165
The sky wore mourning well.
Soft gray clouds drifted low, heavy with unshed rain, and a hush hung over the cemetery like a veil. The wind stirred just enough to rustle the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of lilies, soil, and something bittersweet, something that smelt like endings.
Yalda sat in the front row, wrapped in a black coat that swallowed her frame. Her hair was pinned back, her hands folded tight in her lap. She hadn't moved in over an hour. Barely blinked. She was still, so utterly still, as if the breath had been locked out of her chest and forgotten.
Around her, people shifted. Murmured. Sniffled softly. The priest spoke words of peace, of eternity, of letting go. Someone read a poem Alexander once liked. Someone else laid a rose near the casket.
But Yalda didn’t hear any of it. The world had gone muffled. As if she were underwater. As if she were made of glass and everything around her could shatter her if it leaned too close.
She didn’t cry. Couldn’t. Not yet.
She stared at the dark wood of the casket, the way the gold handles caught what little light the sky allowed. Her eyes burned, but her tears refused to fall.
She wasn’t ready. Not to say goodbye. Not to let him go. Not even to pretend. So she sat, stone-still, silent. Until they began to lower him.
That’s when it broke.
The pulley creaked. The coffin dipped. And something inside her cracked open. A sob, ragged and raw, clawed its way up her throat.
Her face crumpled. Her hands flew to her mouth. She bent forward, shoulders shaking, curling in on herself as if she could keep her heart from spilling out. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't control herself, she couldn't even remember how to breathe at the moment.
The guests looked on helplessly. Some wept for her. Some turned away, too hurt by her hurt to watch. Riley tried to reach for her but paused when Yalda pulled further inward, a quiet collapse no one could touch.
She made no sound, just trembled. Her grief was a storm behind her ribs. It had no shape, no rules. Only sharpness. Only silence that screamed.
Time passed. Or maybe it didn’t. But It was only when she slowly lifted her head that she saw him standing beneath the elm tree at the far edge of the gathering, separate from everyone else.
Tall. Unmoving. Dressed in a black coat. Hair slicked back from the wind. In his hands, a small bouquet of white lilies.
Ioannis. He hadn't changed at all, but then it had only been a month, but then, it felt like she hadn't seen him in years.
Her breath caught. Again. But differently this time.
He wasn’t close. He hadn’t come forward. He simply stood there, watching her with steady eyes that held presence and quiet understanding.
And then, he nodded. Just once. A single, deliberate gesture. One which said:
'I’m here. You’re not alone.'
That was all. He didn’t speak. He didn’t offer words she wouldn’t have heard. He didn’t cross the invisible line between them.
But something shifted.
Yalda blinked. The weight on her shoulders didn’t disappear, but it loosened.
Her spine straightened a little. Her fingers which had clenched into fists for days, slowly unfurled in her lap. She didn’t smile. Didn’t move. But she breathed. Deep and trembling.
She inhaled, and the air didn’t feel like knives. It just felt… cold, flat, but not as cruel as it was just a few moments ago.
Ioannis didn’t look away. Neither did she.
There was no fanfare. No dramatic music in the background. No cinematic rush of reunion. Only stillness. But in that stillness was something rare.
A whisper of future pressed into the bruises of the now.
He had come He had waited for her, he had come to support her, to piece her back together one more time. And somehow, that was everything.
The priest continued speaking behind her. More words. More prayers. But none of it reached her.
She and Ioannis remained locked in that silence, theirs alone.
Her grief didn’t leave her. It couldn't. But it no longer pressed her beneath the surface.
It stood beside her, like a old shadow. And across the way, so did he.
When the ceremony ended, people began to rise. Coats rustled. Shoes crunched over wet grass. Voices murmured in hushed tones.
But Yalda didn’t move. She sat still, letting the last of her tears dry against the wind.
When she finally turned to look again, he was gone.
The space where he’d stood remained empty. But something lingered. The memory of him. The weight of his gaze. The promise in that simple nod.
She stood slowly, arms wrapped around herself, and looked up at the sky. The clouds had begun to break, revealing the softest hint of pale gold behind them.
The sun wasn’t out. But it was trying. And for the first time in days, so was she.
"Sleep well. I'll always be yours." She breathed quietly as she glanced at Alexander's grave one last time.
Her gaze moved once more to the elm tree, at the lilies now laid gently at its roots, and then she turned toward the waiting car.
The end.
A/N
Thank you all for reading. I'm crying. It's been a hell of a ride. Please anticipate my next book. Ta-ta.
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