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

What the Storm Didn't Take

Act 7.1 – "What Remains After the Storm"

A year later.

The world hadn't ended.

Not for Tiara.
Not for Arvind.
Not even for Kabir.

But something had shifted.

The tension between Tiara and Kabir was no longer tucked into glances or swallowed in silence.
It sat with them at every meal.
Lingered in every pause.
Haunted every attempt at affection.

And Kabir had accepted it—
Quietly.
Resigned.

As long as Arvind existed in her orbit, Tiara would never truly be his.

So he began letting go.
Not with a breakup. Not with blame.
Just with space.
And silence.

He stopped replying immediately.
Stopped showing up to the places he used to.
Stopped asking what was wrong.

But he couldn't end it.

Because he still loved her.
Truly.
Even if she never truly loved him back.

Tiara

She saw it.
Felt it.
But didn't fight it.

She was tired. And afraid.

Somewhere along the way, she had started to love Kabir.
Not completely. Not wildly.
But enough to fear losing him.

She couldn't take another collapse.
Not like Arvind.
Not like her grandmother.

The panic attacks returned.
Shorter now. But sharper.

So she adapted.

She smiled.
She won debates.
She aced her papers.

Caffeine became her lifeline.
Her veins ran on Red Bull and vending machine coffee.

She cried in bathroom stalls.
Under blankets.
Behind locked seminar rooms after everyone had gone.

And the mask?
It stayed on.
But it was cracking.

Kabir

He noticed.

He saw how she looked at Arvind when she thought no one was watching.
He heard how her voice softened when she said his name.

Once, he caught her smiling at an old photo on her phone—
Not of him.
Of someone from before.

Still, he stayed.

He smiled for pictures.
Kissed her forehead.
Walked her to class.

But at night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

"I can't hate her for not loving me," he whispered once.
"But I can't keep pretending either."

Arvind

He had changed too.

He walked taller.
Laughed more.
Spoke without flinching.

The grief still lingered—like an old scar aching in winter—
But he wasn't broken anymore.

He started mentoring juniors.
Even held a sketching workshop once.

Kiara was still there.
Still teasing.
Still grounding him.

She reminded him of who he was—on days he forgot.

He hadn't drawn Tiara in a long time.

Not until one evening, when he saw a girl walking by with jasmine in her hair.
His hand moved on instinct.