond her. And she knew that. Whatever scrapes of affection she threw at me, I'd lap it up like a pathetic, abandoned puppy." He grits out, the rage and the pain turning his voice heavy, his eyes darker than before, like flames of hatred licking at the past memories with a thirst for revenge. "Eighteen years ago, the crazy woman brought me to this place, saying we're here to meet Dad. I didn't know he was in London. I found out later. And she," he breathes out heavily.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me," I rub his knee gently.

He sniffles. "She made me stand here, Tara. On the exact spot you saw me. She wanted to punish Dad, through me," he points at himself shakily. My mouth falls agape in disbelief. "In her sick, twisted mind, she was bringing the family together. Because watching his son stand at the doors of the death was the only way to get him back to her." His jaw clenches tightly. "I was trembling, Tara. I was sobbing and choking and I couldn't even see clearly because my eyes kept tearing up. The only assurance I had in that moment was her hand that I was holding onto as I held on for my dear life. And you know what she said?" He looks down at me. "Dad is on his way. We'll be happy again once he's here." He mumbles. "With this deranged smile, she uttered those words to me. She was prepared to keep me on the railing until Dad arrived. And I knew, I knew another minute and I was giving up." Tears trickle down his eyes unstoppably. I scoot closer, shaking my head at him, my own tears betraying me. "You know what's worst than death? The fear of dying. And I was living it every second." His red rimmed eyes focus on me.

I wipe his tears for him with the pad of my thumbs. He holds my hand on his cheek for a second, as though soaking into the warmth of it before bringing it down to his chest and letting it rest there. "I don't know when Bhai arrived. I don't even remember getting down from there. The next I woke up, Dad and Bhai were at my side and she was standing in the corner of the hospital room, smiling fondly as she stared at us, like she succeeded in bringing her family together." He sighs heavily.

"She was sick," I whisper, unable to mask the hatred and disgust from reflecting in my voice. "Is that why you've been acting so distant from last three weeks?"

He shrugs. "As the date comes closer, I feel suffocated in my own skin. I try not to disturb my daily life, but somehow it happens. Don't worry, I'll be fine in no time." He forces a smile on his face for my sake.

"I'll be blunt," I warn, "I hate your mother. Like, if she was alive, I'd have killed her, with my bare hands." He chuckles. "I'm not kidding. I have never hated anyone so much." I shake my head. "And she was sick, unhinged, and insane. I know what she left with you is not worth remembering, but if memories were made with the intention of remembering, there would be nothing for us humans to look back at in life. I can't ask you to forget it, or let it go and move on, but if you ever feel like you need to let it out, get angry and curse the world, wallow in pity or grief, have a breakdown, even if countless times, do it. Do it in your safe space, do it where you feel you won't be judged, do it in front of me, or with the person that makes you feel accepted and loved, but do it. Don't hold it back. I know it's going to keep coming back, and it might never end. So why stop yourself? Why force yourself to not react? If it keeps tormenting you, why suffer in silence? There are people around who love you, who'd not think twice before dismissing all work to attend to you. And given how beautiful your nature is, you've only earned the good in life, Bhai. So make use of it. Don't let the bad feel like it has power over you. Use the good, through people, through happy memories, through kind gestures, through smiles, through jokes, movies, music, books, trips, nature, your work, the lives you saved, the blessings you received. It's all in there, it's all in you." I tell him. "You've to seek it out, Bhai. Not give in so helplessly and put your life at risk like this." I wave my hand towards the railing.

He keeps staring at me fondly, like he can't believe I exist. I flush. "What?"

"Dad was right. You've way with your words." He smiles.

I feel the heat embracing my cheeks. "That's not what we're talking about. Can we focus on you?" I suggest bashfully.

He nods, acting like an obedient student.

I roll my eyes and get up, holding out my hand to him. "Let's go have fun," He takes it, rising to his feet, successfully towering over me by a huge difference.

"Fun?"

I hum, nodding in response. "What's your definition of fun?"

"Hmm," he trails, pondering over my question. "I don't know." He scratches his stubble.

"Mine is arcade, lot's of junk food and swings!" I beam. "Shall we, partner?" I offer him my arm.

"Is this a date?" He cocks a brow at it.

"If you're paying, then yes." I nod.

He chuckles and links our arms together. "Let's go!"

We walk to the elevator together but then I remember the tiffin box and rush back to get it. He waits patiently for me with a smile. Upon returning to his office, he gives the tiffin to his colleagues to share it among themselves and picks up his phone and car keys.

He takes me to the basement where his car is parked. We pile inside the black Mercedes and he pulls it out of the spot. The headlights glare brightly as he effortlessly manouvers it through the dimly lit tunnel, before we finally touch the main road.

"So, where to first?"

"Arcade," I state.

He nods and turns on the GPS, searching for the closest arcade in the city. I shift my attention out of the window. I haven't been out of the palace if not for school or my friend's house, or the two dates that I've been to with my ex boyfriend, and practically never at nights, so this feels nice. The city is bustling with people even at this time of the day. It helps to see life thriving so actively among the strangers when you feel at your lowest. It's somewhat hopeful.

When we reach the place, he buys us coins for practically all the games in the arcade. I tell him we'll not even look at half of them but he doesn't listen.

We start with basketball. To my disbelief, for the person who is new to arcade, he makes the highest score.

"Not fair!" I shout as I frantically try to make it through the hoop.

He laughs. "Ask Arush who taught him basketball." I hear him boast.

And that's how he bestes me in every game that we play. I've been playing arcade games since I was ten, and I can't even hold a candle to his quick wit and adaptable skills. He's so fast to pick up how it works, the rules, and soars through it with highest scores.

Then we stop at the punching machine. My feeble arm doesn't even manage to score average. Witnessing it, the next in line group of boys holler.

"Damn, you won't last in a fist fight even with my knuckle." One of them comments.

Bhai steps in and throws a power packed punch, setting the highest score without dropping a sweat. "And me?" He regards the boys with the nastiest of glares I've ever seen. The teens scurry away in fear.

"Wow, I feel like a princess!" I giggle, cupping my mouth with my hand.

Vivaan ruffles my hair with a simper. "That's because you're one, Tara."

"I know right," I shrug haughtily and drag him to the next game.

We spend two hours in the arcade. Playing all sorts of games, laughing, making jokes, and basically, having fun with each other. I could tell most of the time he was forcing a smile on his face, oftentimes he was not in the moment as much as I'd like him to be, and he also looked frazzled enough to quit the night and head back home. But there were also moments when I found him genuinely happy, I heard the lightness in his voice, saw the shine of morning rays trapped in those amber eyes, and felt the glee his laugh carried whenever I did something silly.

Currently, we were at this elite restaurant, trying the Chinese cuisine because I haven't any in my sixteen years of existence.

"Thank you," he says softly.

I lift my head, locking my eyes with his amber ones and I find him one with the restuarant. He fits in here. Between these people, who speak with confidence, smile elegantly, a star studded grace lacing every action they perform. The dim lights compliment his smile, his voice not too loud and neither too small, it evens with the violins playing in the background. If I was one among the crowd, only allowed to see him from afar, I'd have called his life perfect, when it's anything but.

"For what?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"I know what you're trying to do," he nods.

"What?" I lean in curiously.

"You're trying to make me feel better," he replies.

"Aren't you already?" I ask, and watch as the smile on his face fades. "Is that not why you stood on that railing, to prove yourself, that you're fine now?"

His eyes reflect vulnerability.

I place my hand on top of his and give it a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to do that anymore, Bhai. You don't have to relive that moment to make yourself believe that you're stronger now. All you've to do is smile, have fun with the people you love, make new memories. Because that's how you define strength. Not by trying to erase your worst memory, but by accepting it."

His lips tremble and he quickly pulls away from me. "I need to use the washroom," I watch him leave hurriedly.

When five minutes pass and he doesn't return, I decide to check up on him. Just as I reach the restroom, two men walk out mumbling to themselves.

"What's wrong?" I ask witnessing a frown on their faces.

"I think someone's crying in one of the stalls," the brown haired man points over his shoulder.

I suck in a deep breath. "I'm with him. Thank you for letting me know. Can you please send someone from the hotel staff here?" I request the gentlemen.

"Sure, kid," the one with a thick beard smiles and walks off with his friend.

Soon enough, a waiter comes up to me. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Uhm, do you mind if I occupy the restroom for a few minutes. The one I came here with is in there and he needs a moment alone. It's a request, please." I say earnestly.

He contemplates for a while, before giving in with a gentle nod. "Alright, I'll ask the guests to use another restroom. But only ten minutes."

"That's more than enough, thank you." I smile gratefully.

He nods and hangs the sign of 'slippery floor' on the door. "Ten minutes," he reminds me before walking off.

I wait outside the restroom patiently, distracting myself by swaying on my feet back and forth, or by humming a tune. The door opens eight minutes later, and a refreshed person stands in front of me. His hair tousled, being raked through with wet hands to redeem the mess, and his red rimmed eyes tired but rejuvenated. I don't ask him anything, or offer him sympathy, I just grin brightly.

"Shall we? The food is getting cold." I say.

He sighs in relief and nods. I quickly put out the slippery floor sign, and before he could ask any question, drag him back to our table.

We proceed our night with light conversations, but steer off the untouched topic for the remainder of it. When we return home, I pause seeing everyone still in the living room. Agastya and Arush are watching television, Yuvaan and Ayush are playing chess. Dad is resting on the recliner and Yuvraaj is busy on his laptop.

When they notice our presence, almost everyone appears relieved.

"Were you guys waiting up for us?" I ask teasingly.

"No," several lies echo. I chuckle.

"Let's call it a night. It's late." Yuvraaj gets up from the sofa and so does everyone else, but an unexpected news stop us at once.

"A twenty five year old man was found dead in the woods covering the west of Rajgarh. According to the reports we received, he was brutally mutilated with claw marks present all over his body. The local police suspect the attack was caused by a wild animal. The body was found this afternoon by a local villager, and it's assumed he died last evening around six thirty pm. What looks like an open and shut case, turned slightly twisted when the forensics confirmed no signs of resistance from the dead. The villager who found the body said, while wild animals roam the woods, they don't really come out until its midnight. And if it did, somebody should have heard the screams of the man."

"Damn, I just got chills." Arush shudders.

"I feel it's a murder that's being shown like a wild animal attack," Agastya mutters.

My head joins the dot faster than I'd appreciate.

But it all connects.

Rajgarh - Shourya - the time of death - his bloodied hands - and the way he was secretly trying to wash it off at the public washbasin where no one comes at night.

My phone vibrates and I fish it out from my pocket.

Anagha's name flashes on the screen.

So someone else thinks the same as me.

I love love love this chapter.

Hope you enjoyed it as well. Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.