Swayam's POV
I told myself not to go near her college again. Last night was already a mistake—letting myself stay that long, letting myself feel that much. I had promised to keep my distance.
But when morning came, I found myself parked two streets away from her campus, watching from a distance like a fool.
She walked out of the gates with her usual spring in her step, her hair catching the sunlight. She was laughing with her friends, carefree in a way I had never known how to be. For a brief second, just watching her, I felt… lighter.
And then she saw me.
Her eyes lit up like fireworks, and before I could even start the engine to escape, she was running toward me.
"Hey!" she called out breathlessly, smiling as if she'd been waiting for me all along. "What are you doing here again?"
I opened my mouth to make an excuse, but she beat me to it. "Don't tell me 'just checking the area.' You said that yesterday."
I froze. Damn. She remembered.
Her grin widened. "You came to see me, didn't you?"
I turned my face away, pretending to check the side mirror. "No. Just… routine."
"Routine, huh?" she teased, stepping in front of my car before I could drive off. "Well, good. Because I need you today."
I frowned. "Siya—"
She cut me off, hands on her hips now. "Don't overthink. Just follow me. You know I'm not dangerous."
That line again. She used it yesterday too.
Every instinct screamed at me to push back, to walk away before she dragged me deeper into this dangerous comfort. But there was something in her eyes—so stubborn, so sure—that made it impossible to say no.
With a reluctant sigh, I unlocked the door. She slid into the passenger seat, her smile triumphant.
I shook my head, muttering, "You're trouble."
She leaned back in the seat, smirking. "Maybe. But you like it."
And damn it, maybe she was right.
The drive wasn't long, but it was filled with her humming some random tune and me trying very hard not to look like I was… enjoying it. When we stopped, I realized where she had brought me.
A park.
Children were running around, chasing each other, their laughter carrying through the air. Couples sat on benches, lost in soft conversations. Old men were playing cards under a tree, arguing playfully. The entire place was alive with something I barely understood—normalcy.
I glanced at Siya, confused. "This is… it?"
She laughed, hopping out of the car. "Yes. Come on."
"I don't play", I muttered, still sitting inside.
"You don't do a lot of things. That's why you need me,"she shot back, tugging open my door and grabbing my wrist before I could resist. "Now come."
Reluctantly, I followed. The grass felt soft beneath my boots, a sharp contrast to the concrete and dirt I was used to. Siya walked ahead, turning every few seconds to make sure I hadn't bolted.
She pointed toward a group of kids playing football. "Look at them, Swayam. They don't care about work. They're just… living. Laughing. Falling down, getting back up, fighting for a ball that has no meaning except fun. Isn't that crazy?"
I didn't answer. My eyes were fixed on the children—on their carefree movements, on the way their parents clapped from the sidelines. A strange tightness gripped my chest.
"You didn't know this, did you?"Siya asked quietly, her tone soft now.
I stiffened, caught off guard by her bluntness. "Doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
Those three words silenced me. She wasn't mocking. She wasn't pitying. She just… meant it.
We sat down on a bench under a large banyan tree. Siya tilted her head back, closing her eyes, breathing in the breeze. "This is my safe place. Whenever I feel low or stressed, I come here. It reminds me that the world is bigger than problems."
I watched her for a moment, the sunlight dancing across her face. She looked so at peace. I envied her again.
She peeked at me, grinning. "So? Do you like it? Or do I have to drag you onto the swings to prove my point?"
Despite myself, I smirked. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I would," she shot back, eyes gleaming.
And for the first time in a long while, sitting on that park bench with her, I didn't feel like an agent. I didn't feel like a weapon. I just felt… human.
Siya's POV
He sat so stiff on that bench, like the trees were watching him, like the grass itself might judge him. It was funny and sad at the same time. This was Swayam—the man who could probably stare down danger without blinking, but couldn't relax in a park.
I decided to fix that.
"Come on,"I said, hopping up.
He raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
I pointed toward the swings. "There."
His expression? Priceless. "No."
"Yes."
"Siya—"
"Don't 'Siya' me. You're coming." I tugged his arm before he could protest more. He resisted at first, but not too much. Deep down, he wanted to see what I would do.
We reached the swings, and I plopped myself onto one, motioning at the empty one beside me. "Sit."
He sighed, like a soldier surrendering. "This is ridiculous."
"Life is ridiculous. That's the point," I said, pushing myself lightly with my feet. The swing creaked, carrying me back and forth. The breeze brushed my hair, and I couldn't help but laugh.
He sat reluctantly, barely moving.
"Not like that! Come on, push yourself,"I teased.
He gave the ground a small shove. The swing moved an inch. I rolled my eyes. "Wow. So scary. The mighty Swayam, terrified of a swing set."
That earned me a glare. Then, without a word, he pushed harder, swinging back with a surprising force. The sight made me burst into laughter.
For a moment, just a moment, his lips curved too. A small smile, hidden quickly, but it was there.
I froze, staring at him. "You smiled."
He looked away. "No."
"Yes, you did." I leaned closer, grinning. "And it looked good on you."
His shoulders tensed, but he didn't push me away. Instead, he muttered, "You're impossible."
"Maybe," I said softly, "but you need impossible in your life."
He fell quiet after that, staring at the kids, the trees, the sky. I could almost hear the war in his head. So I asked gently, "Swayam… did you ever have a place like this growing up? Somewhere safe?"
His grip tightened on the swing's chain. He didn't answer right away. Then, finally, his voice came low, guarded. "No."
Just that. One word. But it was enough to tell me everything.
I didn't push further. Instead, I said, "Then maybe this can be yours too. Our park. Our safe place."
He glanced at me, startled. For a second, I thought he'd laugh it off. But he didn't. He just… looked at me, like he couldn't decide if I was crazy or the only person making sense in his world.
And in that silence, with the swings creaking and the breeze carrying children's laughter, I knew one thing for sure—his walls were cracking. Slowly, but surely.
The silence between us stretched, but it wasn't heavy anymore. It was softer, almost comfortable. Swayam kept glancing at me like he was trying to figure out what I was made of.
I decided not to let him retreat back into that cold shell.
"Stay here," I said, hopping off the swing.
He frowned. "Where are you going?"
"Secret mission," I winked and darted off before he could argue.
A few minutes later, I returned with two dripping cones of ice cream—one vanilla, one chocolate. I held the chocolate out to him. "Here. For surviving the terrifying swing."
He blinked at the cone, then at me. "I don't—"
"No excuses," I cut in, pressing it into his hand. "It's just ice cream. Not a bomb."
His lips twitched faintly at that, and after a moment, he took a careful bite. I watched his expression soften, just a little.
"Good, right?" I grinned, licking mine.
He nodded slowly, as if the taste brought back something long-buried. Then he murmured, almost to himself, "It's been… years."
I tilted my head. "Since you had ice cream?"
"Since I had… anything like this."His voice was quiet, almost fragile. "Something simple. Normal."
My chest tightened. For all his coldness, there was so much pain hidden underneath. I nudged his arm gently. "Then we'll make up for all the years you missed. Ice cream every week. Swings every month. Laughter every day."
He turned to look at me, and for the first time, his gaze didn't feel like steel. It felt… human. Vulnerable.
"You really think it's that easy?"he asked softly.
I smiled, my eyes never leaving his. "With the right people, yeah. It can be."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Just sat there, quietly finishing his ice cream, while I pretended not to notice how his eyes kept lingering on me—as if I was the one person he couldn't quite push away.
Swayam's POV
The chocolate ice cream was melting faster than I could eat it, the sweetness strange on my tongue. I hadn't tasted something like this in… years. I couldn't even remember the last time.
I shouldn't have let her drag me here. I shouldn't have let her sit beside me, swinging and laughing like I belonged here. But here I was, sitting with a girl who looked at me like I wasn't a weapon, like I wasn't someone built for killing.
Like I was… human.
Her words kept circling in my head. "Ice cream every week. Swings every month. Laughter every day."
As if life could really be that simple.
And yet, sitting here, I wanted to believe her.
"You know," I found myself saying, my voice low, almost foreign to my own ears, "I don't remember much of my childhood. Faces blur. Places blur. But…" I hesitated, eyes fixed on the children running across the grass. "What I do remember is silence. Empty rooms. Cold meals. No one calling my name. No one waiting."
The words spilled out before I could stop them. I'd never said this to anyone. Not even my team.
Siya didn't interrupt. She didn't pity me either. She just listened, her gaze soft, steady.
I let out a heavy breath. "I used to wonder what it feels like to have someone… someone who cares if you're alive or not. To laugh with. To fight with. To…" My voice trailed off, and I clenched the cone tighter, embarrassed by my own weakness.
But Siya only whispered, "You don't have to wonder anymore."
I looked at her then, really looked. Her innocence wasn't naïve—it was strong, stubborn. She believed in things I'd buried long ago. Family. Care. Belonging.
And for the first time in years, I felt the weight in my chest shift—lighter, fragile, almost dangerous.
"Why do you care so much?"I asked, the question slipping out sharper than I meant.
She smiled softly, her eyes glinting with warmth. "Because someone has to. And maybe… it was always meant to be me."
Something cracked inside me then. A barrier I had built brick by brick. And in that moment, with the breeze tugging at her hair and the taste of chocolate on my tongue, I realized—I wasn't just protecting her anymore.
She was starting to save me too.
Siya's POV
The park had grown quieter, the sun dipping lower, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet. Kids were being gathered by their parents, laughter fading into the hum of evening crickets. But we stayed there, side by side on the swings, wrapped in a silence that wasn't awkward anymore—it was… grounding.
Swayam's words lingered in the air. About silence. Empty rooms. No one waiting. My heart ached for him in a way I couldn't explain. He didn't deserve that loneliness. Not when he carried so much already.
I glanced at him. His profile was sharp, unreadable as always, but there was something different in his eyes now. Softer. Tired. Almost… breakable.
Without thinking too much, I let my hand slip from the swing's chain and reach across the space between us. My fingers brushed his, light as a whisper.
He stiffened instantly, like I'd triggered some hidden alarm in his mind. But I didn't pull back. Instead, I let my hand rest over his, warm, steady, gentle.
"You're not alone anymore,"I said softly.
For a long second, he didn't move. His hand was still tense, ready to pull away. But slowly—hesitantly—his fingers curled around mine. Not tightly, not fully, but enough. Enough to say he heard me. Enough to say he was letting me in.
The world around us blurred then. It was just the two of us, sitting on rusty swings in a fading park, holding onto a moment that felt fragile and unexplainably precious.
And when we finally stood to leave, he didn't let go.