Aarvi stood in front of the mirror longer than she meant to.
The bathroom light was too bright, too honest. It showed her everything she hadn't asked to see—faint bruises along her arm, a pale scrape near her elbow, the barely-there redness at her wrist where someone had grabbed her too hard.
She touched it gently.
It hurt.
She should've been angry.
Instead, her lips curved into the smallest, stupidest smile.
Rudra's face flashed in her mind uninvited—rain in his hair, fury in his eyes, the way his hands had shaken even while his mouth spat cruelty.
Idiot, she thought.
She dropped her hand, turned away from the mirror, and went back to her room.
Her books lay open where she'd left them. Notes half-written. A pen uncapped. Life, pretending to be normal.
Aarvi sat on the edge of her bed and pulled her knees up, forcing herself to focus. She read the same paragraph three times without absorbing a word.
The clock on her wall ticked loudly.
Too loudly.
She frowned and checked her phone.
10:47 PM.
Her father should've been home by now.
A familiar unease settled in her chest.
She dialed.
It rang twice.
Then his voice came through, tired but warm. "Aarvi? Sweetheart?"
Relief flooded her. "Where are you? You're late."
A pause. The faint sound of horns in the background.
"Traffic," he said. "An accident near the flyover. It's a mess."
"You always say that," she muttered.
He chuckled softly. "Have dinner. Don't wait up. I'll be home soon."
"You promise?"
"Always," he said. "Lock the door."
The call ended.
Aarvi stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Then she ate alone, mechanically, the food tasting like nothing. She washed the dishes, locked the door, checked it twice—something she never usually did.
Her room felt too quiet.
She crawled into bed and fell asleep without realizing when.
—
Her phone rang.
The sound ripped through the dark like glass breaking.
Aarvi jolted awake, heart hammering, her room disoriented and strange. The clock glowed faintly.
2:13 AM.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
Her fingers fumbled as she answered. "Hello?"
Silence.
Then a voice. Male. Flat. Official.
"Is this Aarvi Mehra?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"This is Inspector Sharma from City Traffic Police."
Her heart began to race.
"There's been an accident," he said. "I'm sorry to inform you—"
The rest of the words blurred.
Road. Collision. On the spot. We tried.
Her phone slipped from her hand.
The world tilted violently.
"No," she said, to no one. "No. No, no, no."
Her knees gave way and she slid down against the bed, chest caving inward as if something vital had been ripped out.
She didn't scream.
She couldn't.
The sound never came.
—
Morning arrived without mercy.
The cremation passed like a dream she couldn't wake from—faces she barely recognized, hands touching her shoulder, murmured condolences that slid past her ears.
She did what she was told.
She lit the pyre with hands that didn't feel like her own.
She watched the fire take him.
When it was over, everyone left.
One by one.
Until only smoke remained.
And her.
Aarvi sat on the low stone ledge near the ashes, staring at the dying embers. The heat no longer burned. It just existed.
Empty.
She hadn't cried yet.
Her eyes were dry and aching.
"Don't do that."
The voice came quietly.
She didn't turn.
She knew.
Rudra stepped into her line of sight and crouched in front of her, rain jacket replaced by black, his expression stripped bare of its usual arrogance.
"Don't stare at it like that," he said softly. "It doesn't give answers."
Her throat tightened.
"You came," she said.
He nodded once. "I heard."
That was all.
No apologies. No excuses.
He sat beside her, close but not touching.
Minutes passed.
Then she broke.
Her shoulders shook violently as the sound finally tore free—raw, animal, unbearable. Rudra didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest, holding her while she fell apart.
She clutched his shirt, sobbing.
"I didn't say goodbye," she gasped. "I didn't—"
"I know," he murmured, pressing his forehead to her hair. "I know."
For once, he didn't tease.
Didn't push.
Didn't hide.
When the police arrived later, Aarvi barely registered it.
The officer spoke gently, handing her a small evidence pouch. "These were found on him. Personal belongings."
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
A wallet.
Keys.
And a pearl necklace.
Old. Elegant. Warm to the touch.
Rudra stiffened.
His breath hitched.
The color drained from his face.
Aarvi noticed. "Rudra?"
He took a step back.
"That's… important," he said, voice tight. "Keep it safe."
Before she could ask more, he turned and walked away.
Rain began again.
Aarvi watched him go, clutching the necklace, unaware that the grief in his eyes had nothing to do with her father—
And everything to do with the life he'd been forced to live because of her.
Because of what she was.
And what she would become.