Aarav stepped into the house and spotted a girl standing at the entrance. Her face hardened the moment she saw him, and without a word, she turned and walked away. Hatred burned in her eyes—clear, unfiltered, and deliberate.
He didn't flinch. He hadn't expected anything less.
With a small shrug, he followed her inside.
The interior was quiet and spacious, filled with the kind of warmth that came not from furniture or fire, but from presence. It was a home meant for family, for peace. Yet, the silence between the two of them was loud—oppressive, suffocating.
They moved like strangers bound by routine. Cooking, eating, cleaning—every task done side by side but without a single word spoken. No glances. No acknowledgment. Just two souls coexisting like shadows in a shared space. A silent war neither had declared, but both fought.
After dinner, they retreated to their separate rooms.
It wasn't until 10:30 p.m. that Aarav opened his door and quietly walked into hers.
She lay with her back to him, unmoving beneath the covers. He knew she wasn't asleep. She never slept this early.
But he didn't call her out. He sat down at the edge of her bed, gazed at her unmoving form, and began to speak—his voice steady, stripped of emotion, like a confession spoken into the void.
> "Avi… thank you. Thank you for hating me."
He paused.
> "You have no idea how much I needed that. Everyone else pretended. Smiled. Acted like nothing had happened. But you… you didn't. You looked at me like I was the villain in your story, and for once, someone wasn't pretending."
Avi didn't move. But his words left her stunned.
He was… grateful? For her hatred?
Shouldn't he be explaining himself? Shouldn't he be defending what he did? What did he mean by 'everyone pretending'? The people in the mansion… were they all just faking it too?
She wanted to ask. Her thoughts clawed at her throat, but she knew the moment she spoke, he'd shut down. So she said nothing. She listened.
He continued, still speaking like a man reading a script he'd written long ago—cold, practiced, yet cracking at the edges.
> "I don't blame you for how you see me. Most people think the same. That while you were here, I was out there… living well, enjoying life. Maybe you think I forgot you. That I had it easy. But Avi… it wasn't easy. It was hard. So hard I couldn't breathe sometimes."
He inhaled sharply, as if the very memory stole the air from his lungs.
> "That place was cold. Lonely. But I knew complaining wouldn't change anything. No one listened. No one cared. Eventually, I stopped trying. I stopped asking. I stopped… feeling."
Avi's hand clenched beneath the blanket. Something about the stillness in his voice hurt more than if he had cried.
> "I started asking myself what I was even chasing. What was I looking for? And one day… I realized. Warmth."
Another pause. His fingers brushed his palm.
> "I didn't even know what it felt like. Not really. No one in that house had it to give. And maybe that's why I couldn't give it to you either. How could I give something I never had?"
A lump formed in Avi's throat.
> "Maybe that's why… when I followed you around as a kid, it wasn't because I wanted to annoy you. I thought just being near someone was enough to feel warm. But you didn't like it. You pushed me away. And there I was again—back at square one."
> "Still wondering what warmth was."
His tone hadn't shifted, but Avi could feel it. The ache behind the hollow.
> "And then… one day, I stopped caring. Told myself I didn't need it. I was doing fine without it. That's when I felt free. Like I'd broken some chain I never knew was holding me."
> "Later… I met Arundhati. Things weren't good between us. She did things that hurt me, and I… I retaliated. Maybe too much. But in that mess, I stumbled on something I didn't expect."
His voice finally faltered—only slightly.
> "Warmth. Again. Uninvited. Undeserved."
Avi's fingers twitched beneath the blanket.
> "It felt like the first time in my life someone saw me without pretending. And for the first time… I understood. Warmth isn't touch. It's not words. It's… being loved."
> "She taught me that. Without trying."
A heavy silence followed.
> "But I got greedy. Like Adam and the forbidden fruit… I wanted more. And just like him, I was punished. I lost it."
He stood, the bed creaking slightly beneath him.
Avi still didn't move, but her eyes were open now—wet and burning.
She didn't know if he would ever say more than that. But in that moment, despite the emotionless tone and stiff posture, she saw the truth buried beneath: he had bled somewhere she could never see. And though his voice had been cold, the pain had always been real.