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

What We Break, What We Mend

8.1 – The Fall After the Rise

Arvind was healing.
Not perfectly. Not completely.
But slowly. Steadily.

With Kiara by his side, things had begun to change. She was his anchor, his mirror — a reminder that life was still worth feeling.

He laughed more now. Studied not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
He sketched again — not as escape, but as joy. Street vendors. Dorm corners. Kiara asleep on a library table.
The boy who once moved like a machine was learning to feel like a human again.

And then — the world shattered.

It was a regular evening. A little warm.
Kiara had just handed him a chai and asked if he wanted to rewatch that cartoon they used to joke about.

His phone rang. He almost didn't pick it up.

"Hello?"

"This is XXX Hospital. Is this Arvind?"

"Yes?"

A pause. A breath.

"We're sorry to inform you... your grandfather passed away peacefully this morning."

The chai slipped from his hand.
The phone hit the floor with a dull thud.

He didn't scream.
Didn't cry.
He just stood — eyes wide, face blank — as the color drained from his world.

Everything he had rebuilt.
Every piece Kiara helped stitch back together.
Every inch of hope he'd dared to feel again — collapsed.

Sahil, who had also received the news, rushed to the dorm.
Kiara was already there, panic rising in her voice.

But Arvind didn't speak.
Didn't cry.
He sat on the floor, staring at the wall like it was the only thing holding him up.

Sahil hugged him tight.
But Arvind didn't move.

His breathing hitched.
Shallow. Quick.
His hands trembled. Panic clawed at his throat.

"Why me?"
"Why again?"
"Why does everyone I love leave?"

The voices were back.
The darkness returned.
Colder than before.

8.2 – The Collapse

The apartment felt colder than usual.

Arvind sat on the floor, back against the bed, unmoving for hours.
Curtains drawn.
Fan spinning with a lazy rhythm that mocked the chaos inside him.

His phone lit up with messages. Sahil. Kiara. A college mentor.
He didn't reply.
He couldn't.

His grandfather — the only family he had left — was gone.

Unlike his parents, this time there was no shock.
No disbelief.
Only silence.

The unbearable kind.

Later that night, Kiara barged in.
Sahil had given her the spare key.

She didn't say a word. Just walked to him and sat beside him on the floor.

He didn't look at her.
Didn't move.

But when she placed her hand over his — warm, steady — he finally spoke:

"Why does everyone I love leave?"

His voice was hollow.
No anger. Just grief.

Kiara didn't answer.
She just pulled him close.

And that's when the tears came.
Not loud.
Not wild.

Just slow. Helpless. Like a dam breaking quietly.