Aarohi’s sleep was restless, as it always was when the nightmares came. The familiar scene began to unfold in her mind like a haunting replay of a film she could never escape.

She was in the backseat of the car, her head resting against the window. Her mother hummed softly to a song playing on the radio while her father drove, his focus sharp but calm.

Her father glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his brows furrowing in concern. “Aaru, everything okay?” he asked gently.

She had forced a small smile, nodding, but her throat felt tight. She wanted to tell him everything—about the fight, about how lost she felt without Shubman’s presence—but the words wouldn’t come.

The next moment happened too fast. The blinding headlights, the deafening honk, and then the screech of tires. The car spun violently, the sound of metal crushing and glass shattering filling the air. Aarohi felt her world turn upside down, literally.

When the car finally stopped moving, it was eerily silent. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She tried to move, but her body was pinned. The doors wouldn’t open, and the windows were cracked but sealed tight. The air felt heavy, suffocating, and panic set in as she gasped for breath.

Her father’s concerned eyes flashed in her memory. His last glance at her before everything went dark.

---

Aarohi jolted awake, her heart racing as if it would burst out of her chest. She was drenched in sweat, her breathing shallow and frantic. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, willing herself to calm down.

“It’s a dream,” she whispered to herself, though it felt far from it.

Her mind replayed the crash again and again, the suffocation, the fear. It was always the same nightmare, always the same helplessness.

After a few minutes, her breathing steadied, but the heaviness in her chest remained. She swung her legs off the bed and got up, knowing sleep wouldn’t return. Pulling on a light shawl, she stepped out of her room, seeking the solace of the night air.

The hotel’s garden was quiet and serene, the soft rustle of leaves and the distant sound of waves providing some comfort. Aarohi walked to a bench and sat down, staring at the sky.

The memories of the crash, of losing her father, were always harder to bear when she was alone. And tonight, they felt heavier than usual.

She thought back to Shubman, to how things had crumbled between them before her world fell apart. She hadn’t even realized how much she had leaned on him until he wasn’t there. Her father’s concern in his last moments echoed in her mind, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over her.

The nightmares, the claustrophobia, the weight of unresolved grief—all of it was her constant companion. But as she sat there, trying to steady herself, she realized she was tired of carrying it all alone.

For the first time in years, a small part of her wished she could confide in someone. And no matter how much she hated to admit it, that someone was still Shubman.