The lamp beside Siyara's bed gave off a soft golden glow, throwing gentle shadows over the floral bedsheet. The room was quiet, except for the low tune her mother hummed while folding freshly washed clothes in the corner. The faint smell of detergent hung in the air-familiar, grounding.
Siyara sat cross-legged on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Her fingers traced patterns on the blanket while her eyes stayed lost in thought. She hadn't spoken since the guests left. Since he left.
At last, her voice broke the silence. "Maa...?"
Her mother turned, smiling faintly. "Hmm, beta? Do you want water? I'll warm some milk-"
"No," Siyara shook her head softly. "I want to talk. About him. About Varun."
Her mother set the clothes aside and sat beside her.
"You didn't hate him?" she asked carefully. "That's... a start, isn't it?"
Siyara didn't answer right away. Her brows pulled together as she thought.
"He didn't touch the tea," she said finally. "Or the tray. Or even the bedsheet."
Her hands lay still in her lap.
"Most boys... they pretend to be polite, but their eyes..." She paused, her voice dropping. "Their eyes still look like they want to own you."
Her mother stayed quiet, letting her speak.
"But he didn't look at me like that," Siyara whispered. "He didn't look at me like I was broken."
Her mother nodded. "His mother said he's patient. Understanding. I believe he's a good boy."
Siyara glanced up, her voice barely a breath.
"His voice didn't scare me."
Her mother slowly took her hand. Siyara tensed for a second, then let herself relax.
"I don't know if I liked him," she said quietly. "I don't even know what that means anymore. But... I didn't feel like I was in danger."
"That's important," her mother said softly. "Very important."
The silence stretched-heavy, but not empty.
Then Siyara's voice shook as she whispered, "Maa... if I marry him... what if he wants to touch me? Hold me like a husband does? I won't be able to..."
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"Maa, please. I can't bear anyone's touch. Not even if they're kind. Not even if they wait."
Her mother's expression didn't change. She reached for her daughter's arm, gently but firmly, the kind of touch that said you're not alone.
"If he's the right boy, he'll wait," she said softly. "And if he doesn't... then he's not the one."
She rubbed slow circles over Siyara's sleeve.
"But if this match gives you even a little peace... don't run from it. Not today. Not quickly. Just... take small steps toward it."
Siyara breathed out shakily and leaned her head on her mother's shoulder. Her voice was faint, almost a whisper.
"I don't want to be alone forever, Maa."
Her mother wrapped an arm around her-not heavy, not pushing. Just warm.
"Then take one day at a time," she murmured. "Don't think about marriage yet. Just think about tomorrow. And if he comes again... listen to how you feel when he speaks. That's all you need right now."
The lamp flickered softly, shadows dancing on the wall. The moment didn't promise full healing-but it felt like the start of something.
------
The rain had been falling since morning. Not heavy, just a steady drizzle that wrapped the world in a soft gray. The smell of wet earth drifted through the veranda, mixing with the scent of ginger tea brewing inside.
Siyara sat at the edge of the wooden bench, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her shoulders stiff beneath her cotton shawl.
The gate creaked.
She lifted her eyes.
Varun walked in, holding a plain black umbrella. It looked too serious for his kind eyes. He gave a polite nod to her mother, who greeted him softly before leaving them alone.
Siyara kept her gaze low as he came closer. He sat down-not too close, keeping a careful space between them.
He didn't ask anything. Didn't push her to speak. He just sat quietly, listening to the rain.
After a while, he said in a low voice, "I had a younger sister. She died four years ago. Road accident."
The rain filled the silence that followed.
"I stopped talking much after that," he continued. "People said I changed. Maybe I did. Silence... became familiar."
Siyara didn't answer. Her fingers twitched slightly in her lap, as if they wanted to say something her lips couldn't.
Varun gave a small smile. Not cheerful-just one of understanding.
After some time, Siyara stood and went inside the house.
When she returned, she was holding two cups.
She placed one gently in front of him.
Her first gesture of comfort.
----
Midnight. The storm outside had turned harsh. Wind howled through the small crack in her window, and thunder shook the glass. But the real storm was inside her.
Siyara tossed and turned in bed.
In her dream, she was back in that dark corridor. Hands everywhere-grabbing, pulling. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She kicked, fought, but the hands never ended. The shadows grew louder.
She woke with a sharp gasp.
Sweat covered her skin. Her breaths came fast and uneven. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it wanted to break out of her chest.
But tonight... something was different.
Varun's face appeared in her mind.
His eyes weren't like the others. Not hungry. Not dangerous.
They were steady. Gentle. Quiet.
She hugged her knees and stared into the dark. The fear was still there, but another thought slipped in-a question she had never dared ask before:
Could healing be possible?
Slowly, she climbed out of bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she walked to the mirror.
Her reflection stared back-pale face, hair sticking to her damp cheeks.
"I'm still here," she whispered.
The reflection gave no reply. But it didn't look away either.
---
It was a noisy entrance-the kind Siyara never liked.
Her elder sister, Rhea, came rushing into the house with shopping bags, lip gloss, and her usual chaos. She flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, already complaining about traffic and bragging about saree discounts.
Siyara gave a faint smile, sitting at the edge of the bed, watching her sister's whirlwind energy.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Rhea teased. "Why so dull, Siyu?"
Siyara stayed quiet.
Later, when Rhea reached to touch her shoulder, Siyara flinched-just a little, but enough.
Rhea froze. The smile slipped from her face.
"Hey," she said softly. "Are you... okay?"
Still, Siyara said nothing.
Rhea didn't push. Instead, she sat quietly beside her for a moment. Then, in an unexpected tone, she whispered, "You know... after my wedding, I cried every night for two weeks."
Siyara turned to her in surprise.
"I had to smile, host dinners, post photos... but inside, I was terrified. Scared of failing. Scared I wasn't good enough. Everyone expects you to be perfect."
Her voice shook as she went on. "Sometimes I feel like I'm pretending. Like I'm just wearing happiness so no one asks questions."
That confession softened the space between them. A wall crumbled-not in pain, but in understanding.
Siyara still didn't speak. But when her sister hugged her again, she didn't flinch.
---
By evening, the house was calm. Golden light filled the walls, wrapping the silence in warmth.
When Siyara stepped out to close the gate, she noticed something tucked between the iron bars.
A cream envelope. No name. Just carefully placed there.
Her heartbeat quickened as she pulled it out. Inside was a short letter, the handwriting neat but a little hesitant.
"Dear Siyara,
You don't need to reply. I just wanted to say thank you-for listening. For the cup of tea. For existing as you are, so quietly and strongly.
You remind me of silence in a world full of noise. The good kind of silence. The safe kind.
Even if nothing ever happens between us, I'd be honored to simply be your friend.
Take care.
-Varun"
She read it once. Twice. A third time.
Her face didn't smile. But her hands didn't shake.
And for the first time in a long while, the silence around her felt warm.
-----
Siyara stood in front of her bedroom mirror, a towel wrapped loosely around her. Her eyes fell on the scars across her waist-raised lines that looked like a map of pain. Each one carried a memory, a fight, a nightmare she had survived. But the newest one, still pink and raw, cut across her skin like a fresh scream. She touched it lightly, wincing. It wasn't the pain that bothered her anymore-it was that these marks would never leave. They told the world she had been broken, again and again.
A knock pulled her from her thoughts.
"Siyara!" her sister Rhea called from outside. "Come on, let's go shopping. I need new heels. You'll love this store I found. Please!"
Siyara hesitated, pulling on her shirt and covering the scar. She frowned at her reflection.
"No, Rhea," she called back. "I don't feel like it. I have... work."
"Work can wait!" Rhea said, her voice playful but firm. "You're turning into a hermit. You haven't stepped out in days. This isn't healthy. Are you scared someone might look at you? Look past you?"
Siyara stayed silent.
"Si..." Rhea's tone softened. "Don't shut me out. Wear whatever you want. I just want time with you. Please. You don't have to hide from me."
Siyara closed her eyes. Her hand still rested near her waist.
Twenty minutes later, she was walking beside her sister into the bright chaos of the mall. Rhea bounced with excitement, pulling her through aisles of dresses, shoes, perfumes, and bags. Siyara smiled faintly as Rhea tried on ridiculous hats, posed with mannequins, and snapped selfies that had her laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
Siyara didn't try on anything. She kept her coat zipped, even in the cool air of the mall. But she watched. She listened. She breathed in her sister's laughter like it was oxygen she had been missing.
Two hours later, they stepped out and crossed the street to a quiet restaurant Rhea had been talking about all week. The evening sun painted the city gold, shadows stretching long.
They had just placed their orders when Siyara glanced out the window-and froze.
A van sped down the road, out of control. An old woman was crossing, unaware.
Before she even realized what she was doing, Siyara was on her feet and running. Her shoes slapped the pavement. People screamed. The van didn't slow.
She reached the woman just in time, pulling her out of the way with a strength she didn't know she had. The van swerved, screeched, and crashed into a lamppost. Voices shouted all around them, feet rushed closer.
The old woman was breathing hard in Siyara's arms.
"Are you alright?" Siyara asked, her voice shaking.
The woman nodded, eyes wide. Then her face softened. With trembling hands, she touched Siyara's cheek.
"You... you saved me," she whispered.
Siyara helped her sit up slowly. The woman's eyes studied her carefully.
"You're beautiful," she said suddenly. "Not just your face. What you just did... that's beauty too."
Siyara's cheeks grew hot. She looked away.
"What's your name, dear?"
"Siyara."
The woman smiled. "I'm Shaila."
"Please," she said, "come home with me. I want to thank you properly."
Siyara shook her head. "I appreciate it, but... I can't. I have work."
"You sure?"
She nodded, stepping back.
Shaila's gaze lingered. "You have an old soul, child. And a wounded heart. I hope one day you let someone truly see you."
Siyara turned and walked away.
Rhea ran up, her face pale. "Siyara, you just-! You could've been killed!"
"She's fine," Siyara whispered.
But her heart wasn't.
She walked home in silence, the weight of her scars burning under her coat.
-----
The streetlights outside flickered as Siyara leaned against the rusted railing of her balcony. The city's noise floated up faintly from below. She let out a long breath, the memory of the accident still clinging to her like smoke. Her fingers trembled as she slipped a hand into her coat pocket and touched the small shard of glass she had picked up near the accident site-just before she slipped away unseen.
Far across the city, in a dimly lit room, Aarav sat beside his grandmother. She looked fragile against the neat white sheets, a cup of turmeric milk untouched on the bedside table.
Aarav held her hand gently.
"You scared me today, Dadi," he whispered, his voice low and shaken. "I thought I almost lost you."
His grandmother gave him a soft smile, her eyes closing for a moment. "You didn't. Because of that girl. She saved me, Aarav... like an angel who came at the right time."
Aarav leaned closer. "Who was she?"
The old woman frowned, trying to remember. "She told me her name. I asked her, right after she pulled me away. I even repeated it once."
"What was it? Tell me, Dadi. I want to thank her."
Her lips parted, then paused. Her brows knitted in frustration. "I... don't remember. How strange. It was just there, on the tip of my tongue."
"She saved your life," Aarav murmured, more to himself than to her. "I have to find her."
His grandmother's voice grew soft, almost dreamlike. "She had pain in her smile, Aarav. Like someone who has forgotten what it feels like to be held. But she didn't hesitate. She just saved me... and then she was gone."
Outside the window, the wind picked up, carrying a faint sense of something lost.
Somewhere across the city, Siyara walked through narrow lanes, her hood pulled low, her face hidden. She didn't look back. Her name-spoken only once-was already fading from memory.
But Aarav, now restless with purpose, rose to his feet and whispered, "I want to thank her."
