Arya's P.O.V.

As Raj meticulously places items into the shopping cart, the weight of his unspoken words hangs heavily between us. The air is thick with the palpable silence, and I trail behind him, trying to decipher the reasons behind his quiet demeanor. I refrain from probing any deeper or posing questions, sensing that Raj might tell his inner turmoil when he's ready or if he chooses to share at all. We all carry narratives beneath the facade of "I'm fine," concealing a complexity that challenges the notion of truly being fine. After all, who among us can genuinely claim to be fine?

He glances over his shoulder, a fleeting moment of eye contact that denies to reveal nothing. "Need anything?" he asks, his voice a mere whisper in the hushed grocery store atmosphere. I shake my head and he goes back to checking other items.

I absentmindedly pull out my phone, seeking solace in the scrolling abyss of social media. The vivid world on Instagram create a a little distraction from the quiet, muted world that envelops us. Among the hodgepodge of random cat snapshots and motivational quotes that actually makes me laugh now, there are also somber poems. These verses, once I used to make fun of, now bear a weight of familiarity, striking chords of emotions I used to overlook.

Then, like a cruel twist of fate, Asim's photo materializes on the screen. He's right there with Divya and the rest, frozen in a frame of life moving on. Life just goes on and on, no matter if you're ready or not, even if you're standing still, desperately wanting to hold onto it, stop it, grip it tight... it just keeps going.

My heart tightens as I gaze at the captured moment, a pang of nostalgia mixed with the ache of unresolved feelings.

It's been too damn long since we shared words, an eternity since Meghna stitched our lives together. Now, without her, those threads that held us? They're fraying, maybe not even there anymore, and if they are... hell, I'm not sure they were ever meant to keep us intertwined. Who the hell are we without Meghna? We weren't friends; we were just there so Meghna and Ahan could have their shot. But now, with Meghna gone, I'm left questioning—what the hell is left of us?

As Raj pushes his cart, we head to another aisle for more supplies. While we navigate the grocery store,  I absentmindedly scroll through Asim's profile, the digital gallery of his life unfolding before me. Pictures of him with his brother, candid moments with friends, snapshots from their study sessions, and casual hangs in cafes—a reel of shared memories. Each image feels like a drop of acid, a searing reminder of what once was.

I know the tragedy happened to me, not the entire world. I know the world won't pause, and maybe it shouldn't, but damn, it stings. Even after Meghna's death, the world remains unaffected, and it infuriates me. It's a maddening reality that life moves on, indifferent to the pain that still echoes within me.

The world continues its routine, oblivious to the gaping hole Meghna left behind. It's as if my sister's life, her struggles, and the turmoil within our family were just ripples in an indifferent ocean.

As I scroll through Asim's pictures, my fingers tense around the phone, nails digging into the surface as if trying to anchor myself in the sea of memories. The images hit me like a punch to the gut – Asim, smiling effortlessly, surrounded by friends, the living a life that refuses to stand still.

I clench my fists, feeling the weight of unfairness. The faces have smiles on them, people laughing at cafes, life moving on with normalcy, when my world has been shattered? It's a cruel paradox – the world carries on, and I'm left grappling with the shards of a broken reality.

Each photo is a dagger, thrust into the wound left by Meghna's absence. As I see him laughing with others, a surge of acid-like bitterness rises within me, burning through the facade of composure I've desperately clung to.

His laughter in those frozen moments mocks the silence that has settled in me. The contrast between his joy and my emptiness is a vivid, cruel reminder that life continues, indifferent to the storm that has ravaged my soul.

As Raj's voice breaks through the cocoon of my thoughts, I reluctantly lift my gaze from the phone, meeting his confused expression. His frown deepens, a silent inquiry etched on his face. "Okay, I'm done," he says, again.

I blink, the transition from the world within the screen to the reality around me disorienting. "Alright," I manage to respond, my voice devoid of the weight carried by my internal turmoil. Raj's brows knit in concern as he looks at me, sensing the subtle shift in my demeanor.

"Are you okay?" he asks, the words a soft echo in the quiet aisle. I attempt a smile, a feeble curve of lips that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "Are you okay?" I counter, a reflexive response laced with a hint of bitterness.

Raj remains silent, his eyes searching mine for clues. "Exactly," I mutter, a bitter laugh escaping as I turn away, the weight of unspoken emotions lingering in the air.

As I glare at the screen, a bitter chuckle escapes me – a hollow sound in the silent room. I know these feelings are irrational, a storm of emotions unleashed by my own wounded heart. I've lectured myself on the futility of resenting others for their happiness, for daring to enjoy life when mine lies shattered.

The rational part of me recognizes the absurdity. I know the world isn't obligated to halt its joy just because mine has crumbled. Happiness isn't a finite resource, and I've heard that life goes on even in the face of tragedy. Yet, the knowledge doesn't dull the ache, nor does it extinguish the flame of resentment burning within.

It's a war between reason and emotion, a battle I fight within the confines of my own mind. I scold myself for the pettiness of this jealousy, the absurdity of expecting the world to mourn in tandem with my grief. And yet, as each photo unfolds, capturing moments of laughter and camaraderie, that irrational part of me rebels, screaming at the injustice of it all.

I grip the phone tighter, a physical manifestation of my internal struggle. "Why?" I whisper, almost pleading with the images on the screen. The world's happiness seems like an affront, a betrayal to the pain that courses through my veins. But even as I acknowledge the folly of these sentiments, I can't silence the tumultuous emotions raging beneath the surface.

So, I continue to scroll, caught in the paradox of understanding the irrationality of my feelings yet unable to escape the gravitational pull of resentment. The clash between reason and emotion creates a discordant symphony, echoing the complexity of grief and the messy, unpredictable nature of healing.

In the hushed ambiance of the grocery store, Raj and I join the elongated queue at the billing counter. The rhythmic beeping of scanned items and the occasional rustle of bags being packed create a mundane symphony.

As we inch forward in the line, the distance between us and the cashier diminishes. The routine of everyday life unfolds around us – people chatting, the whir of the conveyor belt, the metallic clinks of coins exchanging hands.

I steal glances at Raj, his profile etched with concern. The subtle furrow in his brow speaks volumes, a testament to his awareness of the unspoken heaviness I carry.

As I glance at the screen again, a bitter chuckle escapes me – a hollow sound lost in the chaotic room. I know these feelings are irrational, a storm of emotions unleashed by my own wounded heart. I've lectured myself a thousand times on the futility of resenting others for their happiness, for daring to enjoy life when mine lies shattered.

The rational part of me recognizes the absurdity. I know the world isn't obligated to halt its joy just because mine has crumbled. Happiness isn't a finite resource, and I've heard that life goes on even in the face of tragedy. Yet, the knowledge doesn't dull the ache, nor does it extinguish the flame of resentment burning within.

It's a war between reason and emotion, a battle I fight within the confines of my own mind. I've scolded myself for the pettiness of this jealousy, the absurdity of expecting the world to mourn in tandem with my grief. And yet, every time I end up resenting the whole world.

As we approach the billing counter, the cashier, a girl with a practiced smile that doesn't reach her eyes, starts scanning our items without waiting for any reciprocal acknowledgment. I sigh, my gaze drifting from the mechanical transaction to the array of faces around us.

Tired expressions etch the faces of elderly individuals standing in the queue, weathered by the weight of time and routine. Couples, intertwined in the dance of shared responsibilities, navigate the aisles together. As the cashier continues her robotic scan, I observe parents, inattentively scolding their energetic kids running amok.

As we step out of the grocery store, the chilly breeze hits my face, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere within. The weight of the bags in my hands is a tangible reminder of mundane responsibilities in a world that seems anything but normal.

Raj leads the way, the cart clattering over the uneven pavement. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirping of birds create a backdrop to our quiet procession. I follow, lost in the rhythm of footsteps and the cadence of my thoughts.

As we approach the car, Raj takes the lead in opening the trunk. I mechanically start placing the bags, a robotic dance of routine. The metallic clinks and shuffles of groceries being loaded become a monotonous melody, drowning out the chaos in my mind.

Then, it happens. A sudden screech of brakes jolts me from the mundane tasks. I glance up, and my heart freezes in my chest. There it is – the grey car, halted at the other end of the parking lot. My breath catches, and for a moment, time seems to suspend.

I grip the edge of the trunk, the plastic bags forgotten in my hands.
Panic seizes my chest, a vice tightening around my heart. I feel the sudden rush of blood in my ears, drowning out the sounds of the mundane world around me.

The gates of the car swing open, revealing those two familiar faces I've known all my life. Faces that once held warmth and familiarity, now evoke a mix of emotions I can't quite articulate. I never expected to encounter them here, not now, not when I'm trying to navigate the shards of a fractured life without the burden of familial expectations.

My breath catches, and I feel the tremor in my hands, a subtle dance of anxiety that threatens to reveal the turmoil within. They step out of the car, oblivious to my presence, consumed by their own world of routines and responsibilities. My heart pounds against the cage of my ribs as I contemplate the dilemma unfolding before me.

Raj glances at me, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. "Arya, are you okay?"

I watch from a distance, my gaze fixed on their figures as they go about their tasks, unaware of the storm of emotions brewing within me. And I just nod.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to resume loading the groceries into the trunk.

The car doors close, sealing us within our own world. I steal one last glance at the fragments of a past that continue to haunt me. As we drive away, I exhale, a heavy sigh escaping like a prisoner tasting a fleeting moment of freedom.

As Raj glances at me from behind the wheel, concern etched across his face, his eyes attempt to offer solace. The rhythmic hum of the car engine becomes a dissonant melody, syncing with the pulse of my resentment. I stare blankly out of the window, the passing scenery a blur as my mind replays the images of Asim and Ahan in the grocery store parking lot.

Raj reaches out, his hand hovering in the air, unsure whether to touch my shoulder or let it linger. "Hey," he says softly, his voice a gentle current beneath the turbulent waves of my emotions.  "I'm here for you."

But in that moment, all I can think about is how much I hate them—their existence, their obliviousness to the shattered fragments of my soul scattered in the wake of Meghna's absence.

Raj's fingers find a hesitant place on my shoulder, a gentle reminder of his presence. "Arya," he repeats, "I can't change what happened, but just know, you're not alone. And I can't pretend to know what you're going through, Arya," he says softly, but the least I can do is to tell you that I'm here with you... for you, I can always listen, don't keep everything to you, Arya, please."

Raj's words are falling into my ears but they aren't reaching my head. Nothing reaches there anymore, my mind is now a movie screen where only one scene is played again and again, no matter how much I plead, that scene is never changed.

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms as if I can physically grasp the elusive fragments of my stolen self. The images of their mundane tasks, their routine existence, fuel the fire of my resentment. It's not just envy; it's a deep-seated anger for their unscathed lives.

"They stole a piece of my soul," I mutter, my voice barely audible above the road noise. "I'll never forgive them...That night...that night when I lost Meghna, I lost my parents too. They took something from me—something irreparable." The bitterness in my words hangs in the air, a heavy truth that I can't escape.

"They move on like nothing happened, like Meghna's absence is just a footnote in their lives," I continue, my gaze fixed on the passing world outside. "And here I am, carrying the weight of her memory, suffocating under the burden of loss they can never understand. She was their daughter!"

Raj's touch becomes more reassuring, a subtle warmth against the chill of my emotions.

Raj's attempt at comfort feels like a feeble breeze against the storm within me. I resist the urge to push him away, to shield myself from the empathy I neither want nor need.

"They killed her!" I say, the bitterness seeping into every word.

And now, they're living in their own bubble of normalcy, while I'm drowning in the echoes of that night.

The road stretches ahead, an endless path mirroring the ceaseless ache within my chest. I wish I could scream, release the pent-up fury that simmers beneath the surface. Instead, I remain silent, the weight of my emotions pressing down on me like an unrelenting force.