JAAN ( Darr 2 )

The Flight

His voice had enchanted her back then, so much so that she'd followed the sound, weaving through the halls and the gardens, thinking it was Sunil serenading her. She'd been captivated by the voice, the melody... and then she had felt guilty.

It had felt wrong, wrong to have appreciated something from the man who had followed her, obsessed over her, and who had tried to kill Sunil. 

Yet here she was, ready to leave everything behind with him. The very same man. It didn't make sense to her, not fully. 

How could she reconcile the person he had been with the man standing before her now? She didn't know if she could ever forgive Rahul for what he had done, but at the same time, there was something unexplainable that tied her to him. 

A pull, a connection she couldn't ignore, even if it unsettled her and somehow she no longer felt guilty about appreciating that side of him.

Maybe it was because she understood him better now. He had changed, and she knew it. That didn't make what he had done right. 

it would never be right. 

But she knew for sure now that he had never wanted to hurt her. That He never had it in him to do that.

Kiran's gaze lingered on the guitar, and the memories it carried. How had she ever mistaken Rahul's song for Sunil's? It seemed so absurd now. 

Sunil, with his composed, practical nature, would never have done something like that. He wasn't the type to sing for her, to leave secret messages or pour his heart into a melody. 

He didn't have it in him to express his emotions that way. Sunil was always precise, always controlled. She should have known, even back then, that it was someone else.

 Jaadu..... Teri,  Nazar. She could still hear the tune in her mind, the way it echoed in the night.

 That time, he'd played it on a mouth organ from her balcony, and she had been terrified out of her wits. But now, recalling the melody, it didn't stir fear, t stirred something else. The song was still there, lingering a distant memory which was at once so close now.

She thought back to the college blackboard, where she found "I love you, Kiran" scrawled in white chalk, with a guitar propped beside it. Was this the same guitar? She wondered, her thoughts turning over themselves. 

That memory had stayed with her all these years, and now it felt like a piece of a puzzle sliding into place.

---

Soon, they were headed toward Edenfeld Railway Station. It was a quaint, picturesque place. small but charming, with its arched ceilings and ivy creeping up the old stone walls.

 The platform was dotted with flower boxes, overflowing with vibrant blooms, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh lavender through the air. The station felt quiet, peaceful, with just a few passengers waiting, their voices low and unhurried. In the distance, the sound of a train's whistle echoed softly.

Before they reached the platform, they made a quick stop at a small boutique for Kiran to grab some clothes. The shop was tucked away, filled with handmade scarves, cozy sweaters, and soft fabrics in warm hues.

Once Kiran was ready, they boarded the train bound for Ravenshlow, The seats were comfortable, upholstered in deep green, and they sat next to each other, the rhythmic hum of the train rolling beneath them. Outside, the landscape began to shift from rolling hills to dense forests, the trees blurring into a canvas of green and gold.

As they sat in silence, Kiran could feel the tension radiating from Rahul. His hands rested on his lap, his fingers fidgeting nervously, and his eyes were trained out the window, as if looking anywhere but at her. She could sense his unease, the heaviness of everything left unspoken between them.

She glanced at the guitar case leaning against his trunk and, wanting to break the tension, said softly, 

"You still have that guitar... is it the same one?"

They both knew what she was talking about. Her words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and he shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze. His voice, when it came, was quiet, tinged with something she couldn't quite place.

"No," he said after a beat. "This is an older acoustic one... I... I don't really play anymore. Haven't even tried for a long time." He paused, glancing down at the worn case before adding, almost hesitantly, "It was a gift from my mother. The only thing I have left to remember her by, so I couldn't leave it behind."

"She ...She died " he admitted, after a while as if speaking to himself.

Kiran's heart tightened at his words. She looked at him, concern etched in her expression. She remembered the depths of his grief after his mother's passing, how it had consumed him, driving him into delusions. 

He had once believed she was still alive, had talked to her over the phone as though she were just a call away. It had been heartbreaking to witness and scary at the same time.

Now, as he sat beside her, no longer trapped in that delusion, she felt both a quiet relief and a deep sadness. It must have taken so much for him to finally accept the truth, to realize that his mother was gone and no one else in the world seemed to care for him. 

Captain Mehra had been a decent enough man, but as a father? He had failed Rahul. His neglect, his absence, had left scars that ran deeper than anyone had acknowledged and they had both been victims of it.

"I'm sorry," Kiran said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "About your mother..."

Rahul nodded quietly, his eyes still fixed on the passing landscape. 

"It's been a long time," he murmured. "I'm fine now." But his voice betrayed him, and she knew he wasn't fine. Neither of them were. They both had so much to sort through, wounds that had never quite healed.

Yet here they were, no longer drowning in the past but still treading carefully around the pain that lingered between them. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't easy. But at least, it wasn't as unbearable as it had once been.

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