CHAPTER XV ECHOES OF A HOLLOW HEART
Tara didn't dare lift her eyes from the page, her fingers dancing over the sketchbook as her pencil tapped a frenetic rhythm.
The charcoal dragged across paper like a fresh wound-each stroke a silent scream she refused to voice.
Her jaw clenched tight, betraying the storm brewing beneath her composed exterior.
Every tremor of her hand felt like a rebellion against the calm she tried to project.
She wanted to look. God, how she yearned to glance over at Ishaani-to confirm her fears, to see the evidence etched into the air between them.
The urge to check whether the lines running from her throat to her sternum was anything real, whether her fear of Nayonica touching what she solely waned could be deemed real or not.
Instead, she muttered just loud enough for Vedika to catch her words, infused with frustration. "She should've been scolded more."
Vedika shot her a disapproving glance, the kind that sliced through the tension, but Tara's focus remained unwavering on her sketch-a fraying tether to sanity in a moment of chaos.
The chestnut hues of the page whispered of warmth, but inside, she was stormy gray.
She felt the weight of knowing-knowing whose manicured nails had left marks on her heart, knowing that costume had left the house with Nayonica, knowing that Ishaani Rajvanshi-the girl she loved, the girl who shattered her -had ventured out in pursuit of someone else's blood to bleed with.
A phone buzzed like a predator in the silence.
Ishaani's hand instinctively dove for her pocket, but she hesitated as the phone vibrated like a heartbeat. It pulsed a second time, then a third. Still, she didn't move.
Vedika raised an eyebrow, breaking the thick silence. "You're not picking up?"
"No. Not right now." Ishaani's voice was a fragile whisper-a ghost of the confidence she once wore so easily.
Tara's heart raced at the name flashing across the screen, each letter sending ice coursing through her veins.
The pencil in her grasp snapped in two, a grim reminder of her unravelling state.
Ishaani, treating the situation like it was a prelude to heartbreak, shook her head, swallowing the bittersweet taste of last night as if it could cleanse the memories lodged in her throat.
Tara sat frozen at her desk, the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders.
The room felt too still, the silence settling like dust over the chaos in her mind.
Ishaani's footsteps faded up the creaking staircase, and a moment later, Vedika's soft sigh broke the weighty quiet.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Vedika shut her laptop.
The sound echoed in the stillness, sharp and final, like a guillotine dropping.
Tara didn't flinch. She couldn't. In her palm, the snapped pencil halves lay like broken bones, reminders of the violent sketch scrawled across her page-smudges that resembled bruises, strokes like desperate screams. The art that once flowed from her heart now mirrored the turmoil swirling within.
Vedika's phone buzzed. The vibration was a rhythm only one person knew, a code that sent chills racing down Tara's spine.
Vedika straightened, her eyes sparkling with a mix of anxiety and adrenaline. "That's him."
Tara blinked, every ounce of tension sharpening into something colder, more lethal. "Send it here."
As Vedika opened the encrypted folder, the blue glow of the screen illuminated their anxious faces, casting shadows that danced nervously across the walls. For a heartbeat, time stood still, and neither girl dared to breathe.
Then came the whispered words that shattered the silence. "Holy. Hell."
Tara leaned in close, instincts overriding the heartbreak that ached in her chest. Page after page unfurled before them-documents, bank logs, offshore registrations, surveillance stills.
Evidence that tied the Sahastra Alliance directly to the traffickers they had been tracking for six long months.
At the center of it all stood the NGO Tara had devoted her time and energy to, pouring her art, her voice, and her passion into what she believed was a cause worth fighting for. The one that had pretended to rescue women while letting more disappear.
"They're using the relief funds," Vedika murmured, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Twelve crores funneled offshore."
Tara's heart raced as Vedika scrolled through the files. "And..." Vedika's face paled. "Lord, Tara. A list of... clients."
Nausea twisted in Tara's stomach. "Name them," she demanded, her voice steadier than she felt.
Vedika swallowed hard. "A minister. Three CEOs. And-"
The next name hit Tara like a fist. Her breath caught, turning her heartbeat into a war drum.
"Samrat Khanna."
Time froze.
"That bastard," Tara whispered, disbelief mixing with fury. "He was just at the gallery gala last week. I shook his hand."
Vedika continued scrolling, her frown deepening with each revelation. "And Nayonica's father is on the donor list."
The room buzzed with an electric tension, an unspoken understanding that they had stumbled onto something dangerous. Tara's spine stiffened, her breath coming in shaky bursts as anger, betrayal, and fear coursed through her veins.
Before they could voice their thoughts, Vedika's phone buzzed again, the tone urgent.
"Move fast? What does that mean?" Tara's eyes darted to Vedika, panic bubbling beneath the surface.
"I don't know," Vedika replied, her voice strained. "But we're in this deeper than I thought. We need to make sure we're safe."
Tara's mind raced. She had put everything into this cause, and now the very organization she had trusted was at the heart of a criminal conspiracy. The sketches she filled her nights with felt like distant memories; now stark reality loomed over her like a dark cloud.
With a glance at the open laptop, Tara felt a spark of determination igniting within. "We have to expose them."
"Faster than what we were doing before. I Cannot afford to let more girls get pulled into this hellish side.
" Vedika said, her brow furrowing. "We need a new firewall, first of all.
C1PH3R can do that. Also, you need to check your art gallery members because people like Samrat Khanna are definitely visting your galleries- that's some good intel. "
"Exactly. We can piece this together." Tara's voice resolutely steadied. "We're not backing down. Not now."
Amaya's half-chewed fruit looked like popcorn bubbles in her anxious grasp, too loud in its innocence.
Vedika returned to her laptop, eyes swirling with unrecognized concern, while Tara remained frozen, knuckles white as the walls around her slowly closed in.
She pretended not to notice the bullshit going on at that moment, not to notice Ishaani slipping away like sand through her fingers- the girl she had let go again, retreating into the night.
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The house sank into a deep silence, the kind that enfolds you when the world outside is asleep. But Ishaani remained wide awake, her own heartbeat accompanied by the relentless ticking of the clock:
3:47 a.m.
The red digits glared down at her like a warning-time slipping away, moment by agonizing moment.
Her mother's perfume still clung to the fabric of the air, a ghostly remnant of sandalwood, talc, and unacknowledged sorrow.
The memory of a hug persisted, melting into her skin, heavy with expectations she could not bear.
Sitting on the cold floor, knees drawn up to her chest, Ishaani gazed into the bleakness, the glow of her phone screen casting a faint light over her features.
One missed call-Nayonica.
Just the name turned her insides to ice, each syllable a chisel carving deeper into the stone of her heart.
She lingered there, unwavering before the screen until darkness reclaimed it-leaving her in the clutches of silence, louder than a siren's wail.
Ghost her.
The thought hit with a brutal simplicity-sharp, piercing, almost liberating. It was the coward's escape, an act of self-preservation as much as it was a betrayal. What could she even say?
"Hey, sorry for fucking you and then leaving without a trace socially and emotionally and for allowing my mother to unexpectedly catch us together."
No emojis could capture the weight of those words, the layers of shame and regret interwoven more intricately than the fabric of a beautiful lie.
Her thumb hovered over the contact, trembling slightly against the screen, eyes shifting like leaves in an autumn breeze. Her knuckles throbbed in quiet desperation-a reminder of everything unsaid. Her mother's words echoed like an unwelcome refrain through the chambers of her mind.
"I don't want you hurting yourself on anyone's account."
If only it were that simple. The ache wasn't merely physical; it embedded itself in her ribs, blossoming like a dark flower beneath her skin, feeding on her reserves of hope and joy.
Tilting her head back against the wall, she stared at the ceiling that loomed like a blank confession page-waiting to be filled with secrets that would never find release.
She craved solutions, not just survival plans. Something that could sever this cycle of shame before it consumed her entirely, turning her heart to ash and dust.
But the problem with being Ishaani Rajvanshi was that when it came to equations, she was a genius-perfectly logical, methodically clear. Yet with people, she was hopelessly lost, drowning in emotions that twisted her rationale into chaos.
Nayonica deserved distance. A clean break, not half-hearted excuses or late-night explanations.
Ghosting felt cruel, a blade cutting through bonds that were already frayed, yet she believed honesty would hurt even more.
Perhaps she would let the friendship dissolve like sugar in rain, silently erasing what once mattered without the finality of a confrontation-a whisper to dissolve into silence.
But Tara? Tara was an indelible mark on her life-she would be there, lingering in every corner, every shared laugh in unavoidable moments. Ishaani would continue to feign indifference, clinging to the delusion that she'd moved on, until she herself began to believe it was true.
She could already sense the shift in the air that tomorrow would bring-a click of tension in every fleeting glance.
Tara would act normal, too normal, and that pretense would sting worse than any anger.
Vedika would fill the gaps with too-loud laughter, and Amaya would toss out jokes tinged with salt-each jest cutting deeper than the last.
Ishaani would keep her head down, speak only when spoken to, and slip away before anyone could see the tremor in her hands-the plan, the only one she had to shield her fractured heart from the incoming tide of emotion.
Ishaani sank back onto her bed, the soft mattress enveloping her like a familiar embrace.
She stared up at the ceiling, where the fan spun lazily, its rhythmic whirring matching the lethargy of time itself.
Each slow revolution felt weighted, as if the very universe was weary of the drama she carried on her shoulders.
Her mother's voice floated back to her, a gentle echo in the corners of her mind, tender and unwavering:
"You're enough."
A laugh broke free from her throat-quiet, almost a choke-a testament to the irony of those words.
Enough? How could she possibly measure up to the towering expectations her mother had set?
The chaos that pulsed around her, brought on by Nayonica's endless schemes, felt like a storm she could barely weather.
And Tara? With her quiet fire, she seemed to shine just a little too brightly, illuminating Ishaani's insecurities beautifully.
But still, she was trying. With each breath, with each heartbeat, she grappled with her sense of self, and maybe-just maybe-that glimmer of effort counted for something.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed, breaking the stillness of the room.
Ishaani watched the text bubble flicker, then fade into nothingness.
The silence that followed was palpable, thickening the air.
It felt easier to ignore the world outside her door, to batten down the hatches and let the storm rage on without her participation.
Without thinking, she flipped her phone face down, its screen darkening as if to match her mood.
The light died out, and her room fell into a tranquil hush, a sanctuary where she could retreat from the noise.
She curled into her pillow, clutching it tightly as if it were armor against the uncertainties waiting for her beyond the walls. The warmth she sought-those fading echoes of maternal love-wrapped around her like a protective layer, shielding her from the tempest of expectations and chaos.
Tomorrow would bring its own trials, more hurt and uncertainty.
But for tonight, just for this brief, blurry moment, Ishaani surrendered to the stillness.
She let her breaths slowly deepen, inhaling the calm and exhaling the weight of her worries, finding solace in the simple act of being.
In that fleeting interlude, she allowed herself to simply exist, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as she embraced the peace, however fragile it might be.
Lord, I hate myself.
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