Third person's pov!

Siddharth Agnihotri sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on the photo frame resting on the bedside table. The photograph captured a moment frozen in time— a four year old himself and his twin sister, laughing at some long-forgotten joke, their faces mirroring each other in joy.

His fingers traced the outline of the frame, as if by touching the image he could somehow bring her closer.

A lump formed in his throat as memories flooded back—their shared childhood, the way they had always understood each other without words. She had been his other half. The bond between twins, it was said, was unbreakable. But then she had vanished, leaving behind only questions, grief, and an empty place in his heart.

The rest of his family had accepted the worst. Or maybe they haven't. They had grieved, held memorials, and moved on, each in their own way. But Siddhu—he couldn't let go. Something deep inside him refused to believe that she was truly gone. He could still feel her presence sometimes, like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts, as if she were out there somewhere, just beyond his reach.

His vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't cry often, not in front of others. He was always the jovial, fun loving guy in front of everyone. Everyone except his best friend. He likes it that way too, because if he becomes dull, the whole family would follow.

But here, alone with the photograph, the weight of his loss pressed down on him. He missed her so much. Every day felt incomplete, as if he were living only half a life. The world kept spinning, but his heart remained tethered to the past, waiting for a sign, for anything to tell him that she was still alive.

"Where are you?" He whispered, his voice breaking. "I know you are out there somewhere. I can feel it."

A soft warmth leaned against his shoulder, and he didn't need to look to know it was Drishti.The only person who had seen him cry. His best friend. She didn't say anything; she never did at times like this. Instead, she offered her silent, unwavering support, grounding him in the present even as his heart wandered back to the past.

Siddhu let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he leaned into her presence. He wasn't alone. Not entirely.

"Come, let's go out and get some fresh air." Drishti said and together they went out.

Siddhu sat on the porch steps, staring out into the fading evening light. The sounds of laughter and baby's soft coos drifted through the house, but they seemed distant, like an echo he couldn't quite reach. Drishti sat beside him, quiet but present, her comforting silence as familiar as the thoughts swirling in his head.

After a long pause, Siddhu finally spoke, his voice low and heavy with emotion.

"You know, Drishti... everyone's so happy these days. The house is full of life—Kriti's smiles, the new baby, the constant chatter, the laughter. It's like this... this pure joy all around. And I should feel it too. I do, sometimes. But then..." He trailed off, his hands gripping the edge of the step as if trying to steady himself.

Drishti glanced at him, waiting, knowing he needed time to find the words.

"There is still this gaping hole inside me," he continued, his voice softer now. "No matter how happy things get, no matter how much I smile or how much I try to be a part of it all... it's there. This emptiness. I miss her, Drishti. I miss my Shrey so damn much."

Drishti shifted slightly, leaning in closer, but she remained silent, letting him speak at his own pace.

"I look around, and everyone has moved on. Or maybe they are all pretending like they have moved on, like I do. That they have accepted that she is gone. But me? I can't. It's like... every day, I wake up hoping that she'll just walk through the door, like all these years were some mistake, some bad dream. I try to convince myself that I am being irrational, but a part of me, deep inside, knows she is still out there. I can't explain it, but it's like I can feel her... somewhere. And recently, it started to feel as though she is very close now." His voice cracked, and he looked down, swallowing hard.

Drishti reached over and gently placed her hand on his.

"You don't have to explain it to me, Siddhu. I understand." Her voice was soft but steady. He looked up at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"It's just... in the middle of all this happiness, I feel guilty. Guilty for not being able to fully be a part of it, guilty for still holding on to something no one else believes in."

Drishti gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"It's not about guilt, Siddhu. Everyone has their own way of dealing with loss. And you... you have hope. That's not something you need to apologise for. It's okay to feel both happiness and pain. It doesn't mean you're any less a part of the joy around you. And you are not the only one, Siddhu. Everyone in this family has that hope. That she is out there somewhere. The only thing is that nobody talks about it to each other out of fear of growing that hope and getting hurt again." He exhaled deeply, the weight of her words settling over him like a blanket.

"I just wish she were here to see all this... to be part of it all. I know she would have loved it. Loved them." Siddhu said and Drishti nodded, her eyes soft with understanding.

"She's still part of you, Siddhu. And until you find the answers you're searching for, I'll be right here, by your side. Always." Drishti vowed.

Siddhu looked at her, grateful for the silent, steady support she had always given him.

"Thank you, Drishti," he whispered, thankful for her rare show of maturity.

As Siddhu sat with Drishti, the silence between them comforting, they were interrupted by the soft patter of little feet approaching quickly. Before either of them could react, the door swung open, and out toddled Kriti, clutching her grandfather's specs tightly in her small hands.

"Dadu's!" She announced proudly, her tiny voice filled with excitement as she held the glasses up for them to see.

Siddhu's heart melted at the sight of her. Her wide eyes sparkled with pride, her chubby cheeks flushed from her little adventure. She was wearing one of her cute pink frocks, and her curls bounced as she hurried toward them.

Drishti chuckled, her serious expression lifting as she watched the little girl with amusement.

"Looks like someone's been on a mission." Drishti cooed.

"What do you have there, Kritu?" Siddhu grinned, kneeling down to be at eye level with Kriti.

Kriti's face beamed as she opened her hands carefully, revealing the specs.

"Dadu's glass!" she said, her words slightly jumbled but clear enough. "I found 'em!"

Siddhu gently took the specs from her tiny hands, pretending to inspect them as if they were the most important thing in the world. "Oh, wow! Thank you, Kriti! Dadu would've been lost without these."

Kriti giggled, clearly delighted with the praise, her little hands clapping together in excitement.

"Dadu sleepin', so I took it!" She confessed with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, making both Siddhu and Drishti laugh.

"You are such a clever girl," Drishti said, ruffling her hair gently.

Kriti, sensing her job was done, plopped herself down between Siddhu and Drishti, completely at ease, her head resting against Siddhu's knee. Siddhu looked down at her, his heart swelling with love for the little girl who brought so much joy into their lives. In moments like these, the heaviness in his heart eased just a little, the laughter of children filling the spaces where pain lingered.

"Come on," Siddhu said, picking Kriti up and swinging her gently into the air, earning more giggles. "Let's go give Dadu his specs back before he wakes up wondering who has taken them."

Kriti squealed happily, her arms flailing in joy as Siddhu carried her off to complete her mission.

A/N

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SF❤️