The Right Wrong Number✨

♡ Chapter - 26 ♡

She looked at herself in the mirror and smirked faintly. Exhausted? Yes. Emotionally drained? Absolutely. But defeated? Not a chance.

With a yawn, she returned to her bed, lifting the laptop gently from her side table where their call still continued. The screen glowed soft blue, casting long shadows on the sheets as she pulled it onto her lap.

And there he was—Arjun.

Fast asleep. His head resting on one side of the pillow, strands of messy hair falling over his forehead. The crease on his brows had softened a little, lips slightly parted, and for once, he looked... peaceful. Almost boyish.

But Mira knew better.

She knew that behind those closed eyelids were flashes of headlines, pressure, the weight of expectations unspoken. She knew that even in sleep, he fought off the noise.

Her fingers grazed the edge of the screen.

"Arjun," she whispered, her voice barely above the hush of her ceiling fan. "I know you can't hear me right now. Maybe that's why I'm saying all this now..."

She leaned in a little, lips ghosting the screen gently, a small kiss on the digital version of him. It was silly, she knew. But it didn't feel silly at all.

"I don't know what tomorrow holds for you. For your dreams, for your game, for your family... for us." Her voice cracked a little on the last word, but she smiled through it. "But whatever happens, I'll be there. Jaise bhi ho, jitne bhi tukde ho tumhare andar ke... I'll be there with a glue gun and some glitter, because basic doesn't suit either of us, Arjun."

He shifted slightly in his sleep, as if some part of him heard her, felt her.

Mira's eyes softened as she watched him—this boy who tried to hide pain behind silence, who fought storms behind tired eyes, who still chose to try.

She carefully placed the laptop on the pillow in front of her, adjusting the angle so his face was the last thing she'd see before falling asleep. Then she lay on her side, arms tucked under her cheek, knees curled slightly inward. She exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that came not with exhaustion, but quiet resolution.

And then, as her eyes fluttered closed, a calmness settled in her chest.

Tonight, she wasn't falling asleep to the sound of loneliness.
Tonight, she had a screen, a face, a purpose.
And even though the night held its weight, for once, sleep came easy.

Because love—real love—doesn't always scream declarations.

⋆˙⟡

The morning sunlight tiptoed into Mira's room through the thin slit between her curtains, painting golden stripes across her off-white walls and the cozy mess of her bed. But Mira didn't budge. Not yet.

Her face was half-buried into her pillow, arms curled close to her chest, one leg sticking out of the blanket like a lazy rebellion. The other was tangled hopelessly in the soft sheets that smelled faintly of her lavender body mist.

She groaned softly and pulled the blanket tighter around her, burrowing further as if sleep might magically rewind back to last night. That half-dream state where nothing made sense, and everything still felt safe.

A sleepy smile tugged at her lips.

She remembered the night—the way his face looked peaceful on her screen, the things she whispered to him when he couldn't hear her, and that feeling... like even the silence between them had been full of unspoken promises.

Her fingers blindly fumbled around for her laptop. Still wrapped in sleep's warm haze, she blinked one eye open and reached forward to check on him.

But the screen was dark.

She frowned, blinking harder. Sat up slightly. Tapped a key.

The call was... disconnected.

Her heart sank just a little. "Oh," she muttered under her breath.

She sat upright slowly, dragging her hair back with both hands as if that could iron out the disappointment knotting her chest. Her long strands tumbled around her shoulders like a sleepy lioness just rolling out of a cave. Sleep-mussed and hopelessly tangled.

Mira ran her fingers through the mess with a groan. "Great. First the tangled dreams and now tangled hair."

Then her eyes flicked to the bedside clock.

9:37 AM.

She blinked twice.

And then sighed dramatically in relief.

"Thank God," she mumbled, placing a hand on her chest with faux drama. "Chalo boss is thoda insaan. Work from home chal raha hai roz office mein jaate jaate meri arthi nikal jaati..."

(At least the office boss has some humanity. He agreed to work from home. Otherwise I would have been taken to the office every day by my funeral procession.)

She sat cross-legged now, the blanket pooling at her waist. She reached for her phone, which was upside down on the side table, its pink cover slightly askew like the rest of her.

The moment the screen lit up, a small, involuntary smile spread across her face.

Her wallpaper—a carefully made collage—welcomed her.

There she was, arms thrown around Arjun in one of their rare, blurry selfies where he was smiling that real smile—the dimple one. Another of him and his mother laughing in the kitchen, Mira photobombing in the background with a spoon held like a mic. One with her own mother in their balcony garden, another unexpectedly with her... dad. An old picture with her brother in a car, both wearing sunglasses and pulling ridiculous faces. She misses him. A lot.

And right at the corner, her favorite—

Shaanti.

Her loyal Activa. Helmet tilted like a crown.

"Drama queen, meet drama machine," Mira mumbled with a grin. "What would I even do without you all?"

The collage felt like home—moments frozen in a mosaic that reminded her of everything still worth holding on to.

She unlocked the phone with a swipe, and Instagram opened automatically—right where she had left it last night.

The posts. The captions. The ripple of hope she'd tried to send out into the universe for Arjun.

Notifications were pouring in.

Follows. Messages. Reposts.

Each post gained quiet traction.

Not viral.

But consistent.

Comments began appearing.

"Where is he now? Hope he's okay."

"Miss watching him play."

"This account is such a beautiful tribute."

"We're still rooting for him."

"Whoever's running this, thank you."

She didn't respond.

She just posted.
Quietly. Regularly.
Every memory. Every ache. Every hope.

She kept it a secret even from him.

Because some support doesn't need to be loud.
Some love doesn't ask for credit.

It simply stays.

•ᴗ•

Author's Note:
Kabhi-kabhi subah chai se nahi, kisi ki yaadon se hoti hai.
Mira ka safar jaari hai... dheere, par thehra hua sa.
Shukriya, saath banaye rakhne ke liye. Milte hain next chapter mein. 
Comments toh abhi bhi nhi karte😔... Just type a emoji guys jo relevant ho.

-Akshh🌿