I exhale slowly, the weight of it all still pressing on my chest.
I’ve told her everything. About Khushi’s death. About the gaping hole her absence left in my family. How I wasn’t involved in that shared healing. The carelessness of adults, the way they tried to protect me by pretending she never existed. Like grief would disappear if it wasn’t acknowledged.
I remember my mother’s cries from just a few days ago—raw, broken, like a wound reopened after decades.
“Mera baccha! I’m so sorry...” she hiccuped. My dad circling his arms around her. “If I knew I would’ve—we could’ve cried together. We could’ve grieved together. We will now.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Trying hard to banish the image of her open arms that I reluctantly went into. I still don’t knowwhyit’s so hard to resume this grief when I know they’redecadesahead of me.
I glance up. Greesha hasn’t said a word. She’s sitting perfectly still, elbows resting on her thighs, gaze fixed somewhere on my desk. Not blank—focused.Thoughtful. A crease forms between her brows.
“I didn’t tell you because...” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck, “Well, I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Vicky. I thought it was a...”
“Forbidden topic,” she finishes, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her fingers curl into her palms. Her eyes flicker—pain, recognition, a touch of disbelief.
“Yeah,” I murmur.
She sits back then. The moment shifts. Her spine straightens. “And the problem?”
God!She can’t let it go, can she? My curious girl.
I can’t tell her the damnproblem. Because theproblemI was sharing with Ishika was how my pill-riddensecretactivity was more than just Khushi’s death. I glance down, try to summon something passable.
“Uh...” I hesitate. “The thi—”
“You’re about to lie,” she says flatly.
I look up, blinking. “What?”
“I know you, Advik Sharma. At least aversionof you. And I damn well know when you’re about to lie.”
There’s no venom. Just certainty. Quiet, practiced certainty.
I’m torn between awe and dread. “How?”
She tilts her head slightly. “Why do you wanna know? So you can use it better next time and perfect your deception?”
My breath catches. “I... I never deceived you.”
Her eyebrow lifts.
“Okay. Maybe I wasn’t truthful about my...” I grit my teeth. “—feelingsfor Aarohi. But I didn’t understand what they actually were. Now, I do.”
Her mouth twists. “Why, dipping your dick into her clarified things for you?”
The words hit like shrapnel. I flinch. My throat burns. “You want to talk about it? Fine. Let’s talk.”
But she sighs, the fury already draining. “No, Advik. Whatever feelings you thought you had—were enough to make me feel I was notwantedin that—yourlife.”
Her voice is quiet, but not weak. Just... hollow.
I ignore the slight fumble she had, my voice softening. “You were not just wanted—you wereneeded. Gree, I can’t tell how many moments I went back to and realized I was failing you. I should’ve seen—”
“You said you wanted to kiss her goodbye,” she cuts in, voice like a whip.
The silence crashes around us.
