Chapter 21: Beneath the Quiet

The morning arrived without sound.

No birdsong. No clatter of spoons. No rustling from upstairs.

Just the hum of David's thoughts, louder than anything else in the house.

He sat at the dining table, Meher across from him, both of them staring at the single sheet of paper David had found folded in the back of Mavia's sketchbook.

It wasn't addressed to anyone.

But it wasn't nothing.

> If I disappear, don't look in the obvious places.

Look for the places I whispered about.

The ones I never had the courage to visit.

–M.

David traced the words again with his finger.

"He didn't mean this to be found early," he said.

Meher folded her arms. "Do you think he meant it to be found at all?"

David looked up. "Maybe not. But maybe part of him hoped someone would still be listening."

They sat in silence.

Not the heavy kind. Not today.

This silence felt more like strategy—like the quiet before one of Mavia's elaborate treasure hunts, back when they were kids. The kind of silence where you knew something was coming, and your only job was to pay attention.

---

David paced the living room while Meher sifted through more of Mavia's things. Old sketchpads, half-filled notebooks, a thumb drive with no label.

Everything felt like a piece of a puzzle they hadn't realized existed.

"I keep thinking about that phrase," Meher said. "'Places I whispered about.' What does that even mean?"

David stopped walking.

"His favorite poetry book," he said suddenly.

Meher blinked. "The black one? With the torn cover?"

David was already headed for Mavia's bookshelf. He found it wedged between two dusty novels—Midnight Verses, the one Mavia never let anyone borrow.

He opened it carefully. On the inside cover, written in pencil, was a list.

> Train station wall

Greenhouse roof

The burnt tree

The bridge with the missing nameplate

That field with the broken telescope

(Don't forget the skyroom. Even if it's closed.)

David turned the book to Meher.

"These are his whispers."

She read the list, eyes scanning quickly. "The bridge with the missing nameplate… That's near the edge of town, right?"

"Past the creek," David said. "We used to bike there. Remember?"

Meher nodded slowly.

"Let's start there," she said.

---

The bridge hadn't changed much in ten years.

Still weathered wood. Still leaning slightly left like it carried too many secrets.

The nameplate on the side was gone. Torn off or rusted away.

David knelt beside the railing, running his hand along the wood.

"Here," Meher said. "There's something under it."

She crouched down and slid her fingers beneath one of the warped boards.

A small tin box. Taped shut with black tape. No label.

David's breath hitched. "He really did hide things."

Meher looked at him. "Ready?"

He nodded.

They peeled the tape off gently and opened the lid.

Inside: a folded photograph and a scrap of lined paper.

The photo was of the three of them—David, Meher, and Mavia—sitting on the edge of a dock, legs dangling over the water. Mavia's head rested lightly against David's shoulder.

David swallowed hard.

He unfolded the paper.

> I wanted to keep this moment,

even if I couldn't keep myself.

This was one of the last days I didn't feel like I was pretending.

Meher looked away, blinking fast.

David stared at the photo like it might vanish if he looked away.

"I don't even remember this day," he said softly.

"I do," Meher whispered. "It was two weeks before school started. You and Mavia had that argument about the essay contest."

David shook his head slowly. "We didn't speak for days after that."

"But that day… he still showed up."

David folded the photo and the note, slid them back into the box.

"Let's find the next one," he said.

---

They didn't stop until evening.

By nightfall, they had visited three more locations from the list.

At the greenhouse roof—Mavia's old hiding spot—they found a paper crane inside a plastic bag taped under a loose shingle.

Inside the crane: a single line.

> Sometimes the sky isn't empty. It's just waiting to be heard.

At the burnt tree near the edge of the forest, they discovered a USB drive tucked into a hollow knot in the bark.

David pocketed it. "We'll check it at home."

And at the field with the broken telescope, they found a polaroid photo of Mavia alone, staring up at the stars.

On the back, scrawled in ink:

> I always thought the stars looked lonelier in silence.

But maybe they were just listening like I was.

Each clue felt like another layer peeled back.

Not to find answers.

But to remember Mavia as he truly was—not the version grief had shaped, but the one he'd left breadcrumbs to discover.

---

Back at the house, David plugged in the USB drive.

One folder. Labeled: Skyroom.

Inside: a collection of short videos, no titles. Just numbers.

He clicked on the first.

It was grainy footage—Mavia in a small room with high windows, voice soft.

"I'm not sure who I'm talking to," he said. "Maybe no one. Maybe myself."

He glanced up. "I call this place the skyroom. It used to be a janitor's storage loft. But no one uses it. So I made it mine."

David felt Meher lean closer behind him.

The next video played automatically.

Mavia again. Sitting cross-legged. Speaking more freely.

"There's something about being above everything," he said. "Like you're allowed to exist without being noticed."