Chapter 16: Tears and Truth
Niyati’s car screeched to a halt near the temple. She stepped out quickly, her feet crunching against the pavement, and walked briskly toward the steps. The cold December air bit at her cheeks, but she barely noticed. Her breath formed soft clouds in the air, mingling with the mist of twilight as if her silence itself carried stories untold.
Entering the quiet sanctuary, the scent of incense mixed with the evening breeze, and for the first time in years, she allowed herself to break. The dim temple lamps flickered softly, casting golden shadows that danced across the marble floor — like memories she could never quite escape.
Alone in the serene space, the years of pain, responsibility, and heartbreak poured out of her. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed loudly, the grief she had silently carried finally finding its release. Each tear felt like a small weight leaving her body, a quiet surrender to emotions long suppressed. It wasn’t just sadness — it was exhaustion, guilt, loneliness, and love, all merging into one aching release.
Vansh watched silently from a distance, knowing this was not the moment for words. He saw her cry, her face etched with sorrow and memories, and understood just how much she had endured. He had seen Niyati strong, confident, calm in every storm — but this was different. This was her truth, stripped of all walls. He knew that only patience and gentle presence could reach her now.
After a few moments, he stepped closer. “Niyati…” he said softly, careful not to startle her.
She looked up, her eyes red and glistening, the raw mix of anger, grief, and exhaustion reflecting her years of hidden pain. The fragile tremor in her lips said everything words could not.
“I… I’m sorry, Vansh,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He shook his head gently. “No, no. I’m sorry,” he replied, reaching out a hand, his tone trembling with empathy.
Niyati shook her head again. “No, I’m sorry,” she repeated, tears flowing freely, as though both of them were apologizing for the same broken world they had survived.
Vansh took a careful step closer and embraced her. “It’s okay,” he said softly but firmly. “Cry. Let your pain out. Cry as long as you need. I’m here, Niyati. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
For what felt like hours, she clung to him, pouring out the weight of years gone by. The wind outside grew colder, the night darker, but inside that temple, time seemed to pause. Slowly, her sobs softened, and she sank onto the temple steps, taking deep, shaky breaths. Vansh stayed beside her, silent and steady, offering reassurance without intrusion — like a steady flame in the middle of her storm.
After a while, he asked gently, “Are you okay now?”
Niyati nodded faintly. “Yes… I’m fine,” she said, though her voice carried a trace of fragility that contradicted her words.
Vansh studied her carefully, his voice soft with curiosity. “Can you tell me… why do you act so strong all the time? It’s okay to cry sometimes, you know.”
Niyati’s gaze dropped, her fingers tracing invisible lines on the stone floor. A small tremble formed in her lips. “I… I hate my birthdays,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve always had to be strong, hide my feelings… but it’s too much sometimes.” Her confession felt like a whisper to the universe — a truth she had never spoken aloud.
For the next two hours, they talked — really talked. Niyati shared her fears, grief, memories, and the burden of responsibilities she carried alone. She spoke about the nights when silence became heavier than words, the mornings when strength was just an act. Vansh listened, offering comfort without judgment, making her laugh when she could, and providing silent support when words weren’t enough.
By the end, a bond deeper than friendship had formed — a trust built on understanding, patience, and shared vulnerability. Vansh realized that behind her calm eyes lived a storm she had tamed alone for too long, and Niyati realized that sometimes, being seen was the first step toward healing.
When they finally left the temple, the city was quiet, the streets bathed in silver moonlight. Vansh accompanied her home, his presence silent but warm — a promise without words. Her father was waiting anxiously at the door, worry etched across his face.
Niyati ran into his arms, wrapping him tightly. “Papa, I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice trembling between relief and exhaustion.
Her father held her close, relief washing over him like a prayer answered. That evening, for the first time in a long while, the family shared a quiet dinner together — no questions, no expectations, just peace. The clinking of spoons, the warmth of food, and the comfort of silence became their language of love.
Niyati felt a small spark of peace return — something she had forgotten the feeling of. She realized that while life had brought immense pain, she also had people who truly cared. And Vansh… Vansh was no longer just an employee or a friend.
He had seen the real Niyati — her strength, her sorrow, and the depth of her heart. And in that sacred moment beneath the stars, she knew that sometimes, truth is not spoken through words — it is felt through tears, and healed through love.
