The city unfolded beneath a cloudy afternoon sky, pale and blurred through the windows of the bus as it eased into the capital terminal. Buildings scraped the sky, glass and steel towering over the tired countryside the siblings had left behind. Anika sat in silence, eyes unfocused. Aadhi sat beside her, restless but quiet. When the bus came to a stop, she didn't move until he spoke.
"We're here."
She nodded faintly, adjusting the strap of her simple cloth bag. Her white salwar kameez looked almost too clean for a day of travel. Not extravagant, just… untouched. Neat, pressed, crisp—like a page no one had dared to write on. The scarf around her neck was pinned in place, her wrists were hidden beneath her long sleeves, and even her shoes looked unlived-in.
Vikram was waiting just outside the terminal, leaning casually against his bike, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cold can of soda. He was tall, lean, and dressed in a black t-shirt, cargo pants, and a half-zipped jacket despite the weather. His dark hair curled a bit near the ends. Earbuds hung from his neck.
He spotted Aadhi first and gave a lazy wave.
Aadhi walked ahead, dragging his battered suitcase behind him. Anika followed silently, two steps behind.
"Vikram!" Aadhi called.
"Man," Vikram said, giving him a half-hug. "You look worse than your luggage."
"Long ride." Aadhi chuckled, but there was weariness behind it. "This is my sister. Anika."
Vikram's eyes flicked to the girl in white.
She looked up briefly—just enough to acknowledge him with the faintest nod—then lowered her gaze again.
"She doesn't talk much," Aadhi added quickly.
Vikram didn't respond to that. He gave her a slight nod back. "Cool."
No forced friendliness. No questions.
He picked up one of the bags with ease and motioned toward the bike parked next to a black hatchback car.
"Car's over there. Let's go."
The drive through the capital was smooth. The air was thicker here, laced with the scent of fuel, street food, and the hum of a thousand lives overlapping. Buildings stretched upward like they were competing for sky.
Vikram drove with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose despite the gray sky. Music played softly—something instrumental, calm. Not a single word passed between the three for several minutes.
Anika sat in the back seat, face turned toward the window, though her reflection showed no flicker of curiosity. No awe. No nerves. Just… stillness.
Vikram noticed it in the rear-view mirror. The way she held herself like she was trying not to exist. Even her breathing was silent. Controlled.
He glanced at Aadhi, who was stealing glances at his sister every now and then with that same quiet tension.
Siblings, yes. But the space between them? It wasn't normal. Not the usual teasing, not the awkward distance of a recent fight. Just… space. Distant. Disconnected.
Too distant.
Vikram didn't ask. He wasn't nosy.
His apartment sat on the fifth floor of a quiet building. Clean, modern, minimalist. Two bedrooms, open living space, a kitchen that looked barely used. He led them in, dropped the bags at the door, and gestured to the hallway.
"She can take the guest room. It's got a bed, wardrobe, and a decent view. Should be comfortable."
"Thanks, Vik," Aadhi said with a tired exhale.
Anika walked to the room wordlessly. No hesitation, no questions. She opened the door, stepped inside, and softly closed it behind her.
Vikram headed to the fridge, pulled out two bottles of water, and tossed one to Aadhi.
"She really doesn't talk?"
"Not to strangers."
Vikram raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
They sat in the living room, the silence only broken by the distant sounds of traffic and the hum of the ceiling fan.
"You okay with her staying here?" Aadhi asked after a moment.
Vikram nodded. "Yeah. She's not exactly noisy."
That earned a small laugh from Aadhi, but it didn't last long.
Evening settled over the city.
Anika emerged around dinnertime, still dressed in white, her scarf neatly pinned. She didn't speak, but she helped Aadhi prepare simple food without prompting. The way she moved—precise, quiet, efficient—left little room for interaction.
Vikram watched from the couch, phone in hand, earbuds in one ear. When dinner was served, he joined them at the table, noting the way Aadhi spoke gently, asking questions she didn't answer.
She ate quietly, her eyes never lifting from her plate. She finished first, washed her dish, and disappeared into the room again.
"She's very… disciplined," Vikram said, not unkindly.
Aadhi nodded. "Always has been."
But Vikram wasn't sure that was the whole truth.
—
Later that night, as Vikram sat at his desk working on a code project, he glanced up and noticed the door to the balcony was open.
He walked over quietly.
Anika stood there, arms crossed, her scarf fluttering in the wind. She hadn't noticed him yet.
He stepped beside her without a word.
City lights blinked across the skyline, a quiet breath of life under a violet sky.
"You like the view?" he asked, finally.
She turned slightly, surprised. Then gave a faint nod.
They stood in silence.
No explanations. No probing questions.
Vikram didn't need to know why her clothes were always white. Or why she hadn't smiled once since she arrived. Or why she moved like someone walking through glass.
He just stood there with her, looking out at the city like it was something worth watching.
And after a moment, she slid into her room wordlessly.
Vikram raised his eyebrows.