The air in the city smelled different that morning.
Not of rain, not of dust—something else. Like a pause between breaths. The kind of stillness that comes right before something changes.
Aarav didn't notice it at first.
He was too busy washing the two mugs Anaya had left in the sink, humming a song he didn't remember knowing. She was still asleep, curled on the mattress like a question that hadn't been answered yet.
Aarav had begun to notice how often her sleep changed. Some nights she trembled. Others, she whispered someone's name—maybe her mother's. Maybe his. He never asked.
He just listened.
That morning, he poured tea quietly, not wanting to wake her. But just as he turned toward the living room—
A knock.
Sharp. Fast. Three times.
He froze.
Nobody knocked on his door. Not at that hour. Not in that building.
He glanced at the door, heart thudding with something he didn't want to name.
Anaya stirred.
The knock came again.
This time, heavier.
He stepped toward the door, barefoot, unsure why his hands were cold.
Anaya sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. "Who is it?"
"I don't know," he whispered.
He opened the door a crack.
A woman stood there. Mid-thirties. Wide eyes. Hair in a tight bun. She held a canvas bag and wore an expression that said she didn't come for tea.
"Are you Aarav Joshi?" she asked.
He blinked. "Yes?"
She held out a piece of paper. "I'm looking for someone. This girl. Her name is Anaya Varma."
His heart stopped.
Anaya's breath caught behind him.
Aarav didn't take the paper. He didn't need to. He already knew.
"I'm her sister," the woman said. "Please. Is she here?"
Aarav didn't move.
Anaya did.
She stepped forward, slowly, barefoot on the cold floor. Her eyes locked onto the woman's—no confusion, no hesitation. Just exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that comes not from lack of sleep, but from carrying history.
"Diya," Anaya said.
The woman's face cracked. "You remember."
Aarav stepped aside instinctively, unsure of his place in that moment. Diya stepped in, clutching her bag like it might anchor her to the ground.
"You cut your hair," she said softly, taking in Anaya's new look.
Anaya nodded once. "It was dirty."
Aarav wanted to intervene, soften the weight between them—but the room felt too fragile, too dense with memories he hadn't been part of.
Diya's eyes turned toward him. "You're the one she's staying with?"
He gave a small nod. "Aarav."
"Are you… together?"
Anaya answered before he could. "No. We're not."
It didn't sting. Not really. But something inside him shifted. A door closed just slightly.
Diya sat down on the edge of the couch, as if even furniture might reject her.
"I've been looking for you for months," she said. "Mom told me what happened. After… everything, I thought you'd gone to Lucknow. But then someone from college said they saw you at a hostel near here."
Anaya's voice was flat. "So you came to drag me back?"
"No," Diya said quickly. "I came to say sorry."
Anaya blinked. Slowly.
"For what?" she asked.
"For not believing you. For not seeing what he was doing to you. For letting our parents call you dramatic instead of broken."
Aarav turned his face, feeling like a witness to something sacred and ugly at the same time.
Anaya stared at her sister for a long time. "You said I was selfish. You said I ruined the family's reputation."
"I was wrong."
"You said if I left him, no one would marry me. That I'd be alone."
Diya's voice cracked. "I was scared. I didn't know any better."
Anaya's jaw clenched. Her hands shook. But she didn't cry.
Instead, she said, "You were the only one I wanted to believe me. And when you didn't… something broke. Not just inside me. In the way I see the world."
"I know."
"Then why now?"
Diya opened her bag and pulled out an envelope.
"I'm getting a divorce."
Anaya blinked.
"He hit me last Diwali," Diya said quietly. "In front of Ma. She told me to be patient. That he was drunk. That it was my fault for arguing."
Silence.
"I finally saw what you saw."
Anaya didn't speak.
"I don't expect forgiveness," Diya added. "I don't even deserve to see you again. But I couldn't move on until I told you… you were right. And I'm sorry I didn't stand beside you when it mattered."
The room felt suspended.
Anaya looked down at her bare feet. "You know what hurt the most?"
Diya looked up.
"That when I left, no one came to find me."
Diya's voice was small. "I didn't know where you went."
"You didn't try."
Diya nodded. "I didn't. I was a coward."
Aarav finally spoke. "You still came now."
Both sisters looked at him, startled.
And maybe it wasn't his place—but he kept going.
"People don't change overnight. But coming here... facing her after everything... that takes something. Pain, maybe. But also love."
Anaya turned her head away.
Diya stood up slowly. "I'll go."
"No," Anaya said.
Diya paused.
"You can stay for lunch," Anaya murmured.
Diya blinked in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"I didn't say I forgive you."
"I know."
"I just… I don't want to eat alone today."
They cooked together, awkwardly.
Anaya burned the chapati. Diya laughed softly. Aarav set three plates without being asked.
They didn't talk about the past. Or the ex. Or their mother.
They talked about the rain. The broken fan. The poetry notebook Anaya had started.
And for a moment—just one—the three of them looked like something resembling family.
After lunch, Diya helped wash the plates.
She didn't ask. She just started scrubbing, sleeves rolled up, like she used to back when they were both in school, fighting over who got the last gulab jamun on Sundays.
Anaya watched her for a long time. Not with judgment.
With distance.
Like she was trying to match this quiet, vulnerable woman with the sister who once slammed the bedroom door and called her "a disgrace."
When the dishes were done, Diya turned to her.
"I don't want to force my way back in," she said. "But if you ever want to talk, here's my number."
She slipped a small paper into Anaya's palm. No pressure. No hugs.
Just a thread.
Anaya didn't fold it away. She just looked at it.
Diya turned to Aarav. "Thank you for giving her a place to breathe."
Aarav nodded.
She hesitated. Then walked out.
No drama. No promises.
Just the soft click of the door closing behind a past that wasn't quite finished yet.
The house fell into silence again.
But it wasn't empty.
It was... paused.
Anaya stood in the middle of the room for a long time. Aarav didn't move, didn't speak. He just waited.
Eventually, she sat beside him.
And whispered, "Why does it feel harder to accept kindness than cruelty?"
He looked at her. "Because cruelty is familiar. And kindness asks you to believe you're worth saving."
She turned to him, eyes glossy. "And what if I don't believe it yet?"
"Then I'll believe it enough for both of us."
She didn't answer.
But she laid her head on his shoulder.
That night, she didn't draw.
She didn't write.
She just lay awake next to him on the floor mattress, watching the ceiling.
And whispered, "Did I change today?"
He thought for a moment.
"No. You didn't change."
Her brow furrowed.
"You returned to yourself," he said. "That's different."
And finally, finally—she smiled.