Your Smile

The room was silent, except for the slow drip of blood falling onto the cold tiled floor. Rian staggered back, staring at the knife in Meena's trembling hands. Her eyes were wide, brimming with tears and horror.

His hand reached for the wound on his stomach, warm crimson soaking through his shirt. He let out a shallow breath, and his thoughts began,

“Even though my breath is slipping away… even in this much pain… why does my heart feel peaceful?

Death is standing right in front of me, but why does it look so beautiful?

Her eyes are burned like the scorching sun… yet they shine like pearls hidden in the ocean.

Tears are flooding those eyes… and still, I don’t know why… but I feel happy.”

A faint smile curved on Rian’s lips; a twisted blend of love, pain, and strange peace. He looked at her and whispered softly, voice cracking with the weight of it:

“Even now… you’re beautiful. Even if you hate me… even after this… I still love you.”

Meena’s fingers loosened. The knife slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a cold clang, echoing through the silence like a final verdict. Her face pale with fear, confusion, and heartbreak. She took one step back… then another… and then she ran, not looking back even once. The door banged shut behind her, leaving behind a trail of fear, guilt… and him.

Rian stood there, unmoving for a second. Then his legs gave way beneath him. He slid down slowly, back pressing against the wall, blood painting the floor beneath.

His gaze drifted upward, To the ceiling he’d stared at countless nights, imagining futures with her. It looked the same… yet tonight, it felt like the end. A faint smile curled on his lips, laced with pain… but peaceful.

"So… our ‘happily ever after’… ends like this, huh?"

His vision blurred, breath grew shallow. But the smile never left.

The Start Of Happily Ever AFter:

It all began on a quiet afternoon at the city library. Meena sat by the corner window, a patch of sunlight spilling over the pages of her dog-eared poetry book. The world outside moved fast, cars honking, people rushing, but here, everything was still. She turned each page gently, as if not to disturb the silence wrapped around her.

That was the first time Rian saw her. He wasn’t looking for anyone. In fact, he never really believed in love the way people wrote about it. He used to laugh whenever he saw “happily ever after” at the end of a love story. But in that moment, a warmth he hadn’t known existed began to rise. Something about the way she sat, completely at peace with herself, softened something in him. He'd always seen the world through a sharp, logical lens; efficiency, facts, control. But this woman, lost in her book, stirred a kind of stillness in him he didn’t know he needed. He saw her again the next week. Same seat, same book.

A soft smile touched his lips as he took the seat across from her, not too close, just enough to watch her from the corner of his eye. And then again, the week after. They became unspoken regulars.

The first real conversation happened by accident. It was raining heavily outside. She stood near the exit, fumbling with her umbrella, clearly unsure whether to step into the storm. Without thinking, he walked up and offered, “Share mine?”

She looked surprised, hesitant. But then she nodded, and they walked together under his old black umbrella, water splashing around their feet. They didn't talk much, just enough. She was holding a book, “Emily Dickinson's Selected Poems”.

“She’s heavy on the heartbreak,” he said.

“Sometimes heartbreak writes the best poetry.” she replied with a small laugh. “Also... the warmest.”

After that, things changed. He started leaving handwritten notes in her returned books, quotes from poems, tiny observations, and gentle jokes. She would find them tucked between pages and smile to herself. And one day, she wrote back. In a crisp, folded note tucked inside the “Leaves of Grass” book, she scribbled:

"You look like someone who doesn't believe in poetry... but maybe you're just quiet about it."

That note sealed it. Their bond grew, slow and unhurried. Some days, they’d sit together reading in silence. Other days, they'd talk about random things like how she loved the smell of old pages, or how he always noticed birds perched on lamp posts. They once argued for an hour over whether the moon looked better when full or crescent. They had their places, too. A small café across the street. The dusty used bookstore near the metro station.

Meena, who had always lived cautiously, let herself feel safe for the first time. At the quiet park bench near the old fountain where she once leaned against his shoulder after a long day and said softly, “You make things feel... calmer.”

He didn’t say much that day. Their love wasn't loud. It was slow, ordinary, real. It was the kind of love that felt like home. Meena spoke more than she ever had with anyone before. She had once told him about her best friend, the one who stopped talking to her without a word.

“She just disappeared,” Meena had whispered one night, curled into his chest. “No explanation. No fight. Just silence. And for years, I kept wondering what I did wrong.”

Rian had simply listened, his fingers brushing through her hair in a steady rhythm, as if telling her: you never deserved that hurt.

Another time, over chai and rainlight pooling at the window, she told him about her high school English teacher.

“She told me I was too sensitive. Said I couldn’t think clearly because I felt too much,” Meena had said, her voice half-laughing, half-wounded. “Imagine being told that when you’re just twelve.”

Rian had looked at her for a long time then. He didn’t argue or offer advice. He just said, “Some people don’t deserve to shape children’s minds.”

She told him about the cousin who mocked her dreams, the colleague who made her doubt her worth. She spoke about the way her father’s silence hurt more than his anger. About the sleepless nights. The diary pages were filled with apologies she never owed to anyone.

And Rian… he listened. Not the way most people listen, waiting for their turn to speak.

No...

He listened like each word she uttered mattered. Like her pain had weight, and he was willing to carry some of it.

He never rushed her. Never told her to “move on.” He just sat with her, in silence, in a storm, in softness.

Those moments made Meena feel deeply safe, she hadn’t in years. Like for once, her past wasn’t something she had to hide or explain. With Rian, she felt understood without being pitied. Meena had always believed in moving on. She wasn’t the kind to hold grudges. She didn’t even realize when it happened, but one day she caught herself smiling at nothing… just thinking of him. And when she was with him, the world didn’t feel so sharp anymore.

For Rian, her presence was light. Blinding. So bright it hurt. She laughed like she hadn’t been broken. She trusted like she hadn’t been betrayed. And yet, when she looked at him, it was with no judgment. Just warmth. He didn’t know what “healing” looked like until he saw her bloom.

Weeks passed. Life moved. But strange things began to surface, like tiny cracks in an old painting. Her ex-best friend, the same one who disappeared, suddenly texted one day after years of silence.

“I’ve carried guilt for a long time. I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I hope you’re doing okay.”

The message left her stunned. She stared at it for minutes, unsure whether to smile or cry.

Then, after a few days, came the news of her old English teacher, the one who had embarrassed her in class. She was in the headlines, dismissed from her job after complaints from several students.

Karma, Meena thought.

When her cousin, the one who’d ridiculed her dreams, posted online about his house catching fire. Nothing fatal, but everything inside was damaged. Coincidence, she told herself again…

And then, the colleague who once belittled her during meetings resigned suddenly, following rumours of legal issues. The timing felt… off.

Meena started feeling the shift. It wasn’t just the coincidences. It was how precise they were. It was as if life had begun cleaning up her past. But it didn’t feel like healing, it felt surgical. Sharp. Intentional. She tried not to overthink it. But then one evening, while searching for her lost pen in Rian’s study drawer, she pulled open the wrong one.

A thick black notebook tumbled out.

She knelt to pick it up. The moment her eyes flicked over the pages; her world tilted.

Names.

Names she had uttered in fragile moments. People from her memories. Her pain. And beside some names, scribbled notes in a firm, familiar hand.

“Caused a breakdown at 15.”

“Mocked her poem in front of others.”

“She cried for hours after this call.”

“Unspoken trauma. Must carry weight.”

“Do not forgive. Remove.”

Page after page.

Cold. Calculated. Chilling.

And then, her father's name. Underlined.

“Said nothing even when she was breaking. Silence cuts deeper than anger. He should’ve spoken.”

Her hands trembled. Her throat went dry. The diary slid from her lap onto the floor, wide open. The dots began to connect.

This wasn’t fate.

This wasn’t karma.

Someone had been listening. Remembering. Acting.

And now, Meena’s heart whispered a question she was too afraid to finish: Was it Rian?

Maybe love for him, wasn’t about walking beside her.

Maybe it was about removing anything that dared to hurt her. He never told her that. But a quiet fury. A fire that flickered in silence inside him.

Every story she shared... became etched in his memory.

Every name, every face, every insult, carved like commandments in stone.

Rian still smiled the same. Still held her hand gently. Still looked at her like she was the only person in the room. But somewhere in the background of his calm eyes…

A darker devotion began to form.

The kind that doesn’t forget.

The kind that doesn’t forgive.

And Meena…

she had no idea what her love had awakened.

That night, he was late, and the house was unusually silent. Meena had woken up thirsty, her throat dry, and her thoughts tangled. She stepped out of bed and passed through the dim hallway when she noticed the basement door slightly open, light flickering from inside.

She moved closer, curious… And then she saw him. He was wrapping something heavy in a black tarp, his movements slow, practiced, eerily calm.

She froze. For a moment, her breath stopped. Her legs refused to move. Rian turned.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t panic.

He simply looked at her with a softness that made it worse. He stepped forward slowly, blood glistening on his skin like war paint. And then, in that same gentle voice she’d fallen for, he said,

“He made you cry last week. He shouldn’t have.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She turned and walked back up, numb, silent.

That night, sleep never came. She stared at the ceiling until morning light bled into the curtains. Her mind kept replaying that moment in the basement, the blood, the tarp, the way he said it so simply, like it was normal, like it was love.

For days, Meena said nothing. Rian, as always, was gentle. Loving. Soothing. But something inside her had shifted. The warmth she once felt around him had started to rot at the edges. She pulled away, subtly at first. She stopped texting back immediately. Told him she was tired when he tried to talk. She smiled less. Hugged shorter.

But Rian noticed.

He always notices.

That night, while they sat quietly on the balcony, he finally spoke. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?”

His voice was steady. There was no anger. Just… disappointment. Meena looked away.

“I only did what others were too weak to do,” he continued.

“I made your pain disappear.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head. “You don’t get to decide who lives or dies, Rian. That’s not love.”

“But I did it for you,” he whispered.

“For us.”

Meena broke. She cried, a deep, painful cry. Not just for what he had done… But for the boy who thought love meant burning the world down. He hugged her and comforted her in silence, even though he was the one who caused her pain.

One day, her phone rang. It was her mother, her voice shaking. Her father had been taken to the hospital. Meena rushed there, heart pounding. The police called it a hit-and-run, but a witness claimed it didn’t look like an accident… it felt intentional.

That evening, she stood in the bathroom for a long time. The water ran, cold and loud, as she stared at herself in the mirror. The sky outside their window burned in shades of gold and ash. Meena stood by the kitchen counter, staring blankly at the flickering light on the wall. Rian was in the hallway, talking about something mundane, something soft, like always. But not a single word reached her ears. His voice was distant, muffled. Like a radio playing behind a thick wall. Then he stopped and walked towards her. Touched her shoulder gently.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone full of concern.

Meena turned slowly. Her voice barely a whisper. “Was that you?”

Rian froze for a moment, he knew what she meant. He didn’t ask “what.” He didn’t pretend.

Instead, he looked at her for a long time, something unspoken lingering in his eyes. Then he smiled gently, like he always did.

“He hurt you,” he said.

“I made your world better, Meena,” he whispered. As if he truly believed it.

She stepped back, a tear rolling down her cheek. “No,” she said softly, voice trembling. “You filled it with fear.”

He stepped forward again, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, tucking his head against her neck like a child seeking warmth.

“I wanted to protect you,” he murmured.

“Your smile was the first light in my darkness, Meena. I couldn’t let anyone dim that.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t push him away. 

But her mind was screaming, and her heart was racing. Her fingers slowly slipped into her pocket and her palm wrapped around the knife she had hidden there. She gripped the handle tight. And in one sudden motion, she stabbed him.

The blade pierced through fabric, flesh, and bone and she dragged it sideways, deeper, wider. Blood soaked instantly into his shirt. He stumbled back, eyes wide but not surprised.

Rian looked at her not with hatred. Not even regret.  Just... love.

His voice came out broken but calm. “You did what you had to do… Just like I always did for you.”

The room was silent, except for the slow drip of blood falling onto the cold tiled floor. Rian staggered back, staring at the knife in Meena's trembling hands. Her eyes were wide, brimming with tears and horror. 

She expected rage. A scream. A plea. But Rian… smiled.

Blood trickling from the corner of his lips, eyes soft, as if she hadn’t just stabbed him, but kissed him instead. He looked at her like she was still his entire world. He said, “Even now… you’re beautiful. Even if you hate me… even after this… I still love you.”

The rain outside began to pour harder, like the sky had chosen to grieve with her. She didn’t know where to go. Her legs moved on their own, guided by instinct and fear. By the time her mind caught up, she was at her old rented room, the one she left months ago after moving in with Rian. She curled into the corner, knees to chest, her breath sharp and broken. Her body trembled, not from cold, but from the weight of what she had done. The look in his eyes haunted her. He didn’t scream. He didn’t stop her. He just smiled… and said, “I love you.”

It made her feel like she was the villain… like everything he did was somehow justified. She was the one who had been with him through everything. His gentle touch. His monstrous deeds. His love. His madness. Everything collided in her chest like thunder in a bottle.

“Miss Meena?”

Two officers stood outside, their expressions grave but cautious.

“We’re here about Rian.”

Of course. He had no one else. No family. No close friends. She was the only person tied to his life. The only one who ever saw his real face. Meena didn’t deny anything. 

She didn’t run. She simply nodded, her voice cracking like brittle glass. 

“I’ll tell you everything.”

By morning, the news had broken like a tidal wave:

“SHOCKING MURDER: Man Found Dead in Apartment — Hidden Violent Past Revealed”

“Who Was Rian? Friends in Shock After Truth Comes Out”

“She Loved a Stranger: Love Story Ends in Blood”

People couldn’t believe it.

“He was the nicest guy I knew,” said a colleague.

“He used to bring tea to all of us,” said a neighbor.

“He waited hours just to surprise her on her birthday,” said a friend.

No one had seen the other face. The darkness.

The possessiveness behind the poetry.

The cruelty is hidden behind his calm smile.

Only Meena knew. Only she had lived through the soft-spoken storm that wore love like a mask. And now, the world watched her, not as a murderer, but as a girl who fell in love with a man no one truly knew. A girl who walked into love barefoot and crawled out bloodstained.

Twisted fate, indeed.

One that would never be forgotten. As the headlines faded and the world moved on, Meena sat alone in her cell, staring at the tiny square of sky above.

She no longer cried. Not because the pain had lessened, but because some wounds don’t bleed anymore. They just settle, quietly… like ash after fire. 

She once believed love meant safety. That love healed. But Rian had loved her so deeply, he burned everything that ever hurt her... until she was left with nothing but the smoke.

And in the silence of that lonely room, her voice finally broke through in a whisper,

“He was my comfort… and my curse.”

Sometimes, monsters don’t hide in the dark. They sit beside you, hold your hand… and say they’d die for you. Some love stories end in truths too heavy to carry… and in scars that no one else can see.