Parallel Lines: a story of memory, silence, and first love

Parallel Paths

Act 2.1 – When the Light Went Out

Arvind wasn't the same after the accident.
"The cheerful, confident boy who once lit up rooms began to fade — then vanished." — and then all at once. In his place was someone quiet, withdrawn, and haunted by panic attacks he couldn't control.

He was sent to therapy, but nothing helped. No progress. No peace. Anything that reminded him of his parents — a scent, a photograph, a passing word — would send him spiraling.

"He lost the only constants in his life: his mother's warmth, his father's pride."
His biggest cheerleaders were suddenly nowhere to be found.

In a world full of people, Arvind had never felt so alone.

After the accident, he moved to a new city and joined a new school. But he kept to himself. His face stayed blank, unreadable. He avoided eye contact. Avoided people.
He built walls so high, no one even tried to climb them.

He believed that letting anyone in would only bring more pain.
Everyone leaves eventually — that's what life had taught him.
And someone like him didn't deserve to be loved anyway.

The boy who once couldn't stop talking now barely spoke.
The promising student now struggled just to pass.
He began skipping school altogether.
Most days, he'd leave home just to wander —
nowhere to go, nowhere to be.

No one tried to reach him.
And Arvind preferred it that way.

He spent most of his time in silence — drowning in it.
He'd sit alone in his room, staring at the knife hidden in his drawer.
Some nights, he came terrifyingly close to using it.
The thought of ending it all never fully left.

But each time, just before he slipped too far, he'd see one face in his mind:
His grandfather.

A man who had lost everything — his only son and daughter-in-law — in the same crash.
And yet, he didn't break. He stayed strong.
For Arvind.

That quiet strength became Arvind's last thread to hold on to.

He was falling —
spiraling down a staircase with no end in sight.

But fate wasn't finished with him yet.

Act 2.2 – The Girl with the Silent Grief

Tiara had changed.

Once shy and reserved, she had become more outgoing. More confident. She laughed louder now, smiled more easily, and moved through the world with a quiet poise — all thanks to Arvind.

But that Arvind — the boy who had always been by her side — was gone.
Moved to another city.
Vanished from her life like a chapter that ended mid-sentence.

She had friends. Plenty of them. People she could text, sit with at lunch, study with.
But somehow, she still felt alone.

She missed those late nights on the terrace with Arvind —
counting stars, whispering inside jokes, pretending the night sky held all the answers.
And sometimes, in those quiet moments, she'd wonder:
What if I had told him how I felt?
Would he have stayed?
Would anything be different?

The regrets were heavy.
But what came next broke her completely.

A phone call.
A silence.
Her name, spoken with a trembling voice.

Her grandmother had passed away.

The woman who raised her while her parents buried themselves in work.
The woman who taught her how to cook, how to iron a school uniform, how to carry herself with quiet grace.
The woman who never said much — but always knew when something was wrong.