Dareya: Pyar Confessed

The apartment echoed with the crackling tension that hung in the air, thick as monsoon humidity. The air smelt of antiseptic and old tea—Daya's place was still marked by his illness. His medicine was untouched. The files were open. Shreya stood in the middle of the living room, holding the evidence—photos, transaction printouts, a USB—everything Daya had quietly been gathering on Sid.

Her hands trembled. Her breath was unsteady.

"You're tracking him?!" Her voice cracked, half disbelief, half pain. "You're spying on my fiancé—why, Daya Sir?!"

Daya stood still by the wall, jaw clenched. His chest rose and fell heavily. "Because he's not who you think he is. You're walking into hell, and you don't even see it."

Her eyes burned. "You should've told me!" she screamed, tears spilling, voice shaking with fury. "You think I'm weak? You think I couldn't handle the truth?"

Daya stepped forward, his hands half-lifted in restraint, his voice a rasp, raw from emotion. "You think I wanted to see you get engaged to someone like him? You think it didn't kill me? Every time you walked past me pretending like I didn't matter—it shattered me."

Shreya's lips parted. "Then why didn't you stop me?! Why didn't you say a word? Not once, Daya Sir. Not even when I begged you with my eyes. When I asked if you had something to say—"

"You always called me 'Daya Sir'!" he shot back, his voice suddenly louder. "Like I was just your senior. Never your friend. Never the man who—who—"

"Who what?!" she snapped.

Daya's fists were clenched now. "Who loved you so damn much it suffocated him. Who watched you break every day under your family's pressure. And who kept his mouth shut because he was too much of a coward to ruin your life with his love!"

A silence followed, earth-shattering.

They were breathing heavily—raw, open wounds before each other now. Shreya took a step back. Her fingers loosened, the papers fluttering to the floor like broken feathers.

"You should've told me..." she whispered. "I waited. God, I waited for you."

"You were slipping away!" Daya growled. "And I—I was dying every second not holding you back."

She closed the space between them in three strides and slammed her fists against his chest. "Then why didn't you?! Why didn't you pull me back?"

He caught her wrists mid-air and yanked her into him.

"I'm pulling you now."

And then it was fire.

Their lips collided in a kiss that was desperate, angry, and laced with years of longing. There was nothing gentle about it—no hesitation, no formality. Just two people finally collapsing into the storm they had been holding off for far too long.

Shreya pulled away breathless. "We're a mess," she whispered.

"Then let's be a mess together."

He kissed her again—this time slower, lips brushing like apologies, hands cupping her face like she was made of glass. Her tears mingled with his breath.

"I thought I lost you," he murmured against her lips.

"I thought you never wanted me," she confessed in a whimper.

"I did. I do." His forehead leaned against hers. "I will. Every single day."

They stood like that for what felt like hours—two souls realigning after being torn apart.

And in that moment, with files scattered on the floor, the smell of fever medicine still lingering, and their hearts finally speaking aloud—

—they weren't Senior Inspector Daya and Inspector Shreya.

They were just Daya and Shreya. Two people who had finally, finally stopped pretending.