The morning after Nitya opened her eyes was filled with a soft golden light. The old haveli felt alive again, and Ayansh couldn't stop watching her—still weak, still healing—but awake, breathing, real.
His parents, who had been distant yet quietly hopeful all along, broke down when they saw her sitting up in bed.
His mother knelt beside her, tears spilling freely. "Beta," she whispered, her voice shaking, "you came back to us…"
Even his father, usually a man of few emotions, turned away to hide his tears. For the first time in years, the house felt like home again.
Nitya smiled softly at each of them, grateful—but her eyes often drifted to the window. It was clear she was thinking of something far away. Something unfinished.
For three days, she recovered. Quietly. Gracefully. But on the fourth morning, Ayansh awoke to find her gone.
No sound. No goodbye. Just an envelope and a wooden box placed neatly on his desk.
---
The Letter:
Ayansh,
I know this will hurt you. I'm sorry for leaving without telling you… but I had to. I can't hide forever. I need to go back—not because I trust them, but because I trust myself now.
I don't want to be afraid anymore. And to stop being afraid, I have to face them.
But before I left, I wanted to leave a part of me with you.
Open the box. And please… don't worry about me.
You were the one who found me when the world left me behind. That truth will never change.
– Nitya
Ayansh opened the box with shaky hands.
Inside were photographs—captured moments he hadn't even known existed. Some were recent: Nitya smiling faintly on the hospital bed, Ayansh sitting beside her in the garden, both of them feeding birds. There were pictures of shadows, reflections, silences that only she had noticed.
Beneath the photographs was a small notebook. A journal.
Every page was filled with her thoughts. About him.
His silence. His patience. His pain. His strange way of showing care. His anger. His laugh.
It wasn't just a diary. It was her heart, given to him in pages.
Ayansh sat in silence for hours, flipping through it. But something inside him stayed restless.
He couldn't just sit here.
He couldn't let her go alone.
He called Yug.
"You're going with her," Ayansh said, voice steady.
Yug blinked. "With Nitya? But... what if her family sees me?"
"They won't. They don't know you. You'll go as a houseworker, sent from the ashram or something. Just stay quiet. Stay close."
"What if she doesn't want me there?"
"She won't even know who sent you. Just say you're new help. But keep her safe."
Yug hesitated. "And if something goes wrong?"
Ayansh placed a hand on his shoulder. His voice softened. "Then call me. I'll always be near. I'm trusting you with her. Not just as her protector, but as my extension. You're not just going for her... you're going for me."
Yug nodded. There was no need for more words.
That evening, he left. Quietly. Blending into the background of a household that believed Nitya had returned alone.
And Nitya, now back in the house that had once broken her, sat in silence—stronger than before, but cautious. Watching. Listening.
But this time, she wasn't truly alone.