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

The Spaces Between

 4.1 – "The Milk, the Memory, and the Lie"

"Sometimes, the truth doesn't need to be spoken. It just waits in silence, waiting to be found.

"Tiara's Dorm – Early Evening

The fundraiser had been a glowing success.

The campus buzzed with praise. Professors called her "brilliant." Juniors called her a "legend." The highlight reel from the night was already trending on the college group chat.

But none of that mattered to her now.

All Tiara wanted was rest.

She had finally slowed down. The dark circles under her eyes were fading. Her voice had steadied. For once, she was letting herself be soft. She had earned it.

Kabir had been by her side all evening — smiling, supportive — but somehow... not fully there.

He was quieter these days. His touch lingered less. His jokes felt like faded echoes of what they used to be.

Maybe he's just tired, she told herself. I pushed him away for weeks. Maybe he's still waiting for me to come back.

They were back in her room now — just for a while. She needed to grab her charger and some notes.

Kabir slumped into the beanbag chair, eyes distant.

She glanced at him, trying to bridge the space.
"Want some coffee?" she asked, already heading to the mini-fridge.
"Dark," she added with a smile. "The way you like it."

Kabir gave a tired chuckle.
"Yeah. I'd love that, dear."

She opened the fridge.

The milk carton was empty.

"Ugh, of course," she muttered, grabbing her wallet. "I'll be right back — store downstairs. Two minutes."

He nodded.
She slipped out the door.

The room fell silent again.

Kabir – Alone

He wasn't sure why he looked toward her bed.

Or why his eyes landed — again — on the notebook partially hidden underneath it.

The one labeled: "Secret Files."

He had seen it before. Briefly. Flipped through it once. Tried to forget it.

But now, alone in her space, with the ghost of her past whispering through the margins... he couldn't help himself.

He pulled it out.

The cover was worn at the edges. The ink smudged in places.

He turned the pages slowly. Half-curious. Half-afraid.

Old doodles. Star maps. Inside jokes.

Then: Page 12.

His hands stilled.

"I stole 100 bucks for my father wallet. He never found out. – Signed, Arvind."

Kabir stared.

"The name hit softly — then echoed."
Gives it a more cinematic, layered texture.. But something clicked — a thread in his memory tugged loose.

Arvind.

He had heard that name before.

Not from Tiara.

From Kiara.

She once mentioned a boy she was dating. Quiet. Talented. Withdrawn.

A sketch artist, she said.