Chapter 7 – The Echoes of Yesterday

The night was quiet, but Haider's mind wasn't.

He drove through the empty streets, past dimly lit buildings and closed shops, the neon signs flickering like ghosts of a forgotten time. The cold wind seeped through the slightly open window, but he didn't roll it up. He needed the sting of the air against his skin—something real, something grounding.

Three years.

Three years since everything had fallen apart. Since he had buried the past deep inside, locking it away with the rest of his regrets. And yet, tonight, the past had clawed its way back to the surface, refusing to be ignored.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He should've never gone to the café. He should've walked away before she even saw him.

But when Abrish had looked up—when their eyes had met after all these years—he had known, deep in his bones, that there was no running from this.

Not anymore.

•A House That Was Never a Home

He parked outside the old house, the one he had avoided for years. The gate was rusted now, the garden overgrown with weeds. Time had left its mark here, just as it had on him.

He took a deep breath before stepping out of the car. The scent of damp earth filled the air, a reminder of long-forgotten monsoon nights, when he had sat by the window, watching the rain pour down, wondering if it could wash away everything he felt.

Pushing open the gate, he stepped onto the porch, his footsteps echoing against the wooden floor. The house was silent, but he could still hear the ghosts of his past whispering.

Memories crept in—ones he had tried to forget.

•Flashback – A Night of Silence and Shadows

Ten-year-old Zayan sat on the cold floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. The muffled voices of his parents arguing filtered through the walls.

"He's too weak, too soft." His father's voice was sharp, filled with disappointment.

"He's just a child." His mother's voice was softer, but there was no fight in it. She never fought.

Zayan flinched as something crashed against the wall. The shouting stopped, replaced by a heavy silence. Moments later, the door creaked open, and his father's tall figure loomed in the doorway.

"Get up."

Zayan obeyed immediately, his small frame tense.

"Stop acting like a coward. You embarrass me."

He lowered his head, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay. Crying only made things worse.

His father sighed, shaking his head. "You'll never be strong enough."

That night, Zayan had laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, repeating those words over and over again.

You'll never be strong enough.

And maybe, just maybe, his father had been right.

•The Weight of the Past

Haider exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Even after all these years, those words still clung to him like a second skin.

A voice broke the silence.

"You came back."

Haider turned, his gaze meeting his younger sister's. Myra stood at the doorway, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you here again."

"Neither did I," Haider muttered, stepping inside.

The house smelled the same—old wood and the faint scent of spices. Nostalgia clawed at his chest, but he forced it down.

Myra studied him for a moment before sighing. "You still look like you're carrying the weight of the world."

"And you still sound like you know everything."

She smirked. "Someone has to."

Haider let out a breath that was almost a chuckle. Almost.

They sat in the dimly lit living room, the air thick with unspoken words.

"You never called," Myra said after a long pause.

Haider looked away. "Neither did you."

She scoffed. "I was waiting for you to come back."

"And I was trying to forget this place ever existed."

She shook her head. "You can't outrun the past, Haider."

"Watch me."

She sighed, leaning back against the couch. "You think leaving made you stronger?"

Haider clenched his jaw. "I think it made me survive."

She watched him for a moment before whispering, "And yet, you're still here."

Silence stretched between them.

Because she was right.

And Haider hated that.

•Unfinished Conversations

Later that night, Haider stood by the window, staring at the streetlights outside. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He already knew who it was before he even looked.

Abrish.

His fingers hovered over the screen.

He should ignore it.

But instead, he answered.

"You left," her voice came through softly.

"I had to."

A pause.

"Running away doesn't erase what happened."

His throat tightened. "I know."

Another silence, heavier this time.

"You never told me why," she finally said. "Why did you—" She stopped herself.

He closed his eyes. "Because I was never enough."

For his father. For himself.

And maybe, for her too.

The line stayed quiet, but he knew she was still there.

Waiting.

But some truths weren't meant to be spoken.

Not yet.