short tales - Chapter 26: Chapter 26
You are reading short tales, Chapter 26: Chapter 26. Read more chapters of short tales.
His thumb lingered at the corner of her lip, eyes locked on hers like he could read every emotion she tried to bury.
She hated that look.
Because it saw through her — past the anger, past the walls, right into the heart that still beat wildly for him.
He leaned in.
Close enough for his breath to tickle her skin.
Close enough for her to feel the hesitation — the question in his touch.
But her body didn’t move away.
And neither did her lips.
His forehead rested gently against hers.
His hand stayed warm and still over her baby bump.
"I still remember how you used to whisper my name in your sleep," he murmured, voice like velvet dipped in guilt.
"You still dream of me, Aarika?"
She swallowed.
Tight. Silent. Shaken.
And just when the distance between their lips was nothing but a breath…
Thump.
Aarika gasped.
Her hand instinctively flew to her belly.
The baby had just kicked — hard.
Rivan froze.
"What happened?!" he whispered, eyes instantly wide as he stepped back in panic, his hands reaching to support her.
"Aarika? Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did I—"
His words stumbled over each other, fear written all over his face.
Aarika blinked in surprise.
He looked… terrified.
"It’s okay," she breathed, holding his wrist.
"It was just… the baby kicked."
Silence.
Rivan looked down at her stomach like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
Then, without a word, he went down on one knee again and placed both hands on her bump.
His voice shook as he whispered,
"Was that you, little warrior? Was that your first punch at your dad?"
Aarika bit back a smile.
He looked so… unfiltered. So human.
Rivan closed his eyes and rested his head gently on her belly.
"That’s my kid. Already warning me to stay in line."
Aarika stared down at him — this man who once ruled darkness and blood — now whispering to a child he hadn’t even met yet.
And for a second… just one second…
She wondered if maybe… just maybe… there was still hope.
Rivan stood back up slowly, brushing his thumb over the spot where their baby had just kicked.
He looked at Aarika like she held the entire universe inside her.
And maybe to him… she did.
Then he softly said, “You should sit down.”
Aarika raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I’ll cook,” he replied casually, walking toward the kitchen counter like he owned it.
“You shouldn’t be standing for so long. It’s not good for your back... especially in the sixth month.”
She folded her arms.
“Oh, now you care about my back?”
Her tone was sharp, sarcastic — but her eyes?
Her eyes were quietly watching him.
Rivan didn’t flinch.
“I always cared,” he murmured, opening cabinets like he knew where everything was.
He turned toward her, nodding at the chair near the dining table.
“Sit. Now. No fighting.”
She hesitated for a second... then sat — not because he told her to, but because standing too long actually did hurt.
He began chopping vegetables, sleeves rolled up, hair messy, completely out of his mafia suit and in a black shirt that made him look like a normal man... almost.
“So,” he said, not looking up, “have you been taking your iron tablets?”
Aarika blinked.
She stared at him like he’d just grown wings.
“...Yes.”
“Hmm,” he hummed. “And what about folic acid?”
Her voice dropped, guarded. “Why are you suddenly asking all this?”
Rivan didn’t answer immediately. He just stirred the pan and then said softly,
“Because I missed the first heartbeat. I don’t want to miss anything else.”
Her heart skipped — but she kept her expression neutral.
“Cravings?” he asked, finally turning to glance at her.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On my mood.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Same Aarika. Same fire.”
She looked away.
“Do you want something sweet? Sour? Pickles? Chocolate? Just say it, I’ll—”
“I’m fine,” she cut him off.
Short. Dry. Defensive.
He nodded slowly, not pushing further.
Instead, he gently placed a glass of warm water next to her. “At least drink this while I finish cooking.”
She stared at the glass.
Then at him.
Then took the glass — without saying thank you.
But he smiled anyway.
Because to him, that silent gesture was a small win.
The kitchen filled with the gentle aroma of spices and warmth — but the silence between them was heavier than smoke.
Rivan placed the plate in front of her with quiet care.
Not just food. It felt like an apology… shaped in every bite.
He sat across from her, watching her like she might disappear again.
She picked at the food slowly, barely eating.
He noticed.
“Not good?” he asked, voice light, trying to hide the worry.
“It’s fine,” she muttered, eyes on the plate, not him.
They ate in silence for a while.
Until…
He softly said, “Do you remember how you used to steal all the paneer from my plate in college canteen?”
She froze.
Her hand stilled over her spoon.
He continued, a faint nostalgic smile on his lips.
“You’d say it’s your right. That you were claiming tax for being my girlfriend…”
Aarika’s eyes suddenly burned.
Because that moment—so small, so silly—was from before everything shattered. Before he chose guns, blood, power... over them.
And before she had to walk away pregnant, broken, and alone.
She pushed the plate away.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Her jaw clenched. “Don’t bring up memories that don’t exist anymore.”
“Aarika…”
“You chose them over me, Rivan.”
Her voice trembled.
“You chose your mafia world. You chose violence. You chose to disappear when I needed you the most.”
He opened his mouth to reply—but nothing came out.
She stood up, her breathing getting shaky.
One hand instinctively cradled her bump.
“You think cooking one meal and asking about medicines is enough?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“You think that fixes everything?”
Rivan stood too, reaching out.
“Aarika, it wasn’t easy—”
“I’m an orphan, Rivan!” she cried out.
His heart dropped.
Her voice cracked with pain that had been buried too long.
“I grew up without parents. Without hugs. Without bedtime stories. And now…”
She looked down at her belly.
“I don’t want our child to grow up the same. I don’t want him or her to wait every night, wondering if his father is coming back or ending up in tomorrow’s headlines…”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Rivan’s throat tightened. “I’m here now…”
“But for how long?” she whispered.
And then — she broke.
She collapsed onto the chair, covering her face with both hands, sobbing hard, her shoulders shaking with every breath.
Rivan rushed to her, kneeling again, hands trembling as he cupped her face.
“Hey—hey baby, no no, please don’t cry like that, it’s not good for you, it’s not good for the baby—”
But she pushed his hands away.
“Go. Please just… go.”
He stared at her for a moment.
Completely shattered.
But she didn’t look up.
She kept crying.
So slowly… reluctantly… silently…
He left.
Closing the door behind him like he was leaving a piece of his soul behind
She hated that look.
Because it saw through her — past the anger, past the walls, right into the heart that still beat wildly for him.
He leaned in.
Close enough for his breath to tickle her skin.
Close enough for her to feel the hesitation — the question in his touch.
But her body didn’t move away.
And neither did her lips.
His forehead rested gently against hers.
His hand stayed warm and still over her baby bump.
"I still remember how you used to whisper my name in your sleep," he murmured, voice like velvet dipped in guilt.
"You still dream of me, Aarika?"
She swallowed.
Tight. Silent. Shaken.
And just when the distance between their lips was nothing but a breath…
Thump.
Aarika gasped.
Her hand instinctively flew to her belly.
The baby had just kicked — hard.
Rivan froze.
"What happened?!" he whispered, eyes instantly wide as he stepped back in panic, his hands reaching to support her.
"Aarika? Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did I—"
His words stumbled over each other, fear written all over his face.
Aarika blinked in surprise.
He looked… terrified.
"It’s okay," she breathed, holding his wrist.
"It was just… the baby kicked."
Silence.
Rivan looked down at her stomach like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
Then, without a word, he went down on one knee again and placed both hands on her bump.
His voice shook as he whispered,
"Was that you, little warrior? Was that your first punch at your dad?"
Aarika bit back a smile.
He looked so… unfiltered. So human.
Rivan closed his eyes and rested his head gently on her belly.
"That’s my kid. Already warning me to stay in line."
Aarika stared down at him — this man who once ruled darkness and blood — now whispering to a child he hadn’t even met yet.
And for a second… just one second…
She wondered if maybe… just maybe… there was still hope.
Rivan stood back up slowly, brushing his thumb over the spot where their baby had just kicked.
He looked at Aarika like she held the entire universe inside her.
And maybe to him… she did.
Then he softly said, “You should sit down.”
Aarika raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I’ll cook,” he replied casually, walking toward the kitchen counter like he owned it.
“You shouldn’t be standing for so long. It’s not good for your back... especially in the sixth month.”
She folded her arms.
“Oh, now you care about my back?”
Her tone was sharp, sarcastic — but her eyes?
Her eyes were quietly watching him.
Rivan didn’t flinch.
“I always cared,” he murmured, opening cabinets like he knew where everything was.
He turned toward her, nodding at the chair near the dining table.
“Sit. Now. No fighting.”
She hesitated for a second... then sat — not because he told her to, but because standing too long actually did hurt.
He began chopping vegetables, sleeves rolled up, hair messy, completely out of his mafia suit and in a black shirt that made him look like a normal man... almost.
“So,” he said, not looking up, “have you been taking your iron tablets?”
Aarika blinked.
She stared at him like he’d just grown wings.
“...Yes.”
“Hmm,” he hummed. “And what about folic acid?”
Her voice dropped, guarded. “Why are you suddenly asking all this?”
Rivan didn’t answer immediately. He just stirred the pan and then said softly,
“Because I missed the first heartbeat. I don’t want to miss anything else.”
Her heart skipped — but she kept her expression neutral.
“Cravings?” he asked, finally turning to glance at her.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On my mood.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Same Aarika. Same fire.”
She looked away.
“Do you want something sweet? Sour? Pickles? Chocolate? Just say it, I’ll—”
“I’m fine,” she cut him off.
Short. Dry. Defensive.
He nodded slowly, not pushing further.
Instead, he gently placed a glass of warm water next to her. “At least drink this while I finish cooking.”
She stared at the glass.
Then at him.
Then took the glass — without saying thank you.
But he smiled anyway.
Because to him, that silent gesture was a small win.
The kitchen filled with the gentle aroma of spices and warmth — but the silence between them was heavier than smoke.
Rivan placed the plate in front of her with quiet care.
Not just food. It felt like an apology… shaped in every bite.
He sat across from her, watching her like she might disappear again.
She picked at the food slowly, barely eating.
He noticed.
“Not good?” he asked, voice light, trying to hide the worry.
“It’s fine,” she muttered, eyes on the plate, not him.
They ate in silence for a while.
Until…
He softly said, “Do you remember how you used to steal all the paneer from my plate in college canteen?”
She froze.
Her hand stilled over her spoon.
He continued, a faint nostalgic smile on his lips.
“You’d say it’s your right. That you were claiming tax for being my girlfriend…”
Aarika’s eyes suddenly burned.
Because that moment—so small, so silly—was from before everything shattered. Before he chose guns, blood, power... over them.
And before she had to walk away pregnant, broken, and alone.
She pushed the plate away.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Her jaw clenched. “Don’t bring up memories that don’t exist anymore.”
“Aarika…”
“You chose them over me, Rivan.”
Her voice trembled.
“You chose your mafia world. You chose violence. You chose to disappear when I needed you the most.”
He opened his mouth to reply—but nothing came out.
She stood up, her breathing getting shaky.
One hand instinctively cradled her bump.
“You think cooking one meal and asking about medicines is enough?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“You think that fixes everything?”
Rivan stood too, reaching out.
“Aarika, it wasn’t easy—”
“I’m an orphan, Rivan!” she cried out.
His heart dropped.
Her voice cracked with pain that had been buried too long.
“I grew up without parents. Without hugs. Without bedtime stories. And now…”
She looked down at her belly.
“I don’t want our child to grow up the same. I don’t want him or her to wait every night, wondering if his father is coming back or ending up in tomorrow’s headlines…”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Rivan’s throat tightened. “I’m here now…”
“But for how long?” she whispered.
And then — she broke.
She collapsed onto the chair, covering her face with both hands, sobbing hard, her shoulders shaking with every breath.
Rivan rushed to her, kneeling again, hands trembling as he cupped her face.
“Hey—hey baby, no no, please don’t cry like that, it’s not good for you, it’s not good for the baby—”
But she pushed his hands away.
“Go. Please just… go.”
He stared at her for a moment.
Completely shattered.
But she didn’t look up.
She kept crying.
So slowly… reluctantly… silently…
He left.
Closing the door behind him like he was leaving a piece of his soul behind
End of short tales Chapter 26. Continue reading Chapter 27 or return to short tales book page.