Dinner was warm that night.
Too warm.
Too peaceful.
Too gentle.
Aarohi sat at the table between her mother and Arin while her father served dal, insisting everyone take "a little more," even though everyone already had enough. The golden light from the dining lamp danced on the plates. The room smelled like cumin and soft warmth.
It was everything Aara never had in her first life.
And yet…
She couldn't swallow properly.
Her mind kept returning to the black-hooded figure.
The way he stood still.
The way the air felt wrong around him.
The way her heart reacted as if it remembered something she didn't.
Her father noticed her untouched plate.
"Aarohi?" he asked gently. "Is something bothering you?"
She shook her head quickly. "No. I'm just… tired."
Her mother frowned with worry. "Take some more rice, beta. Maybe it will help."
Arin leaned closer and whispered, "Are you scared of school? Did someone say something?"
Aarohi shook her head again.
It wasn't school.
It wasn't anyone in her class.
It wasn't even the new life.
It was the past.
A past that didn't belong to "Aarohi," but still lived inside her bones.
Her mother touched her hand softly. "If something is wrong, you can tell us. Nothing you say will make us love you less."
Aarohi's heart clenched painfully.
Love.
Her parents in this life were gentle. Caring. Safe.
Her parents in her first life…
Loved her, yes.
But in ways that hurt more than they healed.
She whispered, "I'm fine."
No one believed her.
But no one pushed her either.
That was new.
---
Later that night, Aarohi sat alone in her room. The house was quiet except for the ticking of the clock in the living room and the distant hum of a ceiling fan.
Her window curtains fluttered in the breeze.
She hugged her knees to her chest and stared at the little box Arin had given her earlier—the box of memories.
Aarohi's memories… not hers.
But perhaps… both.
Heart shaking, she opened the diary again.
A random page flipped open.
"Mama says if I'm scared at night, I should close my eyes and think of the stars. Because stars never leave."
Aarohi exhaled sharply.
Stars never leave.
But people did.
Friends did.
Love did.
Trust did.
Her eyes fell on the beaded bracelet inside the box.
Pink, blue, yellow, green—carefully tied, tiny knots showing the innocence of a child who made it with love.
She slipped it onto her wrist.
It was loose on her now-smaller hand.
But it felt… right.
As she stared at the beads, a sudden sharp pain stabbed behind her eyes.
She winced.
And then—
A flash.
A girl crying.
The same bracelet on a small wrist.
A shadow standing over her.
A broken toy.
A loud shout.
A slam of a door.
Aarohi gasped.
The images vanished as quickly as they came.
Her breath trembled.
She wasn't sure if that was Aarohi's memory…
or Aara's pain blending into it.
She touched her forehead.
"What's happening to me…?"
Her voice trembled.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Aarohi?" her father whispered. "May I come in?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
He entered slowly, carrying a glass of warm milk. Something about the gesture—simple, caring, familiar—brought sudden tears to her eyes.
He placed it on her table and sat at the edge of her bed. "Arin said you looked scared today."
She nodded silently.
Her father didn't ask why.
Didn't demand answers.
Didn't accuse her of being dramatic.
Instead, he said softly, "Sometimes fear comes from things we can't explain. And that's okay."
Aarohi looked up at him, surprised.
He continued, "You don't have to understand everything today. Just breathe. Just exist. That's enough."
The gentleness broke her.
She leaned forward and hugged him.
It was instinct—raw, sudden, desperate.
Her father froze for a moment, shocked, then wrapped his arms around her soothingly.
His voice trembled. "I've missed your hugs."
Aarohi clutched his shirt tightly.
In her first life, she hadn't hugged her father in years.
Not out of anger—
but because she didn't know how to anymore.
Her father stroked her hair. "You're safe, Aarohi. Nothing will hurt you here."
But she wanted to tell him:
Something already is.
The figure.
The flash of memory.
The ache behind her eyes.
But she couldn't.
Not yet.
He kissed the top of her head and stood slowly.
"Sleep, beta. Tomorrow will be better."
When he left, Aarohi lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
The bracelet glowed faintly in the moonlight.
She closed her eyes, trying to sleep.
But as soon as she drifted into drowsiness—
She saw the black hoodie again.
This time closer.
Clearer.
Standing at the end of a hallway.
Face hidden.
Breathing quietly.
Watching her.
Her eyes snapped open with a jolt.
Her heart raced.
She wasn't awake.
She wasn't asleep.
She was remembering something.
But whose memory was it?
Aara's?
Aarohi's?
Someone else's?
The beads on her bracelet clinked softly.
She whispered into the darkness:
"Why are you following me…?"
And for the first time since reincarnation—
A small voice in her heart answered:
Because someone remembers you, even after death.
---