Chapter 38

Life with Tara was a kaleidoscope of emotions, laughter, and moments that caught me off guard. She had the uncanny ability to make even the most mundane parts of life feel special, a skill I hadn't known I needed until she came along.

I had always been a man of routine, efficiency, and order. But Tara turned those routines into adventures, efficiency into joy, and order into a kind of chaos that I found myself looking forward to.

One morning, I woke up to an empty bed. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, and I instinctively reached for her, only to find cold sheets.

"Tara?" I called, my voice groggy as I got out of bed.

I found her in the kitchen, standing on her tiptoes, reaching for something on the top shelf. She was wrapped in one of my shirts, her hair a disheveled mess, and muttering under her breath about "men who put cereal where only giants can reach."

"Need help?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

She turned to glare at me, caught in the act. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Hiding the cereal? Diabolical plan."

"Don't mock me," she snapped, though the corner of her mouth twitched with amusement.

I walked over, easily grabbing the box for her. As I handed it to her, she huffed, but her annoyed expression melted into a soft smile. "Thanks," she murmured, looking up at me.

"You're welcome," I replied, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Another day, it started raining as we sat on the balcony. Tara, ever the dreamer, stood up suddenly, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Let's go outside," she said.

"Tara, it's raining," I replied, though I knew resistance was futile.

"Exactly!" she said, pulling me toward the garden.

I followed her, watching as she twirled in the rain, her laughter echoing in the air. She turned to me, her hair plastered to her face, and held out her hand. "Come on, Veer. Live a little."

I hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the rain. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her grin infectious.

"See?" she said. "It's not so bad."

"It's perfect," I replied, looking at her.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she leaned up to kiss me, her lips warm against the cold rain.

Not every moment was filled with adventure. Some nights, we simply sat on the couch, her head resting on my shoulder as we watched a movie.

She'd fall asleep halfway through, and I'd carefully lift her into my arms, carrying her to bed. Watching her sleep, I'd feel a deep sense of gratitude, knowing that this was my life now—one filled with love and laughter, all because of her.

Growing up, I had everything a child could want—or so it seemed. Wealth, power, and privilege were the foundation of my life. But when my parents passed away, that foundation crumbled, leaving behind a hollow, aching void that nothing could fill.

I was only ten years old when the accident happened. In the blink of an eye, I was alone, surrounded by people who saw me not as a grieving child but as an opportunity. I overheard whispers about how "at least he still has his inheritance." Those words shaped me, teaching me early on to trust no one and to rely only on myself.

As I grew older, I fortified my heart with walls so high and so strong that no one could break through. I buried myself in work, turning the empire my parents left me into something even greater.

Then Siya came. She was everything I thought I wanted—beautiful, charming, and equally ambitious. But she didn't see me; she saw the lifestyle, the power.

When she walked away, calling me "emotionally unavailable" and "too broken," I didn't argue. She wasn't wrong. I was broken, and I had no desire to fix myself.

Or so I thought.

And then Tara entered my life.

She didn't force her way in or try to change me. She simply existed—kind, selfless, and full of life. Tara didn't just see the man I had become; she saw the boy I once was, the boy who had been abandoned and left to navigate a world too big for him.

She broke through the walls I had spent years building, not with brute force, but with her quiet determination and unwavering belief in me.

Tara taught me that hearts aren't meant to stay locked away—they're meant to love and be loved.

My office, once a sterile and impersonal space, was now a shrine to the life we had built together.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, but my desk was where the real story lay. Photos of Tara filled every surface—her solo pictures, our wedding photo, candid shots from vacations, and my personal favorite: a photo of her laughing, taken on one of our grocery trips when she had just won a silly bet.

Every time I sat at my desk, I couldn't help but smile, my eyes drawn to the pictures. They reminded me of how far I had come, of the life we had created together.

Naman knocked on my door, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Sir, the Italian clients have arrived," he said, holding a folder.

I nodded, straightening my tie and grabbing the documents I needed.

The meeting went smoothly, the clients impressed by our pitch and eager to move forward. As we wrapped up, one of the clients, a middle-aged man named Alessandro, noticed me glancing at my pocket watch to check the time.

"That's a beautiful piece," he said, gesturing to the watch. "An antique?"

I smiled, running my fingers over the intricate design. "Not quite. It's custom-made."

"Interesting," he said. "Why a pocket watch? Most people prefer something more modern."

"It's special to me," I replied, my tone softening. "It's not just a watch—it's a reminder of everything that matters. My wife gave it to me. Inside, there's a photo of us from our wedding day."

Alessandro's expression shifted, his curiosity giving way to understanding. "A lucky charm, then?"

"Something like that, but much more than that" I said, smiling.

As the meeting ended and the clients left, I felt a familiar pull—the longing to be home, where Tara was waiting.

The drive back felt longer than usual, but the moment I stepped through the door, the weight of the day lifted. Tara was in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and she set the book aside, getting up to greet me.

"You're home," she said, wrapping her arms around my waist.

"I missed you," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Did the meeting go well?" she asked, pulling back to look at me.

"Perfectly," I said, smiling.

We spent the evening together, sharing stories from our day. Tara told me about the kids at school and the funny things they had said during class, her laughter filling the room.

After dinner, we sat on the balcony, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance. She rested her head on my shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my arm.

"Do you ever think about how far we've come?" she asked suddenly.

"Every day," I replied, my voice quiet.

She smiled, her gaze soft. "I'm so glad I found you, Veer."

I turned to her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You didn't just find me, Tara. You saved me."

As the night deepened, I found myself reflecting on everything—my parents, my childhood, the void I had carried for so long.

For years, I had believed that love was a luxury I couldn't afford, that vulnerability was a weakness I couldn't risk. Tara changed all of that. She didn't just fill the void; she replaced it with something far greater—hope, joy, and an unshakable belief in the power of love.

And as I held her close, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine, I knew one thing for certain: she was my home, my anchor, and the reason I had finally learned to believe in myself.

In her arms, I wasn't broken. I was whole.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid to let the walls crumble compl