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

What We Break, What We Mend

8.3 – Maggi and Midnight Realizations

Days passed like mist — barely visible, quietly fading.

Tiara and Ankita sat on the dorm steps, sharing cold Maggi and hot chai in paper cups.
Their ritual.

They talked about classes. Professors. Boys. The awful cafeteria food.
Then, inevitably, it drifted to him.

"I still can't believe Kabir," Ankita muttered, biting into a samosa.
"Dude ghosted you for months, then breaks up like he's doing you a favour. Men are weird."

Tiara gave a tired smile.

"He wasn't all bad."

"Yeah, but he wasn't right either," Ankita shrugged.
"Everyone saw it. Even he did."

A silence followed.

"So... how's Sahil?" Tiara asked.

Ankita lit up.

"He's a disaster. But sweet. Romantic, in the weirdest ways. Yesterday we were eating biryani and he got this call—ran off saying it was an emergency."

"Emergency?" Tiara raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. His roommate. Cold guy. Hoodie, sketchbook. You know... Arvind?"

Tiara froze.

"Apparently, he lost his grandfather recently. Broke down. Was crying on the floor. He's not okay. Skipping classes. On meds now."

Tiara stopped chewing.
Her cup trembled slightly in her hand.

Ankita kept talking, but her voice blurred.

All Tiara could think was:

"Arvind."
"The boy who never cried when his parents died."
"The boy who drew his grief instead of speaking it."

Before she realized it, she was on her feet.

"Tiara?" Ankita called.

No answer.
She was already running — barefoot across campus.

Through corridors.
Down stairwells.
Lungs burning. Legs shaking.

All she could think was:

"He needs me."
"He never asks. But he needs me."

At the hostel gate, a soft honk stopped her.

Ankita.
Scooty. Helmet in hand. Hair wild in the wind.

"Get on."

Tiara didn't argue.
She climbed on.

Two girls.
One broken boy.
And a past refusing to stay buried.

8.4 – The Night She Knocked

Late night.
Arvind's dorm.
The air smelled like rain and medicine.

A knock.
Soft. Hesitant.

He didn't move.

"Arvind... it's me."

Her voice — soft, uncertain — cracked something in him.

Another knock.

Then the door creaked open.

Tiara stepped in. Drenched. Breathless.
Like she'd run through the city to get here.

She walked to him.
Sat beside his bed.

"I heard about your grandpa."

He didn't respond. Just curled deeper under the blanket.

"You don't have to talk. I just... I didn't want you to be alone."