Aarohi didn't leave her room the whole day.
She didn't eat.
She didn't speak.
She didn't sleep.
She just sat on her bed with her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the window where the rain had finally stopped.
But the silence after rain?
It was worse.
Because in silence… memories echoed louder.
Arin checked on her every few minutes.
He brought water.
He brought warm milk.
He offered to sit with her.
To talk.
To distract her.
But Aarohi barely reacted.
Every time he touched her arm, she flinched — not because she feared him, but because she feared everything inside her.
Arin finally sat down on the floor beside her bed, frustrated and helpless.
"Aarohi… please," he whispered. "Talk to me."
She didn't look at him.
Her voice came out small:
"He's getting closer."
Arin's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Aarohi hugged herself tighter.
"I don't see his face. Not yet. But every time I remember something… every time he appears… he feels closer. Like he's stepping out of my memories and into this life."
Arin grabbed the edge of the bed, knuckles going white.
"Aarohi… you don't know who he is. You don't even know if he cared about you."
Aarohi finally looked at him.
Her eyes were glassy, red, exhausted.
"I felt his pain last night."
Arin's jaw clenched. "Aarohi—"
"He wasn't angry at me," she whispered. "He was hurting."
Arin stood abruptly.
He rubbed his face with both hands, pacing the room with fear and frustration boiling in his chest.
"Aarohi, he's not your responsibility," he snapped.
"You don't owe him anything. You didn't kill him. You didn't leave him. You didn't choose to die!"
Aarohi shook her head slowly.
"But I forgot him."
Arin froze in place.
She continued, voice trembling:
"He remembered me even after death. And I… don't remember anything about him. Not his face. Not his name. Not who he was to me."
Her voice cracked.
"That hurts him. I can feel it."
Arin stared at her.
There it was.
The first real crack in his heart.
The first time he realized—
She wasn't just afraid of the boy from her past.
She was connected to him.
Emotionally.
Deeply.
Painfully.
Arin swallowed hard.
"Aarohi… do you… care about him?"
Aarohi blinked at the question.
Her heart twisted painfully.
"I don't know," she whispered honestly.
"I don't remember him. But sometimes… it feels like my soul remembers."
Arin's chest tightened brutally.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
He sat beside her again, much slower this time, his shoulders heavy.
"Aarohi… look at me."
She turned her head weakly.
Arin's eyes were soft but burning — with worry, fear, and something he didn't want to name.
"You are here. In this life. With me. With our family."
Her throat tightened.
"I know."
"Then don't let a shadow from your past steal you from us."
Aarohi's eyes softened painfully.
"Arin… he's not stealing me."
Arin's voice broke.
"Then what is he doing?"
Aarohi lowered her gaze.
"Calling me."
Arin looked like someone had driven a knife into him.
She continued softly:
"When he calls my name… it feels like something inside me responds. Like something buried deep wakes up."
Arin shook his head fiercely.
"Aarohi, stop. Please."
She looked at him with tears brimming in her eyes.
"I don't want this," she whispered.
"I don't want to remember him. I don't want to feel this. But—"
Her voice cracked again.
"—he died with me, Arin. He held my hand in his last moment. And I think… I think I meant something to him."
Arin inhaled sharply as if the words physically hurt him.
He whispered, broken:
"And what does he mean to you?"
Aarohi stared at him.
Fear.
Confusion.
Pain.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"And that scares me the most."
Her tears spilled over.
"I don't know who he was in my first life. I don't know if I loved him. Or hurt him. Or if he was just… there."
Arin looked away quickly — because his own eyes were stinging now.
Aarohi continued:
"But I do know one thing."
Arin forced himself to meet her eyes.
Aarohi whispered:
"I can't hate him."
Arin froze.
Aarohi's voice trembled.
"How can I hate someone who died beside me… alone… scared… calling my name?"
Arin slowly sat back.
His shoulders slumped.
His hands shook.
This was the first time he felt like…
he was losing her.
Not to the boy.
Not to the past.
But to the weight of her own memories.
Aarohi wiped her tears.
"I want to remember," she whispered.
"But I'm terrified of what I'll find."
Arin finally found his voice.
"Aarohi… promise me something."
She looked up.
"Promise me you won't face this alone. Promise you won't run toward him. Promise you'll stay with us… with me."
Aarohi hesitated.
Her heart was torn between two worlds.
Her new life.
And the past pulling at her like a thread tied around her soul.
But she reached out and took Arin's hand.
"I promise… I won't run."
Arin exhaled shakily and squeezed her hand.
But her heart whispered a truth she didn't speak out loud:
She didn't need to run toward him.
Because the boy from her past…
was already walking toward her.
---