As the front door slams shut behind Aman, I feel the weight of the night pressing down on me. The dinner, the fight, the revelations—it's all too much. I can't let it end like this. I need to talk to him.

I slip out through the door into the garden. The garden lights cast a soft glow over the winter foliage, creating a peaceful yet haunting atmosphere. The night air is crisp, a gentle winter breeze rustling the leaves and carrying a silence that feels almost sacred.

"Aman!" I call out, my voice cutting through the stillness. "Aman, wait!"

He's almost at the fence gate when he finally stops. He doesn't turn around, but I can hear the pain and disappointment in his voice as he speaks, barely above a whisper. "You're also one of those people, you know? You're just like these rich folks who come into our lives when they have no one. They fill the void, use our company, and when that void is filled, they walk away."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "I never walked away, Aman. I was here before, too. I'm here still, and I promise I'll always be here, as long as you'll allow me, I'll be right here."

Slowly, he turns around to face me. His eyes lock onto mine, searching for something, perhaps the truth in my words. We stand there in silence, the garden lights casting shadows on his face. After what feels like an eternity, his gaze drops, and he looks down, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his emotions. Without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there in the cold, silent night.

...

As I open the front door, a wave of uncertainty washes over me. I'm not sure if I should be here, especially after everything that's just happened. Stepping inside, I see Mr. Mehra hunched over the dining table, tears streaming down his face. Raj stands nearby, his expression a mix of confusion and shock, still processing the revelation. They have their backs to me, and I hesitate, wondering if I should leave them alone to deal with this.

But I can't just leave Raj. What if he needs someone to talk to, someone to lean on? I linger in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Raj slowly approaches his father, pulling up a chair to sit next to him. Mr. Mehra's sobs fill the room, and my heart aches for both of them.

After a few moments, Mr. Mehra's voice breaks the silence. "When I was in college, I fell for this beautiful woman. She was my junior, and she just understood me. I was always under constant pressure from my family. My father never got me, made all my decisions—what I'd study, what I'd do, everything. But when I found her, I thought she'd be my life partner."

He pauses, his voice trembling with emotion. "A few years later, my dad found out about our relationship. When I went home for summer vacation, he got furious, made me drop out of college. I was scared, Raj. I wanted to stand up for myself and for her, but I couldn't. I thought, who am I right now? I don't have a job, how can I build a future? Maybe she deserves better... so I never contacted her. I moved on."

Mr. Mehra's tears flow freely now, and Raj reaches out to hold his father's hand. "That same year, my parents made me marry your mother. She was an angel, Raj. She gave me the most beautiful moments of my life, memories that kept me sane, and the most precious gift of all—you. You're just like her, Raj. The gentleness, kindness, confidence, and strength you carry all came from her because your father was never like that."

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Your mother became my best friend. I told her everything, and she understood. She changed me for the better, but she left me too, and now I see it was karma. Last year, during the annual function, I met Aman's mother. Everything hit me—she was pregnant when I left her. She led a life like that because of me. I had promised to marry her, to fight for her, and she kept waiting."

Raj squeezes his father's hand tighter.

"I just want her to forgive me, Raj. I want to take care of Aman, to be the father I should have been. But now, I don't know if that's even possible."

I stand frozen in the doorway, torn between the urge to run and the need to stay. Mr. Mehra's sobs echo through the room, his anguish palpable. Raj raises his hand, hesitating, before abruptly turning and walking upstairs. He leaves his father behind, still weeping at the dining table. I glance at Mr. Mehra, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Should I leave them to process this alone? Or does Raj need someone right now?

I decide in a heartbeat, following Raj upstairs. The door to his room is ajar, and I peek inside. The room is dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the garden lights outside and the moonlight spilling through the large window. Raj sits on his bed, his face buried in his hands. I approach him slowly, my footsteps barely making a sound on the carpet.

I hesitate, wondering if Raj needs solitude or comfort. My heart aches for him, but I don't want to intrude. Just as I decide to leave, Raj looks up, his eyes meeting mine. The raw pain in his gaze strikes a chord deep within me, and I quickly move to his side, wrapping my arms around him.

He doesn't cry, but I can feel the tension in his body, his Adam's apple struggling to move as he swallows hard. The room is silent except for our breathing, and the warmth of the hug seems to create a small cocoon of solace amid the chaos. I hold him tighter, wishing I could take away his pain, replace it with the comfort of my presence.

"Dev..." Raj's voice is barely a whisper, filled with unspoken emotion.

"I'm here," I murmur, my voice steady. "I'm here, Raj."

We stay like that for what feels like hours, the outside world forgotten. And then Raj breaks the silence.

"I don't even know what I should feel right now," he says, his voice trembling. "I feel sad, I feel betrayed. I know it's not my dad's fault. He didn't know Aman's mom was pregnant, but I still feel like he betrayed my mother. I can't shake that feeling." He pulls back slightly, looking into my eyes.

"I know he didn't mean to, but he betrayed her. And now, when he keeps going back to Aman's mother, trying to take responsibility for Aman, I feel like he's betraying her all over again. I know she's gone, I know he's allowed to make his own decisions, but it hurts."

I nod, my heart aching for him. "Raj, it's okay to feel all of that. It's a lot to take in."

Raj nestles his head against my chest, and I plant soft kisses on his hair. Holding him close, I rest my cheek atop his head. All I want is for Raj to have nothing but sunshine and smiles; I wish I could sweep away all his dark thoughts and lonely nights, replacing them with the warmth and brightness of day. If only I could carry it all for him. He doesn't deserve to go through this.

...

Arya P.O.V

It's strange how things that have been so normal all your life suddenly become so difficult to grasp. And then you start feeling like maybe they were special all along, and you've been wrong to treat them so casually. Talking to you is one of those things, Meghna. You were always there, part of the backdrop of my life, and I never thought twice about it.

I keep thinking about your birthdays. You'd be so bossy, making everyone run around just to make you feel like the queen of the day. Mom would go absolutely crazy for her little princess, cooking up all your favorite dishes. Dad would always come home early, carrying a cake, and they'd both lose their minds over buying you the perfect dress. And me? I spent the whole day whining about having to decorate the house for you. It was normal, nothing special.

But now, it's not normal anymore. It's your birthday, and all I can do is sit here by the lake, right where we cremated you, trying to feel close to you. The sun's going down behind the trees, and I'm just sitting here, wishing I could hear you boss me around one more time. How I'd give anything to hear your annoying voice "Mom, Arya is not listening to me, tell her to put those lights, near the door too" one more time, to see Mom's frantic excitement, to complain about hanging up those stupid decorations.

It wasn't just normal, Meghna. It was special. And now it's gone.

Remember that time when you made me stay up the whole night for the movie? Yes, it was the night before your sixteenth birthday. You insisted on watching that sappy romance, and I pretended to hate it. But, honestly, I loved it because you were there, making sarcastic comments and throwing hands at the laptop screen. It was our thing. 

 And now, I can't even sit through a movie without feeling this huge, gaping hole. I tried watching that same movie last night, thinking it might help, but I ended up sobbing like a baby. God, I miss you. I miss your laugh, your stupid jokes, your way of making everything feel like an adventure.

I wonder if you knew how much you meant to me. I always figured we'd have time, you know? Time to fight and make up, to laugh and cry, to just be sisters. I thought I'd have time to tell you how much I looked up to you, how much I needed you. But time ran out, and I didn't get to say any of that. 

 I'm so angry, Meghna. Angry at Mom and Dad, at the world, and angry at myself for not protecting you. I should've done more. I should've been there for you, fought harder for you. Instead, I'm here, talking to the wind, hoping somehow you can hear me.

The sky's turning this deep shade of orange, and it reminds me of that dress you loved. The one with the tiny flowers that you said made you feel like a princess. I hated it back then, thought it was too girly. Now I'd give anything to see you twirl around in it one more time.I'm trying to be strong, to keep going like you would want me to. But it's so damn hard, Meghna. Every day feels like a battle, and I'm not sure I'm winning.

The evening breeze whispers against my face as I slide a bit further on the smooth rock, my bare feet dipping into the cool water of the lake. Each ripple sends a shiver up my spine, but it's a welcome sensation amidst the numbness in my heart. I've been here so many times lately, seeking solace in the quiet solitude by the water's edge.

Suddenly, a presence approaches from behind. I stiffen, turning slowly to see Ahan standing there, clad in his usual coat and pants, as though he's come straight from the college. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, we simply stare at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

Then I notice the white roses in his hands—Meghna's favorite flowers.

He takes off his shoes with deliberate care, placing them next to mine on the grass before stepping into the water beside me. The chill seems to jolt him momentarily, but he doesn't flinch as he releases the roses into the gentle current.

I watch as they float away, their petals bobbing softly on the surface. Ahan's gaze remains fixed on them, lost in thought, perhaps reflecting on memories of Meghna that still haunt us both. Memories...yes that's all what we both have now, Meghna. You didn't leave anything else for me to cling to.

We look at each other, our eyes saying everything words couldn't. Both of us know what today is, why we're here. He moves to climb onto the rock beside me, his movements tentative yet determined, like he's treading on fragile ground. Ahan sits down, staring at the lake, which now mirrors the purple hues of the clouds above.

The silence stretches, comfortable yet heavy, until he finally speaks.

"Meghna hated her birthdays, you know."

I blink, taken aback. "What? No, she loves them."

Ahan shakes his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. "No, she loved them because you hated them even more."

I think about it for a while, and yeah, that sounds like Meghna. Loving something just because it would annoy the hell out of me. That was her way. Ahan continues, his smile distant, eyes lost in a memory.

"She would have a full-on meltdown on her birthdays, complaining that she was getting older. I'd tell her it was nothing, that she was still in her early twenties, but she didn't want to hear it. I guess she didn't want to get older because she knew... if she did, she'd have to get married..."

His smile fades, the light in his eyes dimming.

I stare at the lake, the water now reflecting the deepening twilight, and let his words sink in. Meghna's fear of getting older, of being forced into a life she didn't want, makes my heart ache even more. I can almost hear her voice, the exasperation mixed with a touch of defiance, as she ranted about another birthday.

"She never told me that," I whisper, feeling a fresh wave of guilt. "I thought she was just being dramatic."

"She didn't want to burden you," Ahan says softly. "She always tried to protect you, even if it meant keeping things to herself."

I feel a lump form in my throat. Meghna, always the protector, even when she was the one who needed saving.

"You know," I say after a while, my voice barely above a whisper, "I would've done anything to make her happy. If only I had known what..."

Ahan places a hand on my shoulder, a gesture of shared pain and understanding. "We all would have. But she didn't want us to carry that weight."

I nod, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. "She always wanted to live life on her own terms, not by anyone else's rules."

Ahan sighs, his gaze still fixed on the shimmering lake. "We both loved her for that. She was fearless in her own way, but sometimes, that fearlessness came with a price."

I reach out, placing a hand on Ahan's. "She loved you, Ahan. More than anything."

He squeezes my hand, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I know. And I loved her. But sometimes, love isn't enough to save someone from their own demons."

Ahan continues to gaze at the lake, the colors shifting as the sun dips lower. After a while, he turns to me, a softness in his eyes that I hadn't seen before.

"Meghna wanted to become a professor, you know."

I look at him, surprised. "What? She never told me that."

Ahan nods, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, she had dreams of teaching, of shaping young minds. But then she decided she'd get any job after graduation and wouldn't wait until post-graduation."

I shake my head, feeling a pang of guilt. "She never discussed her career with me. I had no idea."

Ahan's expression grows more serious. "Do you know why she made that decision?"

I shake my head again, the confusion evident on my face.

"Because she wanted to give you freedom," Ahan says gently. "She knew that if you stayed with your parents, you'd never be able to chase your dreams. You'd be forced to do something you didn't like, something that didn't make you happy. She wanted you to live the life you always wanted, Arya. She wanted you to be happy."

"She admired you so much," Ahan continues, his voice tender. "Your courage, your strength, your talent. She wanted to make sure you had the chance to be everything you could be. She loved you more than anything."

I can't hold back the tears anymore. They stream down my face as I look at Ahan, the weight of Meghna's sacrifice settling heavily on my shoulders. She had given up so much for me, had fought for my freedom in ways I never even realized.

"She really loved you," Ahan whispers, his own eyes glistening. "More than you'll ever know."

I take a deep breath. "I wish I could tell her thank you. I wish I could tell her how much I loved her too."

"She knew, Arya. She always knew."

Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and uncontrollable, and I cover my face with my hands, feeling the sobs wrack my body. Ahan shifts closer, his hand resting on my shoulder, but I can't stop.

"I should have done something," I choke out between sobs. "Anything. I should have fought harder for her."

Ahan squeezes my shoulder gently. "Arya, you can't blame yourself—"

"No!" I cut him off, my voice rising. "I should have told Dad to shut his shit. I should have screamed at him to let her live her life, to let her be happy. I should have told Mom to do something, anything. She just stood there, silent, never standing up for Meghna."

"Arya—"

"And those boys," I continue, my voice breaking. "I should have told their family to get the fuck out of our house. I should have done more, anything, to save her. Maybe she'd still be alive if I had."

The tears keep coming, and I feel like I'm drowning in them, in my guilt, in my regret. Ahan turns to face me, his eyes filled with sorrow and understanding.

"Arya, listen to me," he says softly, his voice steady. "You can't blame yourself for what happened. Meghna... she made her own choices. She was strong and independent, just like you. She didn't want you to carry the weight of her struggles."

"But I should have known!" I cry out. "I should have been there for her. I was her sister. I should have protected her."

"You did the best you could," Ahan says firmly. "Meghna didn't want you to sacrifice your life for hers. She loved you too much for that."

I shake my head, the tears blurring my vision. "But it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough."

Ahan's grip on my shoulder tightens. "You were everything to her, Arya. She admired you, your strength, your courage. She didn't want you to fight her battles. She wanted you to live your life, to be happy. Blaming yourself won't bring her back."

"I miss her so much," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I don't know how to go on without her."

Ahan pulls me into a hug, and I cling to him, letting the sobs wrack my body. He holds me tightly, his own tears mingling with mine.

"I know," he says softly. "I miss her too. But we have to keep going, for her. We have to live the life she wanted us to live."

I bury my face in his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace. The pain is still there, sharp and relentless, but Ahan's words give me a glimmer of hope. Meghna wouldn't want me to drown in guilt and regret. She'd want me to fight, to live, to be happy. But I don't even know how to begin. I don't know where my life stands right now. Everything feels uncertain and fragile. I'm living with Raj's family, but how long can I stay there? What happens after that? Where do I go?

Everything feels uncertain, like I'm standing on shifting sands with no solid ground in sight. How long can I rely on Raj and his family's kindness? How long until I have to face the reality of rebuilding a life without Meghna, without the family I once knew?

I wish I had answers, a roadmap for the future that didn't feel so daunting. But right now, all I have are questions, doubts that gnaw at my resolve.