Memories don't fade the way people think they do.
They don't dissolve into nothingness, nor do they soften with time. Instead, they settle somewhere deep—quiet, patient—waiting for the right moment to return.
And when they do, they don't arrive gently.
They come back complete.
Sharp. Detailed. Unforgiving.
---
Pranav didn't remember falling asleep.
But when his eyes opened, he wasn't in the present anymore.
He was back.
Three years ago.
---
The house looked the same.
But it didn't feel the same.
Back then, it breathed.
---
"Pranav! Jaldi aa, you're going to be late!"
Her voice echoed through the hallway—alive, filled with irritation and affection in equal measure.
The kind of voice that didn't just fill space—it defined it.
---
Pranav rushed down the staircase, adjusting his shirt, his school bag hanging half-open, tie loose like he didn't believe in rules that early in the morning.
"I have time," he said lazily.
"You said that ten minutes ago," Ishani replied without even looking at him.
---
She sat at the dining table, one leg casually crossed over the other, a cup of chai in her hand, a magazine open in front of her—but clearly unread.
---
Same table.
Same chairs.
But this version of the house was alive.
---
"You're obsessed with my schedule," Pranav muttered, grabbing a slice of toast.
---
"I'm obsessed with you not ruining your future," she shot back instantly.
---
He smirked.
"Future is overrated."
---
That made her look up.
Really look at him.
And then—
She smiled.
---
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't polished.
It was real.
---
"Drama king," she said.
---
Pranav rolled his eyes, but there was no irritation in it.
No anger.
No distance.
Just familiarity.
---
"Where's Dad?" he asked.
---
"Left early," she replied. "Meeting."
---
"Of course," Pranav muttered under his breath.
---
Ishani's gaze flickered toward him.
She noticed.
She always noticed.
---
"Don't start," she said calmly.
---
"I didn't even say anything."
---
"You were about to."
---
He didn't argue.
He just shrugged and continued eating.
---
A comfortable silence settled between them.
The kind that didn't demand conversation.
The kind that only exists when people understand each other without needing words.
---
Until—
---
"I have to leave today."
---
The sentence dropped into the air like it didn't matter.
Like it was routine.
Like it was normal.
---
Pranav froze.
Mid-bite.
---
"What?"
---
"Australia," she said casually, taking another sip of chai. "Work trip."
---
"Since when?"
---
"Since yesterday."
---
"That's not how planning works," he said, his tone sharpening.
---
She raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Welcome to my work life."
---
But something felt wrong.
Not obvious.
Not loud.
Just… misplaced.
---
"How long?" he asked.
---
"A week. Maybe ten days."
---
"Maybe?"
---
She smiled faintly.
"You know how it goes."
---
No.
He didn't.
And he didn't like that answer.
---
"You didn't tell me," he said.
---
"I'm telling you now."
---
"That's not the same thing."
---
For a moment—
Something shifted in her expression.
A flicker.
Quick.
Almost invisible.
---
Then gone.
---
"I didn't want you to overthink," she said.
---
Pranav let out a quiet laugh.
Dry.
Controlled.
---
"Too late."
---
She leaned back slightly, studying him.
Not like a parent.
Like someone trying to remember something important.
---
"You'll be fine," she said.
---
"That's not the point."
---
"Then what is?"
---
Pranav opened his mouth to respond—
But stopped.
---
Because the truth wasn't simple.
---
It wasn't about the trip.
---
It was about the feeling.
---
That something was being hidden.
---
---
The rest of the day passed strangely.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just… off.
---
Ishani moved through the house like everything was normal.
But Pranav noticed the details.
---
She checked her phone more than usual.
Paused mid-conversation.
Looked distracted.
---
Once, he saw her standing near the window, staring outside—not at anything specific.
Just… staring.
---
"Everything okay?" he had asked.
---
She turned instantly.
Too quickly.
---
"Yeah," she said.
---
Lie.
---
He didn't push.
But he didn't forget.
---
---
Evening came.
---
The suitcase stood near the door.
Packed.
Ready.
---
The driver waited outside, occasionally glancing at his watch.
---
Pranav stood near the staircase, arms crossed, watching her.
---
"You're really leaving like this?" he asked.
---
She zipped her bag.
Calm.
Composed.
Too composed.
---
"It's just a trip," she said.
---
"Doesn't feel like one."
---
That made her pause.
Just for a second.
---
Then she turned.
Looked at him.
---
"You trust me?" she asked.
---
The question didn't fit the moment.
At all.
---
Pranav frowned.
"What kind of question is that?"
---
"Answer it."
---
He exhaled slowly.
"Of course I do."
---
She held his gaze.
Longer than usual.
---
Then nodded.
---
"Then don't think too much."
---
There it was again.
---
That line.
---
Don't think.
Don't question.
Don't dig.
---
Pranav stepped closer.
---
"Why do I feel like you're hiding something?" he asked quietly.
---
Silence.
---
Not denial.
Not explanation.
---
Just silence.
---
And that silence said more than any answer could.
---
Then—
She smiled.
---
Soft.
Familiar.
Carefully constructed.
---
"I'm not," she said.
---
Lie.
---
This time, he was sure.
---
---
At the door—
---
She picked up her bag.
Looked at the house once.
Then at him.
---
"Take care of yourself," she said.
---
"I'm not five," he replied.
---
"I know."
---
A pause.
---
Then she stepped forward—
And hugged him.
---
Tight.
Unexpected.
---
Pranav stiffened for a moment.
Then relaxed.
---
"You're acting weird," he muttered.
---
"Maybe I'll miss you," she whispered.
---
That wasn't normal.
She never said things like that.
---
He pulled back slightly.
Trying to read her face.
---
But she had already composed herself.
---
"Call me when you land," he said.
---
"I will."
---
Lie.
---
---
She walked out.
---
The door closed.
---
And something in the house… changed.
---
Not visibly.
Not audibly.
---
But deeply.
---
Pranav stood there.
Still.
---
Something wasn't right.
---
He walked to the window.
Watched the car drive away.
Disappear.
---
Gone.
---
---
Back to present—
---
Pranav sat upright on his bed.
Breathing slightly heavier.
---
"Something was off," he said under his breath.
---
Now it all made sense.
---
She knew something.
That day.
---
And she didn't tell him.
---
His phone buzzed.
---
Arjun.
---
Arjun:
Bhai ek aur cheez mili…
Plane ke andar ka CCTV missing hai.
---
Pranav's eyes darkened.
---
"Convenient," he muttered.
---
He stood up.
Walked to the cupboard.
Opened it.
---
The saree.
Still there.
Still untouched.
---
But now—
It didn't feel like memory.
---
It felt like a clue.
---
He looked toward the door.
Then whispered—
---
"You knew something, didn't you?"
---
Silence answered.
---
But this time—
It didn't feel empty.
---
It felt like the truth was hiding just out of reach.