The next morning, Mirha took her breakfast in silence and then returned to her chambers with nothing else to occupy her mind.
She sat at the small table and finally opened the wooden box.
It was full - dozens of letters, some addressed to Launi, some to her, and a few from her mother to him. Mirha decided to start with his letters to her mother.
She read them slowly. Vharin's handwriting was careful, almost awkward, as if he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He asked if she liked the flowers, if there was anything she wanted, if she would let him walk with her again. Mirha smiled softly to herself. He hadn't changed much.
Then she found one where Launi had written back, teasing him mercilessly for trying to cook and calling him a terrible cook who would poison anyone who ate his food. Mirha laughed quietly, the sound surprising even herself. She could hear her mother's voice so clearly in those words - sharp, fond, full of life.
As she continued reading her mother's letters, the voice in her head grew stronger. Launi had clearly been very fond of his attention, and Vharin had given it to her without hesitation. They sounded like Tando and Kiara - pure, kind, quietly devoted.
Mirha found the letter where Vharin explained himself after Launi discovered who he really was. She also found Launi's reply - the one where she forgave him and set her conditions. Mirha set that one aside, realizing it had been her mother's decision to keep her from knowing her father. Launi had done it to protect everyone - Hosha, Kanha, and Mirha - from the mess the adults had created. She had believed Mirha would be okay without knowing.
Mirha sighed and placed the letters down. To her left sat the untouched stack from Vharin addressed to her. It was clear they had never been opened.
She looked at them for a long time, then picked one up with trembling fingers and unfolded it.
"You were only hours old when I first held you, and I remember thinking-foolishly-that I could shield you from everything that might ever hurt you. You were so small in my arms that I could not tell where you ended and my fear began.
You were fussy as you grew, loud and certain in a way that made it impossible not to smile. I pretended to be stern, but I was never truly annoyed. I only wanted the world to be kinder to you than it has ever been to anyone.
Be gentle with your mother. She will never say it, but she carries more than she shows. And if she asks you to try something you dislike... do it anyway. I should not admit this, but I dislike ghee as well. Still, I ate it. Because love is sometimes small acts of surrender we do not complain about.
You once asked me if flowers could grow just for you. I told you they could. I promised you a garden of tulips in every shade I could find. That promise still exists somewhere, even if I am not the one to see it fulfilled.
All written sincerely,
Your father."
Mirha read the words again and again until the paper blurred. Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent at first, then faster. She cried for the man who had loved her from the shadows, for the mother who had tried to protect her from the complications of adult mistakes, and for the years they had all lost.
She got up, still crying, the delicate necklace Vharin had given her clutched in her hand, and left her chambers.
She walked through the gardens, wiping her tears as she went, until she reached the pavilion. Another bouquet of tulips waited there. She picked it up and continued deeper into the garden.
There, she found an actual field of tulips - rows upon rows of white and soft pink blooms swaying in the breeze. And in the middle of it stood Lord Vharin, quietly watering some of the flowers.
Mirha stopped at the edge of the garden. The sight broke something inside her.
"Papa..."
The word slipped out, small and broken.
Vharin heard her. He dropped the watering can with a clatter and turned. When he saw her standing there, tears streaming down her face, his own eyes filled.
He walked toward her quickly, then stopped a few steps away, unsure.
Mirha took the last few steps and broke down completely.
"Papa..." she sobbed, the sound raw and childlike.
Vharin couldn't hold back anymore. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, holding his daughter tightly for the first time in her life. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he whispered, voice thick with years of unspoken love,
"My child... my child its alright."
They stood there among the tulips, father and daughter finally together, the flowers swaying gently around them as if the garden itself was bearing witness to a long-delayed reunion.
---------->
Vharin led Mirha back to her chambers because the evening air had grown chilly. He held her hand the entire way, and Mirha clung to it tightly, using her free hand to wipe away fresh tears. With the height difference, she looked small and fragile beside him — like a little girl walking next to her father after a long, hard day.
When they entered her room, the letters were scattered everywhere across the table and floor. Vharin gently guided Mirha to sit on the bed, then began quietly tidying the papers without a word.
Mirha, who had been crying with her head down on the bed, lifted her gaze. Seeing her father carefully picking up the letters she had left in disarray made something inside her break again. She started crying even harder, shoulders shaking with silent, heaving sobs.
Vharin stopped immediately. He pulled a chair close to the bed, sat down, and took out his handkerchief. With gentle, patient hands, he wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, over and over, voice full of quiet concern.
Mirha couldn't answer. She just kept crying.
In Vharin's heart, it was a strange, painful mix — heartbroken to see his daughter cry so bitterly, yet quietly glad that he was finally here, able to take care of his baby girl, even if it was while she was being a complete crybaby.
He patiently held her hand. Mirha eventually lay back on the bed, still refusing to let go of his hand. Vharin simply scooted his chair closer so she could rest comfortably, watching over her as she slowly drifted into an exhausted sleep, fingers still curled around his.
A little while later, Ana walked in.
She looked at Mirha sleeping, gave a small, sad smile, then noticed the scattered letters on the floor. Without a word, she began helping to pick them up.
Vharin glanced up. "It's alright. I will do it."
Ana shook her head gently. "It's fine. I will. It seems like she won't let you go for a while," she said, nodding toward Mirha's tight grip on his hand.
Ana's eyes fell on one of the unopened letters addressed "To my second heart." She read the first few lines and her own eyes filled with tears.
"If she had read all of these… she would have died from a broken heart," she whispered.
Vharin glanced at the letters but said nothing.
Ana wiped her eyes. "I should apologize to her. She never saw her father because I wanted a perfect image."
Vharin remained quiet for a moment, then said softly, "It's all in the past."
Ana finished gathering the letters and stood, still wiping tears from her cheeks. She looked at Vharin with deep, complicated gratitude.
This man was too good for this world. He had taken care of Hosha knowing full well the boy wasn't his. He had raised Kanha with uncertainty about her paternity, yet loved both children as his own without hesitation. Ana would forever be grateful for his kindness and care.
"Vharin," she said quietly.
He looked up. "Yes?"
"Thank you," Ana whispered, voice thick with sadness and guilt — the look Vharin knew all too well.
Vharin gave her a small, gentle nod. "I love my children, Ana. Always have. Always will."
Ana wiped her tears again and said, "Of course."
She walked toward the door, then paused. "I will have them prepare food for Mirha and you. It will be here soon."
Vharin nodded.
Ana stepped into the hallway, the weight of old secrets settling on her shoulders. These were the truths only she and Vharin shared. And despite everything, she was deeply grateful to have had a friend like him in her life.