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

Epilogue

"Three Months"

One Month Before the End

It started small.
A little dizziness.
A few skipped meals.
Nausea that felt like stress.

Arvind ignored it — the way people do when life is finally going right.

Until he coughed up blood.

That night, he rushed himself to the ER.
No one knew. Not even Tiara.
A few scans. A few tests. A room too white. A doctor too quiet.

Then came the words:

"Glioblastoma. Stage IV. You have... three months, at best."

Arvind blinked.
"No," he whispered. "No. I'm getting married. I bought a ring. We're planning a future."

The doctor only looked at him — tired eyes filled with practiced pity.

He begged.
"There must be something. A trial. A surgery. Please."

But the answer didn't change.

Three months.
That was all.

That night, Arvind sat on the hospital bench, hands clenched around the velvet box in his pocket.
He had planned to propose that very evening.

The ring wasn't extravagant — just a slim band of gold, a tiny diamond, and two initials etched inside.
T.V.
To My Last Light.

He stared at it, shaking.

For years after his parents died, he wished it had been him instead.
Every birthday felt like a betrayal. Every morning, a punishment.

But his grandfather... and Kiara... they taught him how to breathe again.
And Tiara — she taught him how to live.

Together, they had rebuilt themselves — brick by shattered brick.
And now, just when everything was finally okay...

That night, Arvind went home with the diagnosis crumpled in his hand.
He stared at it until the ink blurred, until his own name stopped looking like his.

He thought of Tiara — her laugh, her strength, the way she wrapped her arms around him at night like she was anchoring them both to life.

She had once been a ghost. Now she was a flame.

And he refused to drag her back into the dark.

So, he made a plan.

He would disappear.
Not completely — just enough to hurt. But not enough to destroy.

It began small: a missed call. A late reply.
A "K" instead of "okay."

She noticed. Of course she did.
She called. Messaged. Sent him a picture of his favorite food, asking if he was coming over.

He left it on seen.

By the third week, he had stopped replying at all.

The ring stayed in his pocket.
Heavy. Cold. Useless.

One Month Later

It was Kiara who unknowingly shattered the illusion.

She texted him:

"In town for two days. Let's catch up?"

He replied almost instantly:

"XXX Café. 4 PM."

No hesitation.

She didn't know that when she walked out of that café,
Her world — and Tiara's — would never be the same.