It began with a scream.
Not Maya's.
A sharp sound tore through the quiet of the house—raw, unmeasured, human. The kind of scream that did not ask permission before entering the walls.
Maya stopped mid-step in the corridor.
In her left hand, her diary rested against her chest. In her right, instinctively, her fingers hovered near the silver pin hidden beneath her sleeve—an old habit, a reflex born of years when danger had never announced itself politely.
Another scream followed.
"Someone.....call someone!"
Maya did not run.
She moved.
Down the stairs, her steps soundless, her presence sudden. The chandeliers above seemed to tremble, light flickering as if the house itself had inhaled too sharply.
The living room was crowded.
Too crowded.
They stood in a circle—Mahim, Mahi, Fahad, Fahim, Rani, Rahi, Anik, the cousins, even a few servants frozen at the edges. No one spoke. No one breathed properly.
At the center of the room—
A box.
Wooden. Old. Rough-edged. Unmarked.
It sat on the floor like a question no one dared ask.
It trembled.
Not visibly. Not dramatically.
But enough.
Maya felt it before she saw it.
She stepped forward.
"Maya—wait," Mahi whispered.
Maya did not stop.
She knelt.
The box was colder than it should have been. Winter-cold. Grave-cold. Her fingertips lingered on the lid, and the room seemed to contract around her.
Fahim spoke, voice tight. "We don't know what it is."
"I do," Maya said softly.
Her voice did not shake.
She lifted the lid.
And time—
Stopped.
No breath moved.
No clock ticked.
Inside the box, wrapped in pale cloth dulled by age and silence, lay a boy.
Arab.
His face untouched by decay. His lashes still casting faint shadows. His lips parted as if he had meant to speak and simply… forgotten.
Mahi staggered back. "Oh God…"
Rani covered her mouth. "That's not—this isn't—"
Rahi felt his knees weaken. "Maya…"
Maya made a sound.
Not a cry.
Not a scream.
A sound too small to name.
She lowered herself to her knees, hands trembling for the first time in days.
"alo," she whispered.
The room heard it.Did not understand it.
But felt it.She touched Arab's hand.Cold.
She pressed her forehead gently to his.
"You're sleeping," she murmured, as if soothing a child. "It's okay. I'll sing."
Anik took a step forward. "Maya, this isn't—"
She began to hum.
Low. Wordless. A melody pulled from somewhere older than language.
The sound wrapped around the room like fog.
Fahad whispered to Fahim, "Who is he?"
Fahim swallowed. "Arab."
"And?" Fahad pressed.
"The one she lost."Maya stood.
Lifted Arab into her arms with impossible gentleness.
Rani cried out. "Maya, please—let us help—"
"No," Maya said quietly.
And no one argued.
She walked.They followed.
Through the corridor. Past windows that reflected their faces back at them—faces they did not recognize.
Into the garden.
The air was heavy with earth and memory.
At the orchard's edge, Maya stopped.
She knelt.
And began to dig.
With her hands.
"Maya," Mahim said hoarsely. "Let the staff—"
She did not look at him.
"I have done this before," she said.
Fahad clenched his fists. "You shouldn't—"
"This is mine," she replied.
The soil resisted.
Then yielded.
Her hands trembled, dirt collecting beneath her nails, but she did not slow.
Rahi whispered, "Let me help."
She shook her head once.
Finally, she laid Arab into the earth.
Covered him.
Sat beside the mound.
The wind moved through the trees.
"alo…" she whispered. "Why did you leave me?"
Her voice wavered.
Just slightly.
"If I could have traded my life for yours," she said, "I would have."
Anik closed his eyes.
"I had power," Maya continued. "Fire. Strength. But that night—I was empty."
Her shoulders shook once.
Not a sob.
A fracture.
"I was too late."
No one spoke.
Night fell.
One by one, they retreated.
All except Maya.
She stayed.
Hand resting on the earth.
And when the world finally slept, she whispered—
"I'll never forget you."
"And they will never forget what they did."
The wind carried her words.And the earth listened.
Night did not fall all at once.
It descended slowly, layer by layer, as if the sky itself was afraid to disturb her.
Maya remained beside the grave long after the house lights flickered on behind the orchard, long after footsteps retreated and doors closed. The earth beneath her palm was still loose, still warm from the work of her hands. It smelled of rain and roots and old truths.
She did not cry.
She had learned, long ago, that crying was a luxury—one that often attracted attention, punishment, questions she could not answer.
Instead, she sat very still.Listening.
The wind moved through the trees, whispering through neem leaves and low branches like a language she almost remembered.
Footsteps approached, hesitant.
"Maya."
Mahim's voice.
She did not look back.
He stopped a few paces away, unsure if he was allowed closer. A father reduced to a man standing at the edge of a wound he did not know how to touch.
"I thought you'd be cold," he said softly. "I brought a shawl."
No response.
He placed it gently over her shoulders anyway. She did not resist.
After a long silence, he asked, "Was he… the one you spoke about? The boy in your drawings?"
"Yes."
The word was small. Absolute.
Mahim swallowed. "How long?"
Maya's fingers pressed into the soil. "Years."
"Why didn't you tell us?" His voice cracked—not accusing, just broken.
She finally turned her head slightly. Moonlight caught the edge of her face.
"You didn't ask," she said. Then, after a pause, "And even if you had… I wouldn't have known how."
Mahim sank down onto the grass beside her, his knees stiff, his shoulders heavy.
"I failed you," he said.
Maya looked at him then. Really looked.
"No," she replied. "He tried to protect me from the world. He tried to protect me from myself."
Mahim closed his eyes.
Behind them, another presence approached.
"Maya."
Fahim.
His voice was calm, controlled—the voice of a doctor, a brother, a man who understood damage.
"I checked the box," he said quietly. "There was no sign of recent tampering. Whoever brought him… did so carefully. Deliberately."
He hesitated. "You knew he was… gone?"
"Yes."
"Then why—" Fahim stopped himself. Changed the question. "Why they bring him here, now?"
Maya looked back at the grave. "Because secrets rot when buried alone."
Silence stretched.
Then footsteps again—lighter this time.
Rani knelt on Maya's other side, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"I'm sorry," Rani whispered. "I should had protected you. I should have noticed."
Maya shook her head. "You noticed. You just didn't know where to put what you saw."
Rani's eyes filled. "He loved you like a sister ."
"Yes."
Rani's voice trembled. "Did you love him?"
Maya didn't answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was steady.
"He was my home when I had none."
That was answer enough.
From a distance, Rahi watched.
He had not approached yet.
Because part of him still carried the echo of her hands on his face, her voice calling him by another name. He understood—intellectually—that it had not been him she saw.
Emotionally, it was harder.
Anik came last.
He did not kneel.
He stood, hands clasped behind his back, face unreadable.
"You didn't tell me," he said.
Maya did not turn.
"You didn't ask," she replied, echoing herself.
Anik exhaled slowly. "I would have listened."
"Would you?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
She finally looked at him. "Then listen now."
He met her gaze.
"They took him because of me," Maya said. "Because I wouldn't break the way they wanted."
Anik's jaw tightened. " I will kill them."
Maya's eyes darkened—not with fear, but with clarity.
"That is not for tonight."
Anik nodded once. "Then tomorrow."
She did not answer.
The house lights dimmed further. Crickets began their quiet chorus.
Mahim stood slowly. "Come inside," he said. "Please.."
Maya hesitated.
Then she reached forward, pressed her palm flat against the earth one last time.
"I'll come," she said. "But he stays."
"Of course," Mahim replied.
Inside the house, the atmosphere was different.
Muted.
Everyone spoke in lowered voices, as if grief had weight and could be disturbed by sound.
Maya washed her hands.
The dirt stained the sink brown. It did not come off her nails completely.
She did not try too hard.
In the living room, she sat where she always did.
The doctor—older now, careful with his words—stood with Fahim nearby.
"She's dissociating," the doctor said quietly. "Functioning. Alert. But partitioned."
Fahim nodded. "And the medication?"
"Will help her sleep. Not heal."
Maya glanced at them. "I can hear you."
The doctor stiffened. "I...—of course."
"You don't need to whisper," she said calmly. "I know what I am."
Everyone froze.
Mahi spoke gently. "And what are you, my love?"
Maya thought.
"A survivor of hell and a monster, " she said. "And someone who remembers everything."
Rahi stepped forward at last. "Maya…maya about earlier—"
"It wasn't you," she said immediately. "I know."
He swallowed. "Still."
She looked at him, really looked. "Thank you for staying still when I needed the illusion."
His eyes burned. "Anytime. I will be with you when the most you need "
She nodded once.
Silence returned.
But this time, it was different.
Not empty.
Not suffocating.
It was the silence that follows truth.
Maya leaned back against the sofa, eyes open, and said, "For now… sit with me."
No one moved away.
Because for the first time—
She asked something.