CHAPTER 24
AARAV
Hi, to the twelve-year-old Anika,
I’m sorry I could never reply to your letters, for whatever reasons, but I do regret it.
For starters, I have to say congratulations—you won't change much when you grow up. You’re still just as sassy, still allergic to giving straightforward answers, and of course, you can't resist slipping in your sarcastic comments and that ridiculous attitude. Honestly, it still gives me a tough time, and yeah, I guess I do need someone to humble me every now and then. I really wish you hadn’t been deprived of the art supplies you wanted so badly because I know how much painting meant to you.
.. and everyone was fine when you were gone.
Well, except me. But we can't help that now.
If it makes you feel better, I couldn’t really make new friends either, not till college anyway.
I met Samarth after that—you know him, you met him briefly during our wedding.
But no one could ever replace what we had.
So don’t worry, that position is still open, and it can only be filled by you, Anika.
And... I can't believe I’m saying this, but I kinda missed your lame jokes too.
(They’re still not funny though) I hate that you had to deal with those brothers you mentioned.
I never met them, but trust me, I share a mutual hatred.
If I ever come across them, I’ll make sure they pay.
No one messes with you and gets away with it. It's still the same, Anu.
I know it’s hard to forget these twelve years—and honestly, I don’t want to—but somewhere, it makes me feel weirdly happy knowing you missed me just as much as I missed you.
You were never just a hangout buddy for me.
You know that, right? I could never forget you.
Or us. You mattered to me in ways you probably still don’t understand.
So stop pitying yourself. Stop blaming yourself.
Come outside and face me. Don’t be a coward.
That’s not the Anika I know. The Anika I knew would have shouted at me, cursed at me, and maybe even hit me with a pillow before she’d lock herself in a room like this.
And even if you’ve changed—even if this is what you’ve become—let me know you.
Every version of you. I want to hear everything I missed.
.. your college life, your first job, your relationships (if there were any), all of it.
So stop ignoring me, Anika. Come out. We’ll figure this out together. Like we always did.
Yours truly,
29 years old (And yeah, I just realized half of this letter is in present tense and half is in past tense, but what can I say—I’m only good at maths.
English was always your department. This letter stuff isn’t my cup of tea, you know that.
So ignore the mistakes and please don't start one of your grammar lectures.)
Aarav (or Aaru as you like to say, you can call me that now, you won’t believe it but I missed that nickname)
I fold the paper in half, my fingers lingering on the edges for a second longer than necessary.
With a sigh, I slide it through the gap under her door.
It's been three hours since Anika locked herself inside. I thought maybe she needed time to process everything—hell, even I needed a moment after today’s mess—so I gave her space.
But when her mom started getting worried, something inside me shifted.
It's not really like me to hover or fuss over people.
.. not unless they're important to me. And Anika—she is very important to me. Yes, she might be a stranger in a lot of ways now. But it doesn’t matter. I find myself caring anyway.
I put Aunty to bed and made up some excuse that Anika was tired and just needed to be alone.
It wasn’t for Aunty, though. It was for Anika.
I don’t want her blaming herself for her mother’s stress.
Because she would. That's exactly the kind of girl she is—taking the world's weight on her tiny shoulders.
Now, I sit outside her door, leaning against the wall, listening to nothing but the painfully loud silence coming from her room.
My patience is running thin. And worry—it’s like acid in my veins now, eating away at my calm.
I knock again, harder this time. "Okay, Anika, that’s enough now," I say, my voice sharp with frustration and something deeper.
Fear . "I'm giving you five minutes. You better come out now. Or I swear I’m going to break this door down. "
No response. Not even a shuffle inside. I curse under my breath, running a hand through my hair.
I’m not used to this—this helpless feeling sitting heavy in my chest. Is this what she felt all those years?
Waiting for someone who never answered back?
God, if anything's happened to her... I can't even finish the thought.
I step back, rubbing my palms together like I’m about to go in for a goddamn wrestling match. Using the narrow passage as a runway, I gather all the force in my body and charge towards the door.
Just as I’m about to slam into it, the door swings open.
And she’s there. Right in front of me.
Before I can stop, I crash into her, sending both of us sprawling to the ground. Instinct kicks in—my hand goes to the back of her head, cradling it so she doesn’t slam it against the floor. I end up on top of her, my body awkwardly pinning hers down.
For a second, neither of us moves. Her wide, tear-filled eyes lock with mine, her chest rising and falling rapidly under me.
I can feel the heat of her skin, the small tremors running through her.
I should move—I know I should—but I can't. It’s like I’m frozen, caught between guilt and relief and something else entirely.
Then, out of nowhere, she starts laughing. A real laugh. Breathless, cracked at the edges, but so real it makes something in my chest tighten painfully.
At first, I’m just staring at her like she’s gone completely insane. But then, before I know it, I’m laughing too. I roll off her, collapsing beside her on the cold floor, the tension snapping and falling away like dead leaves.
We lay there side by side, the ceiling spinning above us, our breathing slowing down into something calmer, steadier. For a long minute, neither of us says anything. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a single tear slip down her cheek.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice so small it almost breaks me.
I turn towards her, needing her to see the sincerity in my face. "For what?" I ask quietly. "None of this is your fault."
She turns her body to face me too, her hair messy and wild, her eyes too sad for someone who used to light up rooms just by walking into them.
"It wasn’t Mumma’s fault either. I don't blame her.
I would've done the same if I were in her place," she says, her voice thick.
"But it doesn’t change the fact that you were hurt. Because of me."
God. She really doesn’t get it, does she?
I reach out and gently wipe the tear from her cheek with my thumb, the action feeling so natural, like it’s stitched into my bones. "You apologize too much," I murmur. "You were just a kid, Anika. You didn’t ask for any of this. You trusted your mother. That’s what kids do."
I push myself up on one elbow, still watching her like she might vanish if I look away for even a second. "Trust me," I say, my voice low but firm. "I don’t blame you. I don’t blame Aunty. None of it. So don’t you dare blame yourself either."
She looks at me then, properly looks at me, and it’s like I can see the storm behind her eyes. The doubts, the fear, the pain. And underneath it all, the girl I used to know. So full of life, but now broken.
I tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. She doesn’t flinch away.
"I’m going to hug you," I whisper, giving her a second to pull away, to protest. She doesn’t. She just watches me, wide-eyed and silent.
Carefully, I pull her into my arms. She’s stiff at first, her body tense and uncertain. But then, slowly, she melts into me, her head resting against my chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear again if she lets go.
I feel the tiny tremors running through her, the way she tries to choke back her sobs, and it just makes me hold her tighter. As if I could absorb her pain by sheer force of will.
I close my eyes, resting my chin lightly on the top of her head. "I’ve got you, Anu," I whisper against her hair. "You don't have to fight the world alone anymore. Let me do it for you."
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel her breathe. Really breathe.
And I swear—I’m never letting her go again.