To the ones who still look up,and to the ones who still remember the hum beneath their skin.
It's quieter here now.
No battle. No hunger. No worlds clawing for space.Only light — thin as breath, patient as memory.
Sometimes I think it hums in time with your ocean, Maya.Sometimes I think the waves are the world's way of whispering back.
I don't know if what I am now deserves a name.Perhaps memory is enough. Perhaps I'm just the space between two heartbeats — one that was yours, one that was mine.
If you ever wonder whether I can still see you, the answer is yes.When you reach for the boy's hand, when he laughs into the wind, when the sky forgets which color to wear — that's when the seam stirs.Not in pain, but in recognition.Not to open, but to remember what being whole once felt like.
You always thought the seam was something to be closed.But maybe it was never meant to seal.Maybe it was meant to teach.
To remind both worlds that the walls between them are only as thick as the fears they build.That the act of seeing another life — and not flinching — is a kind of salvation.
Aarav will grow.He'll ask about the light again.Tell him it wasn't a miracle or a curse.Tell him it was a conversation — one that never really ended.
When he's older and the world feels too small, let him stand at the edge of the sea and listen.He'll hear it.The faintest echo, far away:two beats, one pause, two beats again.
If he follows it, he won't find me.He'll find what I found — the quiet place where one world becomes another.
And that will be enough.
Until the light learns new names for us,and the worlds remember how to touch without breaking.
— Arjun