A WAR OF MEMORIES

The rooftop air was cold, crisp against my skin, but it did nothing to numb the slow-burning fire in my chest. The city stretched endlessly beneath us, the distant hum of traffic a quiet murmur in the background. A sharp contrast to the silence hanging between us.

Nagesh stood near the railing, his posture rigid, his hands gripping the cold metal. He stared out at the night sky, as if searching for something—perhaps for the right words.

But I already knew why he had called me here.

I knew the conversation we were about to have.

And I knew exactly what he was going to say.

But this time, I wouldn't listen in silence.

A long pause stretched between us before he finally spoke, his voice low, firm, unwavering.

"Son… let her go."

The words sliced through the air like a blade.

My fingers curled into tight fists.

The same demand. The same plea.

But tonight, I refused to let him say it without an answer.

I inhaled deeply, steadying my voice.

"How, Pa?"

The question came out softer than I intended, but the disbelief in it was undeniable.

"How did you forget her so easily?"

I didn't miss the way his shoulders stiffened. The slight twitch in his fingers. He hadn't expected that.

But I wasn't done.

I took a step closer, my voice growing heavier—not with anger, but with something far worse.

Pain.

"Because I can't." My voice broke, but I forced myself to continue. "No matter how much time passes, I still see her everywhere. I hear her voice in my head. I feel her laughter in the wind. I can't just pretend she never existed."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

"But you…" I exhaled sharply, my jaw clenching. "You act like she was never a part of us. Like she was never even here."

Nagesh remained still, but I could see it—the slight flicker of something in his eyes.

He wasn't unmoved.

Not completely.

Then, after a long pause, his voice came, sharp and cold.

"Because she's gone."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head.

"That's all it takes for you, then?" My words were filled with disbelief. "She's gone, so you erase her from your heart? You throw away every memory like she never mattered? Is that how little she meant to you?"

His face hardened.

A part of me wanted him to argue back. To fight.

To show me that he still cared.

But what he said next made my blood run cold.

"I didn't forget her, Yuvaanesh." His voice was gritted, strained, carrying something raw beneath the surface.

"I chose to stop remembering."

My breath hitched.

"Because remembering her—" He exhaled heavily, his voice barely above a whisper, "only brings pain."

The silence between us was thick. Suffocating.

I let his words settle, let them wrap around me like a noose.

And then—

I spoke the only truth I knew.

"She was worth the pain."

His breath caught.

I saw it.

That brief flicker of emotion. That hesitation. That unspoken truth hiding beneath his hardened exterior.

But he masked it quickly.

Turning away, he gripped the railing tighter, like he needed something solid to hold onto.

"You think love is about holding on?" His voice was sharp now, almost scolding.

"No, Yuvaanesh. Love is about knowing when to let go."

I shook my head, exhaling sharply.

"No, Pa." My voice was unwavering.

"Love is about never letting go. Even when the person is gone."

A heavy silence stretched between us.

Neither of us looked away.

Until finally, Nagesh sighed.

"One day, Yuvaanesh… you'll regret this."

His words should have stung. Should have made me doubt myself.

But I lifted my chin, my eyes locking onto his, my voice firm, fierce.

"I won't regret it, Pa."

"Because I know my little angel better than anyone."

"And I know—without a doubt—" I inhaled deeply, my chest tightening, "she would never leave me willingly."

His entire body went rigid.

His fingers gripped the railing so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

And his eyes—

For the first time that night—

Flashed with something dangerous.

Like I had said something I wasn't supposed to.

But I didn't care.

I had enough.

Enough of this conversation. Enough of his coldness. Enough of his denial.

And then—

He changed the subject.

"What do you plan to do with that house?"

I blinked.

The question caught me off guard, but I should have seen it coming.

I turned slightly, my voice quiet—but resolute.

"Nothing."

"That house belongs to her."

"And it always will."

Nagesh let out a harsh breath, shaking his head.

"Son, you can't just leave it abandoned forever."

Then—

The words that shattered my patience—

"Why don't you and your wife live there?"

I froze.

Live there?

With another woman?

In the house I built for Yadhana?

The house that carried every memory I had left of her?

My stomach twisted violently.

Slowly, I turned to face him, my voice dripping with disgust.

"No."

"That house was meant for her and me."

"I won't bring another woman there."

"It would be like erasing her."

"And I will never do that."

The words fell like thunder between us.

Nagesh exhaled heavily, rubbing his temple as though exhausted by me.

"Yuvaanesh…" His tone was firm but worn. "You can't live in the past forever."

A humourless chuckle left my lips.

"Says the man who still hates someone who isn't even here."

For the first time since this conversation started—

Nagesh had nothing to say.

And that's how I knew—

I had won this round.

He could keep lying to himself.

But I wasn't going to do the same.

His face remained impassive, but his eyes…

For the briefest second, his eyes gave him away.

There was something in them.

Not just anger.

Not just frustration.

Something deeper.

Something he didn't want to admit.

A crack in his resolve.

I saw it.

And so did he.

After a long, suffocating silence, he finally spoke.

"Then I hope, one day, you don't break because of it."

His words were meant to sound like a warning.

But they felt like an admission.

And I?

I said nothing.

I just watched as he turned and walked away, his footsteps slow, almost hesitant.

But I wasn't breaking.

I wasn't the one drowning in regret.

He was.

And no matter how much he tried to deny it—

I knew he would never truly be free of her.

Just like me.

Just like all of us.

Because Yadhana…

Was unforgettable.

And she always would be.