The corridor seemed quieter now. Less threatening.Not safe—never safe—but softer somehow. As if it, too, had witnessed what Dhruve just faced and was giving him a moment to breathe.
Dhruve walked slowly, hands in his pockets, eyes low. Mira stayed beside him, silent, a few steps behind—as though giving him space he didn't even know he needed.
His mind was still stuck on that moment.
That kid.That fragile version of him.Those damn words.
"You're allowed to stop hurting."
It kept echoing in his ribs, like a whisper he'd buried long ago coming back for revenge.
Dhruve exhaled shakily. "I didn't expect… that."
Mira didn't look surprised. "We rarely expect the parts of ourselves we abandoned."
He dragged a hand through his hair. "He looked so tired… and he was just a kid. And I—damn it, I couldn't protect him."
"You did your best."
"Did I?" Dhruve muttered. "Because it sure doesn't feel like it."
They turned a corner. The corridor split into two paths.
Left: warm, golden light.Right: deep blue, darker, quieter.
Neither looked comforting.
Mira gestured. "Which path calls to you?"
Dhruve stared at them, jaw tightening. "Which one… hurts less?"
"Neither," she said truthfully. "Pain isn't a place. It's a memory."
He laughed under his breath. "Great. So I'm screwed either way."
But he moved toward the blue path. Something about it felt familiar. Cold, but honest.
As they walked, Mira watched him from the corner of her eye. "You haven't cried like that in years, have you?"
Dhruve didn't answer.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "Crying doesn't fix anything."
"No," Mira agreed softly. "But sometimes… it unclogs a heart that's been locked for too long."
Dhruve sucked in a breath. "I didn't cry for him. Not really."
Mira waited.
He continued, voice low, strained. "I cried because that kid still… lives in me. And I never gave him a chance to rest. I kept dragging him through shit. Expecting him to be strong for me. For everyone."
The corridor dimmed slightly, like the darkness was listening.
Dhruve's voice dropped. "He deserved love. Not survival. Just—love."
They reached the middle of the corridor, where a faint hum vibrated along the walls. Like electricity. Or memory.
Mira stopped. "This next part… it may be harder."
Dhruve stepped forward anyway. "Let's get it over with."
But nothing appeared.
No younger version.No vision.No cry for help.
Just… emptiness.
Dhruve frowned. "What is this?"
Mira's eyes softened. "The years you don't remember."
He blinked. "What?"
"You locked them away," she explained. "Years where you broke… silently. You hid them so well even you forgot them."
Dhruve's stomach tightened.
He felt something in the air shift—like the quiet before a storm. Not loud, not dramatic, but heavy enough to push on the bones.
Then he heard it.
A faint sound.
Not crying.
Not whispering.
Just breathing. A small, sharp inhale… then slow, shaky exhales.
He turned.
And he saw…
Hands.
Just hands.
Floating in the dimness.
Small hands.Thin.Red at the knuckles from being clenched too hard.
Dhruve felt his pulse punch at his throat.
He knew those hands.
They were his—from the time he used to sit in the bathroom late at night, gripping his own wrists to stop himself from breaking something.When he used to bite the inside of his cheeks so no sound escaped.When he hid every bit of pain behind walls so high nobody would ever know anything was wrong.
Mira said nothing.
Dhruve stepped closer, unable to look away.
"I forgot about this," he whispered.
The hands trembled—slow, terrified tremors.
Dhruve felt a lump slam into his throat. "Fuck… I really forgot."
The hands clenched harder.
He reached out instinctively—but stopped inches away.
Mira's voice was barely audible. "They're shaking because they waited… for you."
Dhruve sucked in a breath that stung. "I left this part of me alone for too long…"
His voice cracked.
"…and it's still scared."
For a long moment, Dhruve just stood there—watching those trembling hands, feeling everything he'd pushed down for decades rise up like cold water.
He finally whispered, "I'm sorry."
The trembling stopped.
The hands opened slowly, like they were finally letting go of something.The redness faded.The shaking calmed.
They reached toward Dhruve—not desperate, not clinging—just wanting acknowledgment.
He gently placed his hand over them.
Warmth spread through the corridor, quiet but real. Like someone turning on a light in a forgotten room.
Slowly… the hands dissolved into soft light, leaving nothing behind but a weight lifted from Dhruve's chest.
He breathed—really breathed—for the first time in what felt like years.
Mira stepped close. "You're doing well."
Dhruve wiped his face with the back of his hand, embarrassed. "I look like a mess."
"No," Mira said softly. "You look human."
He let out a tired, honest laugh. "That's worse."
She smiled faintly. "Not today."
He closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself.
Then: "Alright… what's next?"
Mira looked down the corridor.
And the path ahead began to glow.