The summer heat hung like a blanket over the city — heavy, breathless. Outside, children shouted over melting ice creams, someone blared music from a balcony, and a dog barked lazily at nothing.
But inside Pearl's room, time felt frozen.
A ceiling fan spun uselessly overhead, blades creaking in slow circles. Her floor was scattered with notes — scribbled timelines, screenshots of old chats, blurred-out usernames, printed pages from conspiracy forums. Red ink underlined one name over and over:
love_peace
Pearl sat cross-legged on the floor, her laptop screen casting a faint glow on her face. Sweat clung to her brow, but she didn't notice.
She opened her messages. Scrolled to Vansh name. Typed.
"You said you'd tell me someday. It's summer. It's someday now."
Seen.No reply.
Her jaw tightened.
"I found the photo, Vansh. The one from the night of the fire. You were there."
Seen.
Still nothing.
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.
"Why won't you just tell me what you know?"
She waited.
One minute. Two.
Nothing.
She leaned back against the bed, staring at the ceiling, whispering to no one:
"Why are you still lying to me?"
Her phone buzzed.
She grabbed it instantly — too fast, too desperate.
Vansh:
Stop digging into things you don't understand.
Pearl stared at the screen.
"Then explain them to me."
The reply came after a full minute.
Vansh:
Not everything is about you, Pearl.
Her heart stung. She typed quickly.
"That's funny, coming from the guy who's been following me since I was 10."
"Don't you owe me an explanation? Or at least the truth?"
Another pause.
Vansh:
You wouldn't believe the truth if I gave it to you.
Pearl almost laughed. Almost cried. Instead, her fingers flew across the screen.
"Try me. Or are you scared I'll hate you?"
That did it.
The three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Appeared again.
Then finally:
Vansh:
Hate's easy. You've always been good at that.
Pearl's fingers froze.
Was that bitterness?
Or something... softer, hiding beneath?
"I don't hate you," she typed. Then deleted it. Rewrote it. Sent it.
The dots danced again.
Vansh:
You should.
Her breath caught. Her walls rose again.
"Just say what you did. What you were part of. Stop hiding behind riddles and guilt."
"Or maybe you like playing the tragic mystery boy. Makes it easier to lie, huh?"
She knew that would sting — and she meant it to.
But his next reply came fast.
Vansh:
You think this is a game?
I'm trying to protect you, Pearl. You just keep walking toward the fire.
Don't make me watch you burn again.
Her thumbs hovered over the screen, heart pounding.
Again.
There it was. A crack.
And maybe — just maybe — the beginning of truth