Aziza groaned as the alarm buzzed for the third time.

Her limbs felt like they were made of lead, her chest caged by a heaviness she couldn't name. Dreams had visited her again in fragments, soft music, a familiar voice, a pair of eyes watching her from behind shadows,but they had slipped away the moment she woke, leaving only their weight behind.

The events of last night clung to her...

The diary.
The song.
The blank call.

She lay motionless, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. Why was it always so hard to get up? Why did mornings feel like betrayal, like she was being handed back all the pain she thought she'd folded neatly away the night before?

 "Azizaaaa! College nahi jaana kya?!" Rohan shouted from the hallway.

Aziza winced, dragging a pillow over her face. "Chill maar na, Rohan," 

He didn't chill.

Of course he didn't.

The door burst open.

"Uth ja, warna main tujhe godhi mein utha ke le jaunga!" Rohan declared like a Bollywood hero high on caffeine, flinging the curtains open with dramatic flair.

Sunlight stabbed the room like an accusation.

"Main bhi pathar hoon, utha ke dikha," Aziza muttered darkly, burrowing deeper into her blanket cocoon..

Ayaan Pov:

Ayaan sat by the window, knees pulled up to his chest, guitar balanced on his lap like a secret he couldn't afford to share.

The world outside was beginning to stretch itself awake, birds chirped, rickshaws grumbled, distant laughter echoed. But inside his room, time had paused.

His fingers hovered over the strings, but he didn't strum yet.

How many songs will I hide behind before she figures it out?
And what happens when she does?

He imagined it—Aziza's face if she ever found out it was him.

Would her eyes fill with pity? Would she flinch? Would she look away?

No. He couldn't bear it.

So he stayed silent. Let the music speak in half-truths and melodies.
Let the calls ring out into her quiet nights like ghost-notes from a soul too afraid to speak.

But last night...

Last night when she didn't cut the call, when she stayed until the final note died into the air, something shifted. It felt like standing beside her without being seen.

It felt like... understanding.

"Aziza," he whispered into the silence, voice barely audible over the rustling leaves outside, "kyun lagta hai jaise tum chup-chup ke roti ho, jab poora duniya hass rahi hoti hai? like you're bleeding in silence while the world laughs around you?"

He wanted to call again. Just to hear her breathing on the other end. To know she was still there. Still listening. But he never said a word.

He couldn't.

Words had always betrayed him.

He was raised in a house where silence was expected. Where emotions were folded neatly and tucked away like forbidden letters. His father never yelled, never comforted—just existed like a cold, closed door. Ayaan learned early that vulnerability was weakness. That feelings were things you buried, not shared.

So he stopped wanting.

He stopped reaching out.

But music, music was rebellion. It was the only place he could scream without making a sound. Cry without breaking down. Love without ever using the word.

And yet... despite all this, something pulled him towards Aziza. Maybe it was the way her silence wasn't empty, it was heavy, Familiar... Like his own. Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes that mirrored the grief he never let anyone see.

Or maybe it was just that, for once in his life, he wanted someone to understand him... without him having to explain himself.

Last night, it felt like she saw him. Not the quiet boy with his head down. Not the good student. Not the sarcastic senior.

Him.

Just Ayaan.

A boy who loved in silence because that's the only way he knew how.

Every time he wanted to cry, he tuned a string.
Every time he wanted to say I care, he dialed her number... and said nothing.

Because that's what he'd been taught.
To ache quietly.
so he rebelled through rhythm.

He finally strummed once. A single, soft note that lingered like a whisper.

The same song from last night echoed through the strings, each note carrying the weight of everything he couldn't say.

Then he closed his eyes, exhaled, and stood up.

He remembered his father's voice from years ago... 

sharp, cold, emotionless.

"Feelings are for the weak, Ayaan. You want something? You earn it. Quietly."

He had earned silence. Learned it. Lived inside it.

He just closed his eyes and exhaled the heaviness sitting on his chest.

"Main bolna chahta hoon, Aziza,par mujhe dar lagta hai... ki meri awaaz tumhe door na kar de." he whispered to thin air.

***

Author

Naina spotted Aziza and came running like a Bollywood heroine in slow motion—if the heroine wore chappals and carried a half-eaten samosa.

"Tum Zindaa ho meri jaan!" Naina dramatically hugged her. "Kal raat se kaha ho? na text padhe na mere calls pick kre! khaa gayab thi yarr?"

Aziza chuckled weakly. "Main gayab kaha thi..."

Before Aziza could reply, Rohan came swaggering toward them with Ayaan, flexing his barely-there biceps.

Rohan: "Bro dekh, gym gaya tha, biceps ban rahe hai —sach mein. Aaj toh lag raha hai main Salman hu aur tu meri Katrina."

Naina rolled her eyes. "Tum gym kyu hi jaate ho? Shakal toh abhi bhi chuche jaisi hai."

Ayaan tried to stifle his laugh.

Rohan: "Esliye jaata hu taki apni biwi ko rawarawar vibes doon."

Naina blinked. "Rawarawar? Aur tum?Tumse zyada seductive toh mera mixer-grinder lagta hai jab haldi pees raha hota hai."

She doubled over laughing. "Rawararawar ka toh pata nahi, tum bhow bhow vibes zarur dete ho!"

And everyone burst into laughter leaving Rohan with an irritated expression.

"Hahahahaha very funny! aur tum... tum.." Rohan tried thinking of a comeback 

"mai? kya?" Naina replied back

He could not find a comeback so he took out his phone typed something and then gave a disappointed look.

"Are ab comeback bhi chatgpt se dhund rahe ho kya?" Naina said between her giggles.

"Ruko mai dekhta hu" Ayaan exclaimed before swiftly snatching Rohan's phone. The moment he stared at the screen he burst into uncontrollable laughter, A Goggle screen popped up with the search title "what sound does ganji chudail make". He turned the phone and showed it to everyone and they all laughed their hearts out while Rohan stood embarrassed.

"Waah Rohan Waah manna padega pagal ho tum ekdum!"

Rohan, still red in the face, pointed a finger. "Ek din aayega jab tum sab ko meri genius ka ehsaas hoga!"

"Haan haan, wohi din toh sabse zyada darr lagta hai mujhe," Aziza finally quipped, sipping on her juice box

Rohan rolled his eyes. "Yeh lo, ab meri behen bhi team chudail mein chali gayi."

"Khikhikhikhikhikhi" Aziza laughed 

***

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Aziza sat on the floor of her room, her head resting against Rohan's door, knees pulled to her chest. A single bulb flickered above the hallway like it couldn't decide whether to stay or give up. Much like her.

Rohan opened the door, stepping out with damp hair.

He saw her there.

"Phir se?"

She didn't answer right away.

"I couldn't breathe," she whispered.

Rohan didn't say anything. He just sat beside her.

The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was old. Familiar. Like an unfinished song both were too scared to complete.

"Papa aaye?" she asked, barely audible.

Rohan shook his head. "Aayege. Late shift chal rahi hai."

Aziza nodded, her face unreadable. But her silence spoke of that all-too-familiar ache.

Not just for the father who hadn't come home yet.

But for the father who hadn't come home in years.

Not really.

They sat like that for a while, two siblings bound by more than just blood. Bound by memory. By grief.

By that night.

The night their mother left the world and took something with her, something neither of them had found again.

Since then, it had been like this.

Rohan cracked jokes.

Aziza grew quiet.

They never really talked about it. They just... survived.

"I miss her," Aziza finally said.

"I know," Rohan replied, voice rough. "Main bhi."

She looked at him.

Rohan didn't answer at first. His jaw tightened.

Aziza turned her face slightly toward him. "But I miss him too, you know? Papa"

"He's still here," she continued, her voice breaking. "Par kabse gayab ho gaya hai, na?"

Rohan closed his eyes for a moment. "Woh bhi to toote the, Azzu" he said, using her childhood nickname. "Aur esse door bhagne ke liye voh kaam me chup gaye."

They sat like that for what felt like hours. Two broken halves leaning on each other in the flickering light of a home that hadn't felt like one in years.

Then Rohan spoke again—so softly she almost didn't hear him.

"Main kabhi kabhi sochta hoon... agar maa hoti, toh kya tu phir se Kathak karti?"

Aziza blinked back sudden tears. "Agar maa hoti... toh kya main phir se has paati?"

They didn't need answers. Just the comfort of knowing someone else was asking the same questions.

Just then, the front gate creaked.
Keys rattled in the lock.

Aziza straightened up, and Rohan inhaled deeply like he was bracing for something.

Their father stepped in, eyes heavy, face tired.

He looked at them, just for a second.

Rohan opened his mouth to speak. "Papa—"

But their father simply nodded at them, offered a faint, distant smile, and walked past them into his room.

Door closed.

Lock clicked.

Aziza stared after him, her throat dry.

"Ghaayal log aksar zinda rehte hai... bas unki rooh kahin aur hoti hai," she murmured.

Rohan nodded, getting to his feet and offering her a hand.

"Chal. Tujhe guitar sunata hoon. Sad songs ke competition mein jeetna hai tujhe."

Aziza gave a watery smile, letting him pull her up.

____________________________________________________________

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