Chapter 4 - Chapter Three: In the Silence, He Heard Her

'𝑻𝒘𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅. 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅, 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏.'

Paro stepped quietly into the grand hallway of the mansion, the heavy doors closing behind her with a soft thud. Her bag, heavy with rain speckled books, tugged at her shoulder. The house, as always, was immaculate and silent. A kind of silence that didn't comfort, but judged. She barely made it past the entrance when her mother's voice cut through the air.

"Paro!?"

Paro paused, eyes closing for a second before she turned toward the hallway. Her mother stood with her arms folded, lips pressed into a thin line. Her brother hovered nearby, jaw clenched, and her father sat on the divan with a disapproving tilt of the head, as if rehearsing a scolding in her mind.

Paro offered a tired, almost mechanical smile. "I just went to College Street. Got some books."

"You just went?" her mother repeated, stepping forward. "Without telling anyone? Without asking?"

"I told Bhola da," Paro murmured, slipping her shoes off by the side. "It was just an hour or two."

"Paro, we've told you before—" her father began, voice rising.

"I know," she interrupted softly. "You've told me. A thousand times."

Her mother scoffed. "These are not the ways of a respectful girl. Roaming around with no sense of responsibility. No regard for family."

Paro felt something inside her slowly crack. Not in anger but in ache.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she said, almost to herself. "I just wanted some time… outside. That's all."

Her mother crossed her arms tighter. "This isn't about 'outside.' This is about your attitude. You come and go as if this house means nothing to you."

Paro looked at her. "This house means everything to me," she said quietly. "But sometimes it feels like I don't mean anything to it."

A stunned silence followed.

Her father exhaled sharply, already dismissing her words. "You're tired. That's all. Go freshen up."

Paro didn't argue. She had stopped arguing a long time ago. It never changed anything only made her feel smaller.

She walked toward the stairs, her fingers brushing the carved wood of the railing. At the base of the steps, she turned slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not trying to fight. I just… I don't know how else to exist in this house without always disappointing someone."

No one answered.

She climbed the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last. At her door, she hesitated. For a moment, she hoped someone would call after her, not to scold, but to understand. To ask if she was okay.

But the silence downstairs remained unbroken. She stepped into her room and shut the door softly. Not with a slam. Not with defiance. Just with the quiet finality of someone who had grown used to being unheard. And as she leaned against the door, her books slipping to the floor, she whispered to no one:

"I don't want freedom. I just want love that doesn't come with conditions."

Paro slid down against the door, her knees pulled to her chest, her head resting on them. The soft thud of her books hitting the floor barely registered in her ears. Outside, the rain tapped gently against the windows a rhythmic, lonely sound that somehow made the silence inside her room feel even louder.

And then, the tears came.

Not all at once. Not dramatic or loud. Just slow, like a leak in a dam that had been cracking for years. She buried her face into her arms, her shoulders trembling. There were no words. She wiped her face with the edge of her sleeve. It didn't help. The ache wasn't in her eyes. it was in her chest. A hollow, echoing thing.

She didn't want freedom if it meant being unloved. She didn't want rebellion. She didn't want to win. All she wanted was for someone in that big, cold house to see her not as a problem, not as a disappointment but just… as their Paro.

She hugged herself tighter, rocking gently as if trying to comfort a version of herself that no longer fit anywhere.

"I'm not a bad person," she whispered into the silence, her voice barely audible. "Why do they always make me feel like I am?"

The room offered no answer. Only the soft rustle of leaves outside the window and the distant sound of footsteps somewhere in the mansion. She stayed like that for a while crying, remembering, breaking a little more with each thought. And yet, somewhere beneath the pain, a small fire burned in her.

They could misunderstand her.

They could call her rude, difficult, even rebellious.

But one day, they'd see the truth.

And until then... she would survive.

Even if it meant standing alone.

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒌'𝒔 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑽𝒊𝒆𝒘 – 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒅

The crowd swallowed her like a wave.

Mayank stood still, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as his eyes searched every face hoping, doubting, wishing. The girl with the foggy glasses and the ghungroo keychain had become a moment, and now, she was a memory that barely existed.

"She couldn't have gone that far," he muttered under his breath.

He moved through the people, stepping in puddles, brushing past shoulders, scanning every umbrella, every bookstall. A dozen girls in glasses. None of them her. None of them made that sound.

𝐂𝐡𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐡𝐚𝐧...

He stopped. Turned. Nothing. Just a rickshaw squeaking by and a dog barking in the distance. No keychain. No glance. No sign.

Maybe she was a coincidence. Maybe she was fate with bad timing.

"Bro?" Aabir followed him, eyebrows raised. "You're acting like you lost your girlfriend of three years."

Mayank ignored him. He weaved through the people, checked the entrance of the old bookstore, peeked inside Nothing. No girl with glasses. No ghungroo keychain. No smile that quietly tugged at his soul.

"She was just here…" he whispered to himself.

After ten more minutes of darting eyes, false hope, and breathless searching,

Aabir finally clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Mayank. Let's go, man. You're soaked. And she's gone."

Defeated, Mayank nodded. He gave the footpath one last look the world already moved on without her. The space she occupied was now filled with vendors shouting about discounts and girls giggling over chemistry notes. She had been here. But now, she was nowhere.

𝑳𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 – 𝑨𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒌'𝒔 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆

The rooftop had always been his escape. Above the noise. Above the world.

The rain hadn't stopped, but it had softened into a rhythmic drizzle. It tapped gently against the tin roof above Mayank's small rooftop setup an old mattress, two plastic chairs, and a flask of chai his mother sent up before heading to bed.

Mayank and Aabir sat there, legs stretched out, sipping from steel cups as the city lights blinked faintly through the mist. The scent of wet earth, rain-soaked laundry, and distant pakoras filled the air.

Aabir finally broke the silence. "So… you gonna tell me what happened back there, or should I guess?" Mayank stared into his chai, swirling it gently. "It was weird, man. Like time stopped for a second." "Oh god. Filmy alert." Aabir groaned. "No, seriously," Mayank said, almost whispering. "I didn't even see her face properly. Just her glasses… and this tiny keychain on her bag. Ghungroos. They made a sound 𝐂𝐡𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐡𝐚𝐧... it cut through all the noise. And then… I don't know. I felt it. Something." Aabir leaned back against the water tank, squinting at him. "You're saying you caught feelings because of a keychain sound?" "Not feelings. Not love," Mayank said, shaking his head. "But… a moment. You know? Like... something inside me paused. Like I saw a sentence from a book I didn't know I needed to read." Aabir stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing. "Dude, you need sleep."

Mayank chuckled too, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that didn't fade.

"You ever feel like you missed something important? Not because you were careless. But because fate just… played one second too fast?" Aabir sipped his chai, thoughtful now. "You didn't even get her name?" Mayank shook his head. "Nothing. No name, no clue, no idea if I'll ever see her again."

They sat in silence for a moment. The rain whispered above them, soft and sad.

"Then maybe," Aabir finally said, "you'll just have to go back. Same time, same place. College Street. Maybe the ghungroo will sing again."

Mayank smiled faintly, watching the clouds drift above the distant skyline.

"Yeah," he said. "Maybe she's not gone. Maybe she's just... a page I haven't turned yet."

And somewhere, in the memory of that rainy street, the sound echoed faintly again.

𝐂𝐡𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐡𝐚𝐧...

Like a promise waiting to be found.

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