The morning after felt… quiet.
Not empty.
Not heavy.
Just quiet in a way that made space for thought.
I woke before the city did, sunlight creeping across the floor in thin gold lines. For once, my head wasn't crowded with fragments or fear. No missing pieces. No echoes demanding answers.
Just clarity.
Riyan was already awake, sitting at the table with his laptop closed, coffee untouched.
"Couldn't sleep?" I asked softly.
He looked up. "I didn't want to miss the feeling."
"What feeling?"
"This," he said. "The calm after something ends."
I sat across from him.
"For years," he continued, "every morning started with control. Damage prevention. Power moves. Today… I don't know what I'm supposed to do first."
I smiled faintly. "That sounds like freedom."
He laughed quietly. "Or withdrawal."
Outside, the city stirred—horns, footsteps, life resuming like it always had. But inside, something had changed shape permanently.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Arjun.
Arjun:
Doctor cleared me for discharge next week. Apparently coming back from the dead requires paperwork.
I smiled and typed back.
Me:
Welcome to the boring part. It's underrated.
I set the phone down.
"What do you want to do today?" Riyan asked.
The question was simple.
That's what made it powerful.
I thought for a moment.
"I want to walk," I said. "No guards. No destination. Just… walk."
He hesitated.
Then nodded. "Okay."
We left the apartment like normal people.
No entourage.
No headlines following our steps.
Just two people moving through a city that no longer felt hostile.
At a crossing, I stopped suddenly.
Riyan turned. "What is it?"
"I realized something," I said.
"Yes?"
"I don't hate you anymore."
The words weren't dramatic.
They were honest.
He swallowed. "Do you… forgive me?"
I considered it carefully.
"Not all at once," I said. "But I'm willing to learn who you are without the lies."
He nodded, accepting it without protest.
"That's more than I deserve."
"No," I replied. "That's exactly what you deserve—truth, without punishment or worship."
We crossed the street together.
The light changed behind us.
Later, when the sun climbed higher and the day filled with ordinary noise, I felt something settle fully into place.
I wasn't the girl who had been erased.
I wasn't just the witness.
I wasn't even the wife who had been trapped in a story written by others.
I was someone who remembered.
Someone who chose.
Someone who survived—and didn't need pain to justify existing anymore.
And for the first time, the future didn't demand courage.
It simply waited.
Open.
Unwritten.
Mine.