Him

It had been a long day at QuantumTech. The kind of day where everything felt like it was inching toward the brink of chaos but never quite tipping over. Arjun and I had spent hours locked in discussions about the latest tech innovations and potential partnerships, and by the time the sun dipped low and the city lights flickered to life outside our glass-walled office, I was ready to retreat.

I grabbed my jacket, making a mental note to check in to pick up Tara.

I didn't make it far.

As I approached the elevator, I spotted Arjun standing by the glass doors, looking out at the city skyline. His posture was stiff, his jaw tight, and I could tell he hadn't moved in a while. There was that look in his eyes—the one he always wore when he was upset, or when something was gnawing at him.

I hesitated for a second.

But I couldn't ignore him. Not now, not when he was like this.

I approached him slowly, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. "You good?" I asked, keeping my voice casual, though I knew the question carried more weight than it seemed.

Arjun didn't immediately respond. He just stared out the window, his gaze focused on something distant, like he was trying to see through the concrete jungle to something that wasn't there.

"I'm fine," he muttered after a beat, though I could tell from the edge of his voice that he wasn't.

"Alright," I said, my hands slipping into my jacket pockets. I stayed quiet, letting the moment stretch between us. Arjun didn't do well with small talk, but I knew him well enough to understand when he needed to say something without actually saying it.

He finally turned to me, his eyes sharp, his mouth a tight line. "I'm not going to ask what happened that day, Dante. I don't need to hear it again."

I nodded. He never did need to hear it. The silence that followed felt thick with all the unsaid things, the emotions neither of us wanted to confront. We weren't going to talk about Tara's kidnapping, or what happened to her—at least, not tonight.

But Arjun's stare lingered for a few moments longer, and I knew he was thinking about everything, about the things that still haunted him when he wasn't busy holding it all together.

"I just... I don't get it, man," he said, his voice low, his hands gripping the back of the chair like he was holding onto something that could slip away at any moment. "How can you just—" He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "How can you just pretend everything's fine?"

I blinked, thrown off by the question. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "You and her. I don't get it."

The air between us seemed to freeze like I could hear every word even before it was spoken. I hadn't expected him to bring this up, but I should've known better. Arjun's protective streak when it came to Tara was something else. He'd never forgiven me for what happened to her, and despite the years that had passed, there was no sign of that changing.

"I'm not pretending, Arjun," I said, my voice more controlled than I felt. "I'm trying. We're both trying." I ran a hand over my jaw, exhaling. "You don't think I know what happened? You think I don't carry that shit every day?"

I saw something flicker in his eyes—an acknowledgment that wasn't there before. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that hardened mask he'd perfected over the years.

"I just... I don't trust you with her," he said, quieter now, but there was still so much weight in those words.

"I know," I replied. I wasn't about to argue with him. I didn't have that luxury.

But what Arjun didn't understand—what neither of us had fully processed—was that the people who went through something like this didn't just move on. We couldn't. Not in the way he wanted, not in the way he expected.

"I'm not asking for your trust, Arjun," I continued, my gaze steady. "I'm asking for space to make this work. For her. For us."

There was another long silence, one where Arjun's mind seemed to race as fast as mine, but neither of us was willing to admit it. He looked at me, his eyes guarded, but I saw the shift.

"I know you love her," he said finally, his voice softer. It was the closest thing to an apology I'd heard from him in months.

I didn't say anything. What was there to say? We both knew what this was. The love wasn't the problem—it was everything else that kept us from it. The past. The hurt. The unanswered questions.

"Just don't screw this up," Arjun added after a beat, his voice heavy, but it wasn't filled with the usual venom. It was almost... resigned.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "I won't," I promised him, though I couldn't promise it in a way that would convince him. Hell, I wasn't even sure I could promise it to myself.

But in that moment, something shifted between us. Maybe it was because he saw that I wasn't going anywhere, that my feelings for Tara weren't a passing phase. Maybe it was because, just maybe, he saw that I'd done more than just hurt her. That I wasn't blind to the way the world worked, to the dangers and risks that came with being in a relationship like the one Tara and I had.

"I'll make it right," I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

Arjun just nodded, his posture softening slightly. "You better."

We stood there for a moment, two men who had never been able to talk about things that really mattered. But for a second, the tension between us wasn't so thick, and the air was just a little bit lighter.

He walked past me, back toward his office, and I took that as my cue. There was a lot left unsaid between us, but I knew Arjun. I knew his pride, his stubbornness, and his love for Tara. Maybe this was progress. Maybe, in his own way, Arjun was starting to let go of some of the anger.

As I stepped into the elevator, I couldn't help but think about what it meant. It wasn't a clean slate. It wasn't forgiveness. But it was a step in the right direction. For all of us.

And for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe that there was still hope.