The afternoon arrived slowly, reluctantly, like water dragging itself across stone.furniture. The house exhaled a long, low sigh, carrying the accumulated weight of hours—hours spent away from home, away from one another, away from the fragile balance they had so carefully restored in the morning.
The house was alive again, but in a different rhythm than the morning. The warmth of cooked meals lingered faintly in the air, but it was no longer the gentle rhythm of breakfast. It was heavier, denser, carrying the accumulated weight of hours spent away from home, from each other, from the fragile balance they had worked so hard to maintain.
Mahim had returned from his office early, carrying papers and an air of half-concerned fatigue. Fahad and Fahim had returned from work, their suits wrinkled, their minds still in meetings that required precision and patience. Farhan was here too, with a notebook tucked under his arm, scribbling numbers and ideas that had struck him throughout the day. Rani, exhausted from her own commitments, moved around the kitchen, helping Mahi with simple chores—preparing tea, slicing fruit, arranging snacks for those who wandered in.
Rahi leaned against the sofa, watching Naya recount an experiment she had conducted in her science class—her hands waving wildly, her expression animated.
"…and so when I applied the force at exactly forty-two degrees, the reaction was exponential instead of linear. I double-checked the calculations. It had to be forty-two!" Naya's voice rose and fell, bursting with youthful indignation.
Rahi laughed softly. "You do know that forty-two is basically the answer to life, the universe, and everything, right?"
Naya rolled her eyes. "Do not bring Douglas Adams into this. It was a controlled experiment. And your point is invalid."
"Controlled experiment, or emotional outburst?" Rahi teased.
"They are perfectly compatible."
The laughter spread into the room like the first tentative notes of a song.
Across the table, Fahad and Fahim were engaged in their own debate.
"Honestly," Fahad said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "you cannot treat probability as deterministic. It bends reality."
Fahim shook his head calmly. "Probability does not bend reality. Your understanding of chaos is flawed. There are rules you refuse to acknowledge."
Kaelen, sitting across from them with a faintly amused expression, tilted his head. "Rules? In mathematics or in combat strategy?"
Fahad snorted. "Both. They intersect."
Eryth leaned back lazily. "You're all missing the point. Probability is not a law; it's a language. You speak it poorly if you think it commands."
Tharos laughed, deep and rich. "Then I'll take my chances speaking it poorly. Better to speak than to cower in silence."
Even in this casual chaos, the house felt alive—each voice a thread in the tapestry of human noise, carrying the ordinary weight of existence after extraordinary nights.
And Maya…
Maya sat at the window. Silent. Still. Sketchbook in lap, pencil moving with quiet precision.
The afternoon sun filtered through the glass, touching her face and hands in soft streaks, tracing the contours of a life that had learned to endure invisibly. Her lips were set in a line, not tight, not sorrowful, not unyielding. Just… steady.
Mahim approached her quietly, carrying a tray with a cup of tea and a small plate of snacks.
"Maya," he said softly, "tea."
She looked up, eyes calm. "Thank you."
He set it beside her, carefully, and retreated, leaving her to sip in peace.
Rani paused nearby, noticing the pencil in her hand. "Still drawing?"
Maya nodded once, not lifting her eyes from the page.
"Is it… Arib?" Rani asked quietly.
"Yes ," Maya murmured.
From across the room, the arguments had shifted to lighter topics.
Nahir had begun a story about the subtle mathematics of martial arts—angles of attack, the rhythm of motion, the distribution of force across joints.
"See," he said, demonstrating a motion with his hands, "if you adjust the vector by just three degrees, the impact becomes a fractionally different equation. That difference determines whether the strike is lethal or non-lethal. Mathematics is embedded in every movement."
Fahin leaned back, absorbing it. "So combat is… essentially applied calculus?"
"In some ways," Nahir said, smiling faintly. "Applied, fluid, reactive calculus. Every decision compounds. Every step, every breath is a derivative of probability and force."
Kaelen added softly, "And unpredictability is the constant."
The room fell into a thoughtful quiet.
But then—
A sudden flash of light split the room.
Electricity arced from the old chandelier above. A sharp, jagged brilliance that fractured the warmth of the afternoon.
Everyone froze.
All eyes, instinctively, turned to Maya.Her body jerked violently.
The pencil slipped from her hand. The sketchbook fell to the floor.
Her breath caught.
The world narrowed.
The scent of roses. The cold air of the lab. The distant metallic smell of blood. The weight of iron and frost pressing down upon her chest.
Arab.
He was gone.
Her eyes widened, unfocused. Her hands trembled, quivering against her lap.
No one could reach her.
Rani gasped. "Maya!"
Fahin was instantly at her side. "Maya! Look at me! It's okay!"
Maya's gaze didn't follow. Her mind was elsewhere. Each breath came sharp and shallow. Her knees drew up instinctively.
"It's just a spark," Rahi said softly, kneeling beside her. "The light—it's nothing."
But she shook her head violently. Her lips parted in a silent scream. She couldn't find sound. Only the memory—a tidal wave—breaking over her.
Fahin's hands rested lightly on her shoulders, trying to anchor her. "Maya. Breathe with me. In… and… out. One… two… three…"
She did not respond. Her body stiffened further.
Rani tried to place her hand over Maya's trembling one. "I'm here. We're here. You're safe."
"It's not safe," Maya whispered, voice broken, barely audible. "It's not safe… he's gone… it's my fault… everything…"
Mahim came forward, a hand trembling as he touched her back. "Maya, look at me. None of this is your fault. You survived. You're here."
But the words had no power. The panic was a storm, relentless, and her body was its vessel. Her chest heaved, her jaw clenched, and she shook from head to toe.
Farhan knelt near her legs. "Remember what Arab said?" he whispered, voice low. "He told you to stand, no matter what. Stand now."
Her eyes flicked toward him, a shadow of recognition. Then the storm surged again.
Nahir stepped closer. "Maya, you're not alone. We won't let this take you. Not now. Not ever."
Her gaze darted, wild. "I can't—I can't—he's gone…everything…"
Fahin's voice rose slightly, urgent but gentle. "You can. Look at me. You are still here. You are alive. Let us hold that for you!"
Maya's teeth clamped down. Her arms wrapped around herself.
"I… I tried to—he—he…" Her words dissolved into gasps.
Rani pressed her forehead against Maya's shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain. Not now. Just breathe with us. One… two… three…"
Maya's entire body shook. Her knees pressed into her chest.
Mahim knelt in front of her, gently lifting her chin. "Focus on me, Maya. I am here. Every breath you take, I am here. You will not face this alone."
The room had gone silent, the ordinary conversations paused. Even the chatter about math, experiments, and meals faded to nothing.
Maya's panic clung like a living thing. Her memories of Arab, of the lab, of roses, of iron, of fire, of the moment she had first learned she could not die—every fragment pressed into her chest, demanding acknowledgment, demanding surrender.
Fahin tightened his hold slightly. "It's okay to be afraid," he whispered. "But fear doesn't
own you. You are still Maya. You are still here."
The living room was heavy with silence — a silence that had settled like dust over every corner.
The sun filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long shadows on the polished floor. The family sat quietly, all eyes on Maya, who was trembling like a fragile flame caught in a storm.
Rahi was near her, concern etched deeply on his face. But to Maya, he was not Rahi.
In her shattered mind, he was Arab — the one she had lost, the one she had loved, the only light in her darkest years.
Suddenly, her body shook violently. The panic attack ripped through her like a violent wave crashing on fragile shores. She gasped for breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.
Her voice came out as a broken whisper, trembling with a rawness that cracked the still air.
"Arab… you were my only friend… my only light… my only reason to keep going…"
Her eyes, glassy and distant, locked on Rahi as if begging for something beyond words.
The room held its breath.
Even the servants, standing quietly in the corners, felt their hearts break.
Maya's voice continued — a sorrowful chant that tore through the room.
"You were there when no one else was. You saved me from the darkness, even when you were hurting too… I thought if I stayed silent, if I obeyed, you would survive."
Her words dripped with pain, more felt than heard.
Fahim's hand trembled as he wiped a tear from his cheek.
Mahim's eyes glistened; even Mahi's lips quivered.
The cousins looked away, swallowing their sobs.
Maya's face was a mask of pain — no tears fell, no cries escaped, but every line of her face spoke of a soul worn thin by sorrow.
Her lips moved again, quieter this time.
"You were my light. My only light. You made me believe there was hope…"
She looked straight at Rahi now, her gaze soft but empty.
"And then you left…"
Rahi knelt beside her, voice barely steady.
"Maya, I'm not Arab. But I'm here. I won't leave."
She blinked slowly, her breathing calming a little.
Then, as if grasping for a fragile lifeline, she whispered,
"Anik… my locket. Please… bring it to me."
Anik hurried forward without hesitation.
Minutes later, he returned, holding the small silver locket — worn, but precious.
Maya's fingers trembled as she took it.
With trembling hands, she pressed a hidden button.
The soft click echoed in the room.
Then, from the tiny speaker came a voice — young, brave, and full of quiet hope.
Arab's voice.
"If you're hearing this, Maya… I'm gone. But I left you something to remember. You were never alone. You were never a mistake. You were always light, even in the darkest places. Keep your wings. Keep flying."
Maya held the locket close to her chest, her face unreadable — no joy, no sadness, only the hollow echo of pain.
Her shoulders sagged.
Then, slowly, she sank to the floor.
The room was silent for a heartbeat.
Then, one by one, the sobs began.
Mahi's hands covered her face.
Fahad's shoulders shook.
Even the servants, standing near the door, wiped away tears.
No one dared speak.
No one dared move.
Because Maya had nothing left to say.
Only pain.
Only sorrow.
And with the locket cradled in her hands, she finally — exhausted — closed her eyes and slipped into a restless sleep on the cold floor.
Her face was pale, drawn, and empty — a canvas painted with grief and loss.
But still, not a tear.
Only the sound of others crying filled the room.