Arya's P.O.V.

In the pitch-black night, my heart's racing, a constant thud in my chest, pushing me through the twisting, shadowy halls of our house. The air is thick with tension, and the shifting moonlight plays tricks, casting eerie, dancing shapes that seem to taunt my desperate search. I bump into furniture, trip over things, but nothing can slow my determined quest. It's like a whirlwind of thoughts propelling me, ignoring the sting of splinters in my bare feet as I climb the stairs.

Then, deep into the night, I lose my balance and tumble down the steps. Pain shoots through my head when I hit the ground, but it's just a whisper in the chaos inside my head. I have to find her. I have to get to the terrace.

Finally, the terrace comes into view, and it reveals a scene straight out of my worst nightmares. Moonlight spills over the cracked tiles, uncovering a shadowy figure huddled in the far corner. Dread tightens my heart as I approach, each step heavy with a sense of impending doom. Time itself seems to slow down as I get closer.

My feet brush against something wet, warm, and slick on the ground. A shiver races down my spine. Panic surges as I reach down, my fingers returning stained with crimson, the metallic tang of blood clinging to the night air.

And there, in the dim light, I see her. Meghna, seated on the floor, her eyes vacant, distant. Her once-vibrant face now ashen, her lips parting in a silent scream. The blood surrounding her forms a grotesque halo, and I scream in anguish, my voice echoing through the night, a haunting chorus to the eerie stillness...

I awaken, drenched in sweat, my body drained, and trembling. The same relentless nightmare that has haunted me for three agonizing months persists, its grip unyielding. The memory remains as vivid as if it happened yesterday. Meghna's anguished face, the oppressive darkness of our home, the chilling sensation of blood underfoot, my own screams of desperation – they all linger as searing imprints on my soul.

I sit up, gasping for air, the nightmare's remnants clinging to my senses. The weight of it all is unbearable. Each night, I'm forced to relive the torment of that tragic night, unable to escape the overwhelming guilt and sorrow. The room is hushed, yet my heart continues to race, trapped in the relentless grip of haunting memories that have become my nocturnal companions.

In this unfamiliar room, which has become disconcertingly familiar over the past three months, I find myself engulfed in a somber atmosphere. The room's expanse, a stark contrast to my family's home, only intensifies the emptiness. Shadows, both eerie and persistent, seem to possess a life of their own, dancing across the room's expansive walls.

Dim moonlight filters through the room's grand windows, casting elongated shadows that stretch and coil, crafting eerie shapes on the floor. Heavy, dark curtains sway gently in the night breeze, adding to the aura of melancholy. The grandiose furniture, though impressive, appears out of place, serving as a constant reminder of my transformed reality.

The silence is oppressive, the room seemingly holding its breath as if mourning Meghna's absence. The furnishings' muted colors and the hushed sounds from the outside world contribute to my isolation. While the room was intended as a sanctuary, it continues to serve as a harsh reminder of my altered life. The shadows, like specters of my past, envelop my surroundings, casting a shroud of sadness that I can't escape.

As I rise from the vast, barren bed, the cold floor sends a shiver through my bare feet. The room, with its grandeur, feels more like a prison than a haven. A prison that mirrors the void that has engulfed my existence.

I make my way to the window, where a curtain, larger than life, drapes heavily before me. It seems to mirror the heaviness in my heart, and I pull it aside with trembling hands, allowing the window to expose me to the desolation outside.

The night, bathed in an eerie, moonlit glow, unfolds before me. I open the window, inviting the frigid breath of the night to permeate my solitude. The wind rushes in, bringing with it the isolating chill.

I gaze outside, hoping to find solace in the world beyond these walls. The street below appears as an eerie wasteland. Silent street lamps cast elongated shadows like sentinels guarding an abandoned kingdom. Desolate houses stand as quiet witnesses to the echoes of a life that once thrived but now survives only in memories.

The outside world reflects the void within me. It mirrors the emptiness left by Meghna's absence, underscoring that life has moved on, leaving me stranded in this cavernous room. The silence outside resonates with the silence in my heart. In this stillness, I confront the stark reality of my existence.

I cling to the window frame, seeking a glimmer of hope, a sign that life will one day regain its rhythm. Yet, I encounter only an unforgiving darkness, a darkness that mirrors the abyss within me. Amidst this bleak panorama, I feel more isolated than ever, a captive to my thoughts, my memories, my guilt.

And my own sister, imprisoned me in these haunting recollections. The weight of her absence presses on my chest, a ceaseless reminder of the love I couldn't protect, the voice I couldn't save.

I close my eyes for a moment, longing for this nightmare to dissolve when I open them. But when I do, the harsh reality remains unaltered. Meghna is gone, leaving behind an unfillable void. The world may move forward, but I'm frozen in time, ensnared by the prison of my grief.

It has been three months, three months since Meghna departed from my life, three months since I distanced myself from my own parents, three months since our laughter dissolved into a haunting silence.

Three months since the vivacious hues of our family home turned to somber shades, the walls burdened with unspoken sorrow.

Three months since I shouldered the guilt of whether I could have done more to shield her from the darkness that consumed her.

Three months since I've been tormented by the relentless nightmare of that fateful night, its vivid images seared into my soul, a perpetual torment in the darkness.

TThree months since I've awakened each morning to the painful reality of her absence, unable to be the protector she needed.

Three months since I've felt like a captive in the prison of my grief, unable to escape the grasp of sorrow threatening to engulf me.

Three months since I've longed for a sign that life will one day return to normal, yet the world outside remains a mute observer of my pain.

Three months since I've yearned for the impossible – to turn back time, to rewrite the tragic ending of our story, to rescue my sister from the abyss of despair.

Three months since I've navigated a turbulent sea of emotions, with no clear course, no end in sight, and no escape from the relentless "three months since."

I stand by the window, my fingers clutching the curtain as if it's my lifeline  to the world I once knew. The "three months since" weigh heavily on me, like an unbreakable chain. It's a ceaseless cycle of pain and remorse, a relentless reminder of my inability to rewrite the past.

Outside, life continues its course, ignorant of my suffering. The street remains deserted, the houses silent, the night still. I yearn to scream, to shatter the oppressive silence, to make the world understand the agony that has consumed me.

Yet, the sound sticks in my throat, stifled by the weight of my emotions. I turn away from the window, seeking refuge in the room's shadows. The darkness feels like a companion, an entity that comprehends the depths of my despair.

I lie down on the bed, my eyes fixed on the opulent ceiling, a stark contrast to the plain one I had back at our old home. But can I still call it home? Is it home when the people who drove my sister to such despair still reside there? The very same people who, in my eyes, are responsible for her tragic choice. This world, it was just too cruel for someone as gentle and loving as Meghna. I couldn't bear to be around those individuals any longer, and Raj understood that without me saying anything. He brought me here, to this refuge, his home, and it's been my sanctuary ever since.

But the thing that bothers me a bit, no, it infuriates me to my core, is that they didn't even try to stop me from leaving. Not that I'd stay in that house, not after what they allowed to happen. It's been three long, agonizing months since I sought refuge with Raj and his dad, and my family... especially my mother, she didn't even pick up the phone to call me once.

I can't help but seethe with anger and resentment. I'm not just mad at my family; I despise them for what they put Meghna through, for pushing her into that dark corner where she saw no way out. The guilt of not being there to protect my own sister is a weight I carry every single day, and their indifference only intensifies the torment.

Every night, I'm tormented by the haunting memories of that fateful night, the blood, the screams, the anguish, all etched into my soul. I thought they would feel the same pain, the same guilt, but it's as if they've chosen to forget, to move on. It's like Meghna was never there for them, or I'm invisible to them, or worse, an inconvenience.

Raj and his father have become my lifeline, my family in the truest sense. They've held me together when my own blood couldn't be bothered to reach out. And while their unwavering support has been a saving grace, I can't help but burn with a bitter sense of abandonment by my own flesh and blood.

I wanted to believe that blood was thicker than water, that family would always be there when you needed them. I once believed that family was everything, that they'd stand by you through thick and thin. But as the days turn into weeks and then into months, and as I sit in the shadows of this room, I am starting to wonder that I may never have truly known them. The depth of my disdain for them is immeasurable.

I'm not just grieving Meghna's loss; I'm grieving the loss of a family that seems to have chosen a different path, one that doesn't include me. In this room, in the stillness of the night, I grapple with the crushing weight of these emotions, the anger, the betrayal, and the sinking realization that I may never find the closure I so desperately yearn for.

I'm left with my own complex feelings, drowning in the darkness between a family that has become a stranger to me, and strangers that became a family.

The next morning, I grab my backpack and quietly slip out of the room. The sun is already casting its gentle morning glow, and as I step into the hallway, I can see sunlight pouring in through the enormous window in the kitchen. The rays create a dazzling reflection on the polished floor, a shimmering path to where Mr. Mehra is busy cooking breakfast.

His back is turned to me as he tends to the sizzling pots and pans, the kitchen filled with the inviting aroma of morning delights. Mr. Mehra, Raj's dad, is a warm and kind-hearted soul, always ready with a smile that can chase away the darkest of clouds.

As I enter the kitchen, he turns and greets me with that familiar, comforting smile. "Good morning, Arya," he says in his usual gentle tone, his eyes radiating warmth and concern.

Mr. Mehra's chuckle is warm and filled with fondness as he shakes his head in a playful manner. He points towards the table set for breakfast and says, "Grab your plate, Arya, and help yourself to some delicious breakfast."

I walk over to the table, and there, I find a tempting spread of golden-brown toast, glistening with a hint of butter, a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs with a sprinkle of herbs, and a bowl of fresh, juicy fruit salad with vibrant colors that seem to radiate positivity.

Raj and I have been best friends since fifth grade, and Mr. Mehra, always engrossed in his work and often traveling to various school branches in different cities, used to be a distant figure in my life. But these past three months, ever since he learned about my situation, he's been a constant presence, always checking if I'm okay and if I need anything.

Raj, looking a bit groggy, takes a seat at the table and mumbles a half-hearted, "Good morning, everyone."

Mr. Mehra raises an eyebrow and teases, "Well, well, someone finally decided to grace us with their presence. You know, Mr Prefect."

Raj, still half asleep, quips, "Well, Dad, you know how it is. I had to make sure Arya got her daily dose of sunshine and positivity first. Wouldn't want her to forget how radiant my presence is, now, would we?"

As I take a playful jab at Raj, my eyes twinkle mischievously. I lean in, grinning, and say, "Well, Raj, you might be radiant like the sun, but don't forget, even the brightest stars can't outshine a supernova. And you, my friend, are just a few cosmic explosions away from that!"

Raj's eyes widen in mock shock. He leans back in his chair, feigning surprise, and says with a smirk, "Whoa, Arya! I didn't know you knew those terms. When did you start paying attention in class? I must've missed that cosmic transformation!"

I know exactly why Raj is behaving this way; we've been best friends for so long, and I can read him like an open book. For the past few months, he's been making an effort to keep things light, always cracking jokes and doing his best to keep me distracted. He's careful not to mention Meghna or bring up anything related to my family. It's his way of trying to shield me from the pain and sorrow that's consumed my world.

Mr. Mehra joins us at the table, carrying a plate of breakfast for Raj. He sits down with his coffee mug and looks at Raj. "I've heard you're going to be the mentor for the teen talent at BFA Kotak. What's his name... Dev, right?" he asks.

I notice Raj's uneasy reaction to Dev's mention, and it's like a heavy silence has fallen over the table. I can see the hurt in his eyes, though he doesn't say a word. It's one of those unspoken chapters in our lives that I wish I could understand better. I've always known there was something between Raj and Dev, something that once connected them but now seems to be a source of pain for Raj. I wonder if this is one of the cosmic explosions he's trying to hide from me, and I can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity and concern.

He simply nods in response, his silence speaking volumes. I wish I could ask him more about it, dig deeper into his feelings, but I also understand that some wounds are better left untouched. Right now, we both have our share of pain and unanswered questions, and I don't want to add to Raj's burden.