Aryan didn't go home right away.
He sat in his car for a long time, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring at nothing. The night outside had settled into a dull stillness, broken only by the occasional passing vehicle. Lia's words echoed in his head. The way she had broken when she said she was scared.
He exhaled slowly and finally started the engine.
When he reached home, the lights were still on.
That alone made his chest tighten.
His mother was sitting on the sofa, folded shawl around her shoulders, eyes lifting the moment the door opened. His father stood near the kitchen doorway, phone in hand as if he'd been waiting.
"You found anything?" his mother asked softly.
Aryan shook his head.
The word no never came out, but it didn't need to.
His father's shoulders dropped slightly.
They didn't raise their voices. They didn't accuse him. That somehow made it harder.
Aryan sat down, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"I should've protected him," he said suddenly. "I should've stayed."
His mother moved closer, sitting beside him.
"You did what you could," she said gently.
He shook his head.
"He was always the one smiling through things," Aryan continued, voice breaking now. "Always telling me he was fine. I should've known that meant he wasn't."
His father sat across from him.
"You love him," his father said simply.
Aryan looked up, startled.
"Like a brother," he replied without hesitation.
His mother nodded.
"We know."
Aryan swallowed hard.
"I need to go look for him again."
There was no argument.
His father exchanged a look with his mother—one filled with worry, yes, but also understanding.
"Where will you go?" his mother asked.
"Anywhere," Aryan said. "Everywhere."
His father sighed.
"When someone disappears," he said quietly, "the worst thing is not searching. It's pretending they'll come back on their own."
Aryan's eyes filled.
"We won't stop you," his mother said, placing her hand over his. "Just don't shut us out."
His father nodded.
"Call us. Even if it's late. Even if you have nothing new."
Aryan let out a shaky breath.
"Thank you," he whispered.
His mother pulled him into a hug, holding him longer than usual.
"Bring our boy back," she murmured. "Or at least bring back the truth."
Aryan nodded against her shoulder.
---
The next morning, Lia stood outside her house again.
This time, she didn't feel like she was running.
Her parents watched from the doorway as she adjusted her bag, nerves twisting inside her chest.
Her mother stepped forward and pressed something into her hand.
Money.
"For food. And travel," she said quietly.
Lia looked at her, stunned.
"You don't have to—"
"I know," her mother interrupted. "But I want to."
Her father cleared his throat.
"If you find him," he said, "don't force him to come back. Just… let him know he's not forgotten."
Lia nodded, tears threatening again.
"I will."
They watched her leave, fear heavy in their hearts—but pride too.
---
Lia and Aryan met again later that day.
They didn't say much at first.
They didn't need to.
Two people allowed to keep caring.
Two people choosing not to give up.
Aryan finally spoke.
"My parents understand," he said.
Lia nodded.
"So do mine. Now."
They exchanged a look—tired, determined, broken in the same place.
"We'll find him," Aryan said.
Lia tightened her grip on her bag.
"We have to," she replied.
Because some people aren't meant to be lost.
And some searches don't end—
They wait for the right moment to begin again.