Him

I could feel the silence growing thicker in the car as I drove toward the airport. Tara sat beside me in the passenger seat, her eyes flicking between the scenery outside and her phone. Arjun was in the back, his gaze fixed firmly out the window, his jaw clenched. He'd been giving me the cold shoulder ever since Tara got out of the hospital, but I'd gotten used to it by now. I knew his grudge ran deep, and I couldn't blame him. If I were in his shoes, I'd probably feel the same way.

Tara let out a quiet sigh, breaking the silence. I glanced over at her, catching the sadness in her eyes. She was leaving. She was really leaving, and the thought twisted something tight in my chest.

"Not long now," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

She gave me a small smile, but I could see she was holding back her emotions, too. It felt strange to have her sitting beside me like this, knowing it might be the last time for a long while.

In the backseat, Arjun shifted, and I caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. His expression was stony, unreadable, as he kept his eyes on the road.

After a few more minutes, we pulled up to the departures area at the airport. I parked the car and turned off the engine, the sudden silence in the car feeling even heavier now.

"Well," I said, breaking the tension. "Here we are."

Tara glanced at me, her smile a bit wobbly now. "Yep, here we are."

We all got out of the car, and I moved around to help her with her bags. She looked at Arjun, who stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug, tight and warm. I watched as she held onto him, her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes closing briefly as if she was taking in every last second.

I watched them as they looked at each other, and the weight of the goodbye settled in the air around us.

"Take care, okay?" Arjun said, his voice low but firm.

She nodded. "Of course, Bhaiya. And don't skip meals, you know how Ma gets."

He let out a small chuckle and reached out, pulling her into a tight hug. His hand rested protectively on her back, and he leaned his head down slightly, resting it against hers.

"Take care, monkey," he murmured.

She squeezed him back, a soft laugh escaping. "You too, crackhead."

They shared a quiet smile, a moment of understanding passing between them, one that didn't need words. I could see how much they meant to each other, the bond that went deeper than anything I'd known. I respected it, even if I didn't fully understand it.

Arjun released her and took a step back, clearing his throat as if trying to keep his composure. I didn't move, not until he'd started walking back toward the car. That's when I stepped forward, setting her bag down and pulling her into a tight hug. My arms wrapped around her, holding her close, and for a moment, it felt like if I held her tight enough, she might stay, as if the flight would just forget about her.

She sighed, her head resting against my shoulder. "Okay, Mr. Grump," she whispered, her voice carrying a familiar tease, "I'll be just a text or call away, whichever you prefer."

I hummed in response, not letting go yet. Her scent filled my senses, her presence grounding me in a way I hadn't felt before. I didn't want to say goodbye. I didn't want to let her walk through those sliding doors and disappear into a crowd of strangers.

"Are you going to let me breathe, or did you plan on holding me hostage here?" she asked with a soft laugh, leaning back slightly to look up at me.

I smirked. "Can't a man just enjoy the moment without being accused of a crime?"

I could practically see her rolling her eyes, her smile breaking through the seriousness. "I guess I'll allow it... for another minute." Her hand moved up, resting on my shoulder, and her fingers played with the collar of my jacket. But I couldn't hold onto her forever, so I loosened my grip, though my hands stayed on her shoulders. She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I'd come to know so well.

"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing." She gave me a small smirk. "I just thought you'd at least try to pretend you're not gonna miss me."

I chuckled, feeling a smile pull at my lips despite everything. "Oh, trust me. I'd have to be pretty heartless not to miss you, Petardo."

She laughed softly, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair away from my face. Her touch was light, but it sent a warm shiver through me.

"You'll be fine, Mr. Grump," she teased, her tone soft. "Try not to scare too many people while I'm gone, alright?"

I rolled my eyes, trying to act like her words didn't mean as much as they did. "No promises. But I'll try."

She grinned, stepping back a little. But before she could move away completely, I leaned down, brushing a quick kiss on her forehead. Her eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face before she relaxed, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

"Take care of yourself, Tara," I whispered.

She nodded, her smile fading a little as the reality of her leaving hit both of us. "You too, Dante. And don't forget—just a call away."

When I got back to the car, Arjun was already in the passenger seat, his expression unreadable.

"Let's go," he said shortly.

I didn't respond, just started the car and pulled away from the curb. The silence between us was different now—tense, brimming with things we both knew but didn't dare say.

"You okay?" I asked after a while, surprising even myself.

He shot me a look, his eyes narrowing. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I sighed, gripping the wheel tighter. "Look, I know you're angry. I get it. I am extremely sorry for what happened to her. I know it's extre-"

"Oh are you now?" he cut me off, his voice low but sharp. "Because I don't think I'll ever forget what she went through."

I didn't flinch, though his words hit harder than I expected. "I didn't want any of this to happen."

"No, but it did," he said, his tone cold. "And it's going to take me a while to let that go."

I nodded, accepting his words even though they stung. "Fair enough."

He didn't respond, just stared out the window, his jaw tight. The rest of the drive was silent, but it wasn't the kind of silence that could be filled with idle chatter.

It was the kind that left scars.