Chapter 6: Fractured ties

Sneha – The Funeral That Didn't feel real

The air outside the funeral home was thick, heavy with sorrow. Sneha stood at the entrance, her legs frozen in place.

She couldn't move.

Her eyes locked onto the framed photograph at the front of the room—Dr. Siddharth Malhotra. Her uncle. The one person who had always been there. The only family member who had truly loved her.

And now, he was gone.

Her father sat on a wooden chair, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders trembling. Her stepmother—the woman who had never shown an ounce of warmth—was sobbing uncontrollably. The sound was foreign. Unsettling.

A burning smell filled the room—incense mixed with fading traces of medical disinfectant, the scent clinging to her clothes. Voices murmured all around her, offering condolences, but the words barely registered.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Ice-cold.

A part of her brain noted how hot the room actually was, yet the cold inside her refused to leave. She clenched her fists, trying to ground herself, but the weight pressing on her chest only grew heavier.

The world blurred. The murmur of condolences turned into muffled echoes. The walls felt like they were closing in.

Sneha felt cold. Hollow. Distant.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Once. Twice.

She didn't hear it. Didn't feel it.

Aria was calling.

But Sneha was too broken to notice.

Aria – A Panic She Couldn't Control

Aria stumbled out of the restaurant, gripping her phone with trembling fingers. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts.

Her mind couldn't process what she had just read. The words on the screen blurred.

Dr. Siddharth Malhotra had passed away.

Her professor. The man she had assisted in surgery. The man who had hesitated that day. The man who had looked like he wanted to say something but never did.

And now, he was dead.

She redialed Sneha's number. No answer.

Tried again. Still nothing.

"Pick up, Sneha," she whispered, voice breaking.

A taxi pulled up at the curb. Aria barely registered the driver's impatient stare as she yanked the door open.

"Where to?"

"Moksha Funeral Home. Fast."

As the taxi sped down the street, she clutched her phone like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

She needed to be there. Before Sneha shattered completely.

But a question gnawed at the back of her mind, an ugly, unrelenting whisper.

What if he had made a mistake? What if she had been too blind to see it?

She squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn't ready to answer that yet.

Shaan – The Letters That Never Reached Her

The house was silent when Shaan stepped inside. Too silent.

He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling. His body felt heavy. The lingering buzz of alcohol hadn't faded, but it wasn't enough to numb the unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

His gaze flickered toward the wooden drawer in the hallway. He stared at it for a moment before pulling it open.

A bundle of old letters tumbled out.

Some still sealed. Some slightly torn at the edges.

His fingers hovered over them. Hesitant.

But he already knew whose name was on them.

Aria Shrivastava.

Flashback – Aria's Last Day at School

The school gate stood open, bathed in the dim glow of the setting sun.

Shaan leaned against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, watching as students rushed past him, laughing like it was just another ordinary day.

But it wasn't.

Aria was leaving.

He had found out that morning, the news slipping from Anshika's lips as if it meant nothing.

"Oh, didn't you hear? Aria's moving away."

His first reaction had been denial. She would've told him. Wouldn't she?

But then, he saw her walking out of the school building. A single backpack slung over her shoulder. Not looking back.

His legs moved before his mind could stop him. But before he could call out—

Anshika spoke first.

"Leaving just like that?" Her tone was light. Almost amused. Almost sharp.

Aria stopped.

She didn't turn immediately. For a second, she just stood there. Then, slowly, she turned her head.

Her eyes flickered toward Shaan—just for a moment.

Then, she looked at Anshika.

"I don't belong here anymore."

The words were simple. Final.

Shaan felt something shift in his chest, something he didn't fully understand.

And then she walked away.

No goodbyes. No explanations.

Just silence.

Back to Present – The Betrayal

Shaan stared at the letter in his hands, his fingers tightening around the edges—but then, he simply let it fall.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"I should've known." His voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact.

His pulse quickened as he reached for his phone.

Dial tone. Once. Twice.

"Hello?"

Anshika's voice was soft. Careful.

Shaan inhaled sharply. "Anshika… I want to ask you something."

A pause.

"Go ahead."

He clenched his jaw. "Did you ever send my messages or emails to Aria?"

Silence.

Not shock. Not surprise. Just silence.

Then, Anshika sighed. "I don't want to answer this."

His breath hitched. A sharp, sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

"And what will it change, Shaan? They were just friendly letters."

Shaan let out a slow exhale, pressing his fingers to his temple.

"I trusted you." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

Another silence.

"It was years ago," she whispered.

"And you never thought to tell me?"

"What good would it have done?"

" Maybe the time and trust I putted into you"

Before she could respond shaan ended the call & blocked the number

– Mrs. Sharma's

Mrs. Meera Sharma slid a file across the table, her manicured nails tapping against the polished surface.

"Here's everything you need. The surgery records, doctor's notes, and the post-operative timeline."

Shaan flipped through the pages, his eyes skimming over a highlighted section.

"Delay in response to unexpected bleeding. Decision-making uncertain."

"A mistake?" he asked.

Mrs. Sharma smiled slightly. "An uncertainty."

A pause. Then, as if casually, she added, "I hope this break between you and Anshika doesn't last too long. She values you, you know."

Shaan shut the file. "I'll be in touch."