I knew I’d left her abruptly at the café.

I hadn’t meant to. But I couldn’t sit there—couldn’t keep pretending I was calm, or composed—when her eyes, so still and sincere, were quietly asking for the one thing I’d kept buried for years.

The truth.

The kind of truth that doesn’t come easy, because speaking it meant cracking open a part of me I’d sealed shut long ago.

I drove without direction that night, the city folding around me in streaks of light and motion. Familiar streets suddenly felt strange. Even the silence in the car was louder than usual, pressing down on my chest like a weight that had waited too long to be acknowledged.

Eventually, I found myself near the waterfront.

It was late. Empty. The sky above was vast and unbothered, the water below shimmering faintly under the streetlights. I stepped out, the cold night air hitting my face with the kind of clarity I didn’t know I needed.

I walked to the edge of the promenade, hands buried in my pockets, trying to find some stillness in the world around me. The wind cut through the quiet like a question I still couldn’t answer.

I pulled out my phone.

Maithili’s name stared back at me, glowing against the black screen. My thumb hovered over the call button.

I didn’t press it.

How could I?

How do I admit that Myra wasn’t born in joy… but in grief?

That the first time I held her, I didn’t feel wonder or love.

I felt broken.

And yet… that tiny heartbeat against my chest was what kept me from falling apart.

She saved me.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the sharp salt of the air as the city continued without pause. I recalled Myra's premature birth and how I waited for days to hold her, setting aside my grief while I waited.

And me… a ghost of a man, breathing only because she was.

That’s what Maithili doesn’t know yet.

That’s the story behind my carefully curated calm.

And yet, she was willing to wait. To stand at the edge of it all, not demanding entrance but asking—gently, persistently—for the truth. The real one.

And for that, she deserved more than silence.

She deserved everything.

Even if giving it broke me.

I unlocked my phone again, thumb shaking slightly as I pressed “call.”

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She didn’t answer.

Was I too late?

I was still staring at the screen, heart thudding in quiet panic, when it lit up again.

Maithili.

I answered it on the first ring.

“Maithili,” I breathed, voice lower than I intended.

“Sorry,” she said softly, “I was in the other room. I didn’t see the call.”

“It’s okay,” I replied quickly, relieved just to hear her voice. “I… I wanted to say I’m sorry. For leaving the way I did.”

“I understand,” she said simply. No blame. Just calm acceptance. It made it harder somehow.

“I’m ready,” I said, the words coming out rough. “I’m ready to talk.”

A pause.

“Now?” she asked.

“If you’re okay with meeting me now… then yes. Now.”

“Okay. Where should I come?”

I faltered for a second. I hadn’t thought that far.

“My office,” I said finally. “It’ll be quiet there. And… private.”

“Sure,” she said, without hesitation.

“I’ll meet you there,” I said. My hand moved to end the call when her voice stopped me again.

“Abhi?”

“Yeah, Maithili?”

“Did you… eat dinner?”

I smiled faintly, the question landing softer than she probably realized. I swallowed. “I’m not hungry,” I admitted.

And before I could give myself a chance to overthink it, I ended the call.

This was it.

The moment I’d been avoiding for years.

And tonight… I’d finally tell her.

Everything.

I drove back to the office, my mind trapped somewhere between fear and determination. I had texted Maithili the access code to my private elevator, then waited. The building had gone still, emptied of everyone but me. An hour passed. Then another. And finally—a knock. Soft. Almost hesitant.

I knew who it was.

I opened the door slowly. She stood there.

“Maithili,” I said quietly.

She was in a simple grey t-shirt and black pants, her hair tied back in a loose bun. No makeup. Just her. And honestly? I’d never seen her look more beautiful.

She gave a nervous little smile. “It was all kind of sudden,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “So, I just came as I was. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

I smiled back, and for the first time that evening, the tightness in my chest began to ease. “It’s okay. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

That’s when I noticed the small tote bag in her hand.

“What’s this?” I asked, nodding toward it.

She shrugged, a little shy. “You said you hadn’t eaten. I figured you’d still be hungry. It’s just some roti and subzi. Nothing fancy.”

“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” I said softly.

“I know,” she said. “But… still. You need to eat on time. Just a little. Please.”

There was no point arguing. More than that—I didn’t want to.

I sat down as she began unpacking the food, moving with quiet care, like this was all perfectly normal.

She looked at me as I took the first bite. “Is it okay?” she asked. “I mean, I don’t really know how spicy you like your food.”

I looked up at her and felt my lips curl into a real smile. “It’s perfect.”

She smiled too. A small, relieved smile.

Later, we moved to the couch in my cabin afterward. The food hadn’t just filled my stomach—it had settled something in me, something deeper. That silent panic I’d been carrying since the café. The silence between us now felt different. Not awkward. Just… waiting.

She turned toward me, legs folded beneath her, and said softly, “Abhiram… I know I asked you to share the truth. But that doesn’t mean you have to say everything right now. You can take your time. I’ll wait.”

I sighed. But not out of exhaustion. This one was different—like I was finally letting something go.

“No, Maithili,” I said. “You’re not wrong to ask. You deserve to know. And if I can’t open up to you now… then I don’t think I ever will.”

She didn’t say anything. Just nodded. Then slowly reached out and placed her hand on mine.

That one gesture… it grounded me. Her touch was soft, steady. And I was grateful.

I looked into her eyes, already feeling the truth rise in my throat.

"Maithili," I began, "what I'm about to tell you... no one knows this. Not even my parents. Only three people - Vikranth, Richa, and Kaushik Bhai. That's it, and I want this to remain just between us. I hope you understand that no one else should know."

She nodded and replied, "I understand, Abhiram. This will stay between you and me; no one else will be informed, not even my mother. I promise."

I exhaled a breath and said, "It's not that I don't trust you, it's just..."

She responded, "You don't need to explain, Abhiram. The fact that you haven't shared this with anyone, not even your parents, indicates that this is a very sensitive matter for you. I completely understand."

I paused, took a breath.

“Myra… she’s my sister Prachi’s daughter.”

She stilled.

“You have a sister?” she asked gently.

I nodded. “Yeah. She’s three years older than me.”

She didn’t look away. Just kept her eyes on mine. And waited.

So, I breathed in deep… and continued.

I leaned back against the couch, my voice barely above a whisper, but our hands were intertwined.

"Prachi Di was… everything to me."

The words clung to the air, heavy with memory. Maithili’s thumb brushed lightly over my knuckles, an unspoken “I’m here.”

"She’s my elder sister, but more like a second mother," I continued. "Fierce, kind, sharp-witted. She was a lioness when it came to me."

She protected me from everything—even from our parents when their expectations became too rigid."

A dry chuckle escaped me. "She was the one who stood by me when I left my stable job to start the business. You know how middle-class families are—business is a dirty word, a gamble. My parents were terrified. But Prachi? She fought them for me. Told them to let me chase what I wanted."

An involuntary smile tugged at my lips. "She used to ruffle my hair like I was still five, even when I towered over her. Called me her ‘baby brother’ in front of her friends just to embarrass me."

The memory warmed me, but the warmth faded too quickly.

I exhaled, sinking deeper into the cushions. "Ours was a loving family of four. We lived in Delhi—simple, comfortable.

"Di was a brilliant student, MBBS, then a postgrad in genecology. One of the best in her field. Worked at a top hospital, but her dream was to open her own clinic someday."

Maithili listened, her gaze steady, patient.

"You’ve met Richa," I said, glancing at her.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Di and Richa were childhood best friends. Inseparable. That’s how Kaushik Bhai met Richa—through her. They got married, and Vikranth…" I smirked. "Well, he’s been my best friend since we were kids. Neighbours. Partners in crime."

For a moment, the past felt light again. "Vikranth and I moved to Mumbai together. Startup dreams, sleepless nights, instant noodles for dinner. But it was working. Our company was gaining traction, investors were interested. We were rising. And Di? She was my anchor. We talked every night—she’d tell me about her patients, the chaos of the hospital, and I’d ramble about investors, meetings and deals. Over time, we weren’t just siblings. We were friends."

Then— I swallowed. "Then, one day, my parents called. They said they’d found a match for Prachi. A doctor— ‘perfect,’ according to them. I asked her, straight up—‘Do you want this? Is there someone else?’ She said no. Said she feared marriage, but… she didn’t refuse. I told my parents to back off, to wait until she was ready for marriage."

My fingers tightened around Maithili’s. "A week later, my mother called again saying ‘Prachi agreed.’ Just like that. I was shocked. When I asked Di, she said the boy seemed good. I thought… maybe she was okay with it. So, I let it go."

A bitter taste coated my tongue. "Everything was falling into place. My business was thriving. Di’s wedding was coming together. And then—"

The air turned thick.

"She seemed fine," I whispered, through the engagement, the pre-wedding rituals—smiling, laughing, playing the perfect bride. No one suspected a thing. Not even me."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

"And then, a day before the wedding, my mother called, frantic. 'Prachi’s missing.'"

My chest constricted at the memory—the disbelief, the panic clawing up my throat.

"I didn’t understand at first. I ran to her room, thinking maybe she’d just gone out. But then I saw it. A single letter on her bed."

I closed my eyes, the words etched into my mind like a brand.

"I can’t do this. I can’t marry him. I want to choose my own future. Please don’t look for me. Sorry, Ma, Papa… and Abhi. I’m sorry."

"That was it," I said, my voice breaking. "No explanation. No warning. Just… sorry."

The old anger surged—not at Di, but at myself.

"I should have known. Should have asked her again and again. But I didn’t. And by the time I realized something was wrong… it was too late."

The wedding was cancelled. The house, once filled with laughter and celebration, turned into a morgue of whispers and judgment.

"Relatives acted like vultures, picking at my parents’ shame. ‘How could she do this?’ ‘What kind of daughter abandons her family?’ My father—he couldn’t take it. He burned every photograph of her. Erased her from the house. ‘She’s dead to us,’ he said. ‘No one speaks her name here again.’"

I swallowed hard, the memory like a knife twisting in my gut.

"But I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. So, I hired investigators. Searched every corner of the country. But Prachi? She was gone. Like she’d vanished into thin air."

I invited them to stay with me in Mumbai. "My parents refused to leave Delhi. ‘We won’t run,’ my father said. ‘We’ll face what our daughter has done.’ But I knew—knew—Di would never have left without a reason. Something must have happened. Something terrible."

I turned to Maithili, desperate for her to understand.

"I asked Richa—begged her—if Di had said anything. But she swore she knew nothing. ‘She never mentioned being unhappy,’ Richa said. ‘Not once.’"

My business crumbled in my absence. Investors pulled out. The life I’d built in Mumbai was unravelling, and I was powerless to stop it.

"I had to go back. But even there, my thoughts were with her. Where are you, Di? Are you safe? Are you alive?"