It's strange, isn't it—how you can watch someone you love more than your own life and yet feel powerless to take their pain away. That's how it has been with Shreya lately.
I glanced at her again this morning, curled up in the same old oversized T-shirt and shorts. Harsh's T-shirt. The one she stubbornly stole from him and never gave back. She wears it again and again, as if the fabric itself holds the warmth of her brother. I've asked her once, casually, "Don't you have anything else to wear?" She only smiled faintly and said, "When I wear this, I feel like I'm with Harsh . "
She said it so casually, but it wasn't casual. Her voice cracked in the middle of the sentence.
As her brother, it stings more than anything. Because what she holds onto in that piece of clothing is something I can never give her -Harsh's presence, his warmth, his protection. And every time she hides in it, I'm reminded of the emptiness in her eyes that she tries so hard to cover.
She pretends she's fine. Always. She's stubborn like that. She laughs at Vidhi's silly jokes, she picks fights with Vihaan, she pretends like life is still normal. But I see what the others don't. I see the dark circles beneath her eyes, the swollen eyelids from nights she cries herself to sleep. She thinks she hides it well, but I've been her brother long enough to know when she's breaking inside.
And that's the worst part—I can't stop it. I can't hold her the way I did when we were kids and she'd run to me crying. She doesn't let me. She doesn't want my pity. So all I can do now is watch, protect from a distance, and hope she finds some strength of her own.
That's why when I saw her sneaking out with Vidhi last night, my heart clenched. She thought she was being clever, tiptoeing through the gate like I wouldn't notice. But I did. And my first instinct was to stop her—lock the door, scold her, remind her of everything that could go wrong. But something stopped me. Maybe it was the tiredness in her eyes, maybe it was the way she glanced up at the sky as if she was searching for something—or someone—who could give her peace.
Yes, Vihaan. Her so-called enemy, her sparring partner in every silly cat fight that erupts between them. She rolls her eyes at him, he teases her endlessly, they bicker like it's their full-time job. But underneath all that noise, I've seen something real. Vihaan may not admit it, but he truly cares for her. He notices her silence, the way her smile fades when she thinks no one is watching. He notices… just like I do.
I called Vihaan.
The call connected after a couple of rings, and I didn't waste time.
"Vihaan, I need you to keep an eye on Shreya. I don't want a repeat of my past mistakes. She sneaks out when she thinks no one's watching, but she isn't in the state of mind to be alone."
(A low chuckle came from his side, dry, laced with arrogance)
"…So you finally admit you can't control her either? She doesn't listen to anyone. Why would she listen to me?"
I pressed my tone sharper, commanding.
"She may not listen, but she notices. You've fought with her enough to know how stubborn she is. Still… you care. Don't try to deny it."
(A pause, then his voice, softer but still proud)
"…Care? You're imagining things. She's your sister, not my responsibility."
My words lowered but carried weight.
"I'm not asking. I'm telling you. Things aren't the same anymore. I can't trust many people around her. But I can trust you."
(A scoff, followed by silence. Then, reluctantly, his voice dropped a little)
"…You trust too easily. But fine. I'll keep an eye on her—not because you ordered me, but because I don't like the thought of her breaking down when no one's there to notice."
I exhaled, the authority softening though my concern remained.
"That's all I needed to hear. Be her shadow. Don't let her slip away."
(His reply came low, restrained, almost like a vow whispered behind arrogance)
"…She won't. Not on my watch."
The call ended, but the weight of his words lingered longer than the silence on the line.
Not after the mistakes I've made before, when I thought she was strong enough to handle things alone. When I looked away at the wrong moment and she broke in ways I couldn't fix. Never again. I won't risk it again.
The next morning, when I went up to the terrace, I froze. For a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.
There they were—Shreya and Vihaan—fast asleep. The cool morning breeze played with her hair, the rising sun casting a soft glow on her face. And there was Vihaan, sitting upright but leaning just enough so their heads rested against each other. His arm wrapped around her protectively, almost instinctively, as if his body refused to let her go even in sleep.
They looked… peaceful.
For the first time in weeks, Shreya looked calm. No frown, no forced smile, no restless tossing and turning. Just a quiet stillness, like the storms inside her had paused. And Vihaan—well, he didn't look like the annoying, smug boy she always paints him as. He looked tired, protective, steady. Like he'd been standing guard all night.
I should've woken them. Should've teased them, maybe, like any elder brother would. But I didn't. I just stood there, watching, and something inside me eased for the first time in a long while.
Because in that moment, I realized I'd made the best decision of my life.
I chose to trust Vihaan with her. And seeing her safe in his arms, breathing evenly, I knew I wasn't wrong.
Yes, it hurts to see her hide behind Harsh's T-shirt, to watch her wrestle with ghosts I can't fight for her. But knowing there's someone who'll sit with her in silence, someone who'll watch over her when I can't—it's enough.
For now, it's enough.