Aarohi didn't remember how long she stayed on the cold ground.
Minutes…
or hours…
Her tears dried against her cheeks, leaving a salt-stained map of fear. The quiet of the night pressed against her skin, a suffocating blanket she couldn't push away.
She finally forced herself to stand, legs shaking so badly she nearly fell again.
Her house glowed softly behind her—
warm light, soft laughter, safety.
She wiped her face quickly.
She couldn't go inside like this.
She couldn't let them see the terror lodged in her bones.
Not when they loved her so purely.
Not when they were the only bright thing in this new life.
Not when she didn't know how to explain the impossible.
She took a shaky breath, smoothing her hair so her mother wouldn't worry.
But the boy's voice echoed through her skull:
"You weren't the only one who died that night."
Her heartbeat stuttered.
She opened the door silently, letting the warmth swallow her, but she felt nothing.
Nothing except cold.
Her mother looked up from the couch.
"Aarohi? What were you doing outside this late?"
Aarohi's lips parted, but no sound came.
Her mother's smile faded. "Sweetheart? Is something wrong?"
Say it.
Tell her.
Tell someone.
But the truth was insane.
Terrifying.
Heavy.
So instead, Aarohi forced a weak smile.
"No, Mama. Just… getting fresh air."
Her mother didn't look convinced.
"Aarohi, come here."
Aarohi obeyed, sitting between her parents on the couch. Her mother touched her cheek. "You look pale, beta… you're shaking."
Aarohi clenched her fists against her knees.
Arin walked in from the kitchen with a glass of water, his eyes immediately zeroing in on her trembling hands.
"What happened?" he asked sharply.
Aarohi shook her head. "N–Nothing."
Arin knelt in front of her. "You're lying again."
Her heart twisted.
He always knew when she lied.
He always saw right through her.
His voice softened. "Aarohi… look at me."
She couldn't.
He gently lifted her chin.
Her eyes were shiny with tears she refused to let fall.
Arin whispered, "You're scaring me."
Her breath cracked.
Her father put a hand on her shoulder. "If something happened at school—"
"No!" Aarohi blurted out, louder than she intended.
Everyone froze.
Aarohi swallowed hard, lowering her voice. "It's not school."
Her mother exchanged a worried glance with her father.
Arin's voice dropped to a serious whisper. "Then what is it?"
Aarohi wanted to speak.
Her lips trembled with the words she couldn't say.
A boy followed me.
He knows my past life.
He died with me.
But how could she tell them that?
How could she make them understand something that didn't feel real even to her?
So she shook her head helplessly.
"I… I don't know."
Her father sighed softly and pulled her into his arms.
"You don't have to talk until you're ready."
Her mother stroked her back gently. "You're safe with us, sweetheart."
Safe.
That word again.
She should have felt safe.
She wanted to.
But she felt the boy's gaze on her even now.
She felt the truth strangling her ribs.
And the hardest part—
She felt guilty.
Guilty for leaving behind someone who died with her.
Guilty for forgetting him.
Guilty for not knowing who he was.
Her tears finally broke loose as she buried her face in her father's shoulder.
Arin sat beside them, eyes shining with frustration and helplessness.
Later, when she went to her room, he followed quietly and leaned against the doorway.
"Aarohi…"
She didn't look at him.
"Aarohi, please. I can't help you if you don't let me."
Her voice cracked. "You can't help me… not with this."
Arin stepped into the room and closed the door.
"Aarohi… what do you mean this?"
She finally looked up at him.
Her eyes were red.
Her lips trembled.
Her body shook.
Arin's expression turned fierce with protectiveness.
"Who's bothering you?" he demanded. "Tell me his name. Tell me where he lives. I'll—"
Aarohi grabbed his wrist suddenly.
His words died.
Her voice cracked like breaking glass—
"Arin… he knew my old name."
Arin stared at her. "What?"
She felt the tears spill again.
"He called me… Aara."
Something inside Arin shattered.
Both shock and fear spread across his face.
"Aarohi—" his voice broke, "—how?"
She shook her head, crying harder now.
"He said… he died that night too…"
Arin's breath froze.
Aarohi choked on a sob.
"He said… he followed me here."
Arin grabbed her shoulders gently but firmly.
"When? Who? What did he look like?"
Aarohi shook her head violently.
"I don't know… I don't know…"
Arin pulled her into his arms again, and she collapsed against him, crying so hard her whole body trembled.
"Shh… it's okay," he whispered. "I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."
But even in his arms, Aarohi felt the cold truth press against her:
The boy at the fence was real.
The memories were real.
Her past life had a witness.
And that witness…
had followed her into rebirth.
She whispered into Arin's shirt:
"I'm scared…"
Arin tightened his hold.
"I know," he whispered back, voice breaking. "But I'm not letting anyone take you away. Not in this life."
Aarohi closed her eyes, tears soaking his sleeve.
She wanted to believe him.
She wanted to feel safe.
But the boy's last words echoed through her again—
"You're the last person I saw before the darkness took me."
And for the first time since reincarnation…
Aarohi felt truly, terrifyingly watched.
---