Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Advik
“Nothing slips past me.”
The words won’t leave me alone.
I’d had that sudden, reckless urge to rip the goddamn band-aid off. To just tell her. But then I remembered... she told me she’d let me have that conversation when she was ready.
“Not the time,” she’d said.
So I tried. I really did. I tried to rein it in. But the second she brought up Aarohi’s wedding upsetting me, my grip slipped. Guilt, shame, regret—all of it came pouring out. A volatile cocktail I couldn’t hold down.
“That... is what upsets me,” I finally said.
Her eyes glisten, panic flickering at the edges. And then—
“I... I slept with her,” I confess in a horrified whisper. “After you were gone. I did that. And now I can’t even... gain a sliver of your forgiveness.”
I look down at my shoes like they hold the answer.
When I finally look back up, bracing for the worst—rage, indifference, disgust—what I see instead knocks the wind out of me.
She’s smiling.
A soft, stunned little smile. Not smug. Not cold. Just... knowing—almost amused. Her eyes are still glassy, still carrying that familiar ache, but there’s no anger in them. Just a sad sort of amusement.
Fuck.
“You knew,” I breathe, stupidly.
Of course she did. Nothing slips past her.
And now all I can think is—does she know the rest?
What I did three months ago? How I gave up, completely?
My stomach lurches and I stumble back a step.
I search her face, desperate for something. But all I see is a thousand emotions crowding behind her eyes—none of them clear enough to read.
“Yes,” she says simply. Her voice is soft. Steady. But the pain in her eyes pulses like a heartbeat.
Not the time.
Fuck.
I did it again.
She told me—twice—that she didn’t want to talk. That we’ll talk one day. And I still couldn’t keep my goddamn mouth shut.
“Sorry. I just... word-vomited,” I mutter, backing up further. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. You said it wasn’t the time and I still—God, I’m sorry.”
She blinks, slow and thoughtful, and the smile fades just slightly. “I didn’t stop you.”
“You did. You tried—”
“There are non-verbal ways, Vik. I could’ve stopped you at any point.”
Her voice is so gentle, it makes my chest hurt.
And she’s right. If she’d wanted to shut me down, she would’ve. I don’t have a single doubt about this new Greesha. But she didn’t.
I just stare at her. Speechless.
She sighs softly. “I know what happened at the wedding. I know you tried with her. And... failed?”
There’s a quiet huff of breath from her, but it’s not cruel. It’s not mockery.
It’s worse. It’s resignation.
That’s what she thinks happened? My lungs burn. My chest aches. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“One day,” I whisper, “I’ll tell you what actually happened. Why I let it. From the beginning. How I failed you. When you’re ready to listen, of course.”
She nods, slow and sad. “Sure.”
Then her face steels, and I feel the doors closing.
“For now, let’s focus on the op. I... don’t want any distractions.”
I nod. “I understand. If—”
The door opens behind me.
She stiffens immediately. I turn.
Viraj walks in, the other ‘bodyguard’. He’s calm and composed, like he owns the air around him. He doesn’t spare me more than a glance before stepping beside her—his hand resting easily on the small of her back.
That’s when I hear it.
“Jaan, we gotta go. Mehul’s back at his bungalow.”
He says it low, but loud enough for me to catch. His lips brush her ear when he speaks, the intimacy unmistakable.
He’s staking his claim.
Maybe he already knows who I am. Maybe he doesn’t. Doesn’t matter.
He calls her Jaan. Life. That’s not professional. That’s deeply personal.
And the fact is that she melts into his touch. Her body leans, subtly but undeniably, toward him. I don’t watch her face. I can’t. I don’t want to see her hopelessly in love.
My heart twists painfully.
I feel like I’m intruding on something I never should have. Again.
I mumble a goodbye, barely audible, and get the hell out of there.
There’s still half a day’s work left, but my mind’s a minefield. I try—really try—to concentrate.
It doesn’t work.
I text Vicky that I’m coming over for dinner. And hope that’s still okay.
Dr. Reza’s been nudging me to talk to him about Khushi. About everything.
I’ve been avoiding it. But I can’t keep stalling.
Everywhere I look, people are moving forward. They’re rebuilding. Healing. Living.
And I’m still stuck.
Frozen in some godforsaken purgatory of regret and guilt.
Maybe it’s time.
Maybe it’s finally time to try. To start crawling out of this hole. To join this brutal, unforgiving race of life again.
??????
“W-what did you say?” Vikram chokes out, voice hoarse.
We’re in the kitchen. Ishika left to sleep a good while ago. So I decided to bring her up. Khushi.
The color drains from his face the second I say her name.
I blink. I hadn’t expected that level of shock.
“I... I wanted to talk about her,” I say carefully. “My therapist thinks it’s time.”
“You... you remember her?” He sounds like someone just rewound his entire life.
“Of course I do.” I frown. “I mean, mom and dad never talked about her, so I guess it became this unspoken, off-limits topic. But yes. I remember her. I—”
My voice breaks. “I was the one who—”
“I need to sit. Wait.”
His breath stutters as he stumbles to the couch, head falling forward like the weight of it is too much.
“What do you remember?” he asks, rubbing his temples as if bracing for impact.
I sit too. My voice barely escapes me.
“I remember you were out cycling. I was playing with that kid next door—the scrawny older one. I left Khushi in my pillow fort... and when I came back...” I inhale sharply. “She was gone.”
Vikram stares at the coffee table like he’s trying to burn a hole through it. His eyes are wide. Unnaturally wide.
“We really thought...” He breathes like someone’s running a marathon through his chest. “Advik, we all thought you didn’t remember her. A few days later, mom and dad asked you about Khushi, and you looked them dead in the eye and said ‘Who?’”
My mouth dries.
“They were so relieved,” he continues. “Relieved that you wouldn’t carry the guilt like we all do. They thought you didn’t—fuck!”
He stands abruptly and starts pacing. Every step sounds like a clock ticking backward. My heart hammers in my throat. I said what?
Then he whispers to himself. “What the fuck?”
“Vicky, I do remember her.” I say. “I... I saw mumma remove every trace of her after a few days and it just made sense that they... they didn’t want us to remember. Later, I thought it was some twisted grief. And you never talked about her in front of me—”
“Because we thought you forgot her!” he snaps, and I flinch violently.
I whisper, as realization settles into my bones. “I’m... sorry. I was p-playing outside—”
“No. No, no—fuck,” he spins around and crouches right in front of me, gripping the edge of the table. “That’s not what I meant, Viko. We thought you didn’t remember she existed. That’s what you forgot. Not the incident—her.”
He looks up slowly.
“Mom and Dad kept saying how lucky it was that you wouldn’t carry the burden like we all did. That you’d been spared. That your brain had... shut it out.”
A tremor passes through him. “Shit. You were probably in shock. That’s what it was.”
“I didn’t know what to do,” I mumble. “One day her things were there. The next—gone. It just... made sense that I wasn’t supposed to remember. That they didn’t want me to.”
“You thought we blamed you?” he breathes, stunned.
I nod. “You never said otherwise. I figured you were all grieving in your own way. But I was the one who—”
My voice cracks again. “I killed her, Vicky.”
His whole body jerks back. “What the fuck are you on about? You didn’t kill her!”
“I was supposed to watch her—”
“No. That’s not... Advik, it wasn’t your job. It was Bimla aunty’s fault. That maid who used to help around the house? I told her I was going cycling—”
“No.” I shake my head, confused. “There was no one else there. It was just me.”
He blinks hard. “Advik, she was there. Papa told me later. She made some snacks that evening for the two of us before Mom and Dad left. She just didn’t watch you both properly.”
My entire body stills. “You’re saying... I wasn’t alone?”
“No,” he says slowly, eyes pooling. “You weren’t. She was there. I went cycling while she left you both to do whatever you wanted. Mom never forgave herself. That aunty wasn’t a nanny. She was barely reliable. But they didn’t think they’d be gone long. Like an hour maybe.”
He looks away. “Mom used to cry every night. Hitting herself. Screaming. But never in front of you. Because they thought you’d been spared.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Spared? No. Just... excluded. I thought you all held it against me. Because I was the reason she died.”
“We didn’t know you remembered!” he cries out. “We thought... we were protecting you.”
I stare at my brother—older, wiser, always stronger—and all I see is a man who loved his little sister and was failed by everyone else, including me.
“I’ve blamed myself for decades,” I whisper. “Dr. Reza says that I have this hero syndrome because I failed. Many times. With Greesha too.”
“Viko.” His voice breaks as he pulls me into a hug. “I’m so, so fucking sorry.”
His arms are tight around me, and for the first time, I don’t fight it. I sink into him like we’re kids again, hiding under the blanket with a half-working flashlight during monsoons.
I want to say it’s okay. That it’s fine.
But it’s not.
And maybe that’s the saddest part of all—there’s no one left to blame.
Just grief that’s finally catching up.