The house felt haunted.
Not by spirits - but by an absence.

The charpahi where Dev once slept lay untouched, his shawl still folded neatly on the side. His sandals sat by the door, waiting. The air still smelled of sandalwood and ink, like the remnants of a man who hadn't left - just... disappeared from view.

Noor hadn't spoken since.

Parvati sat across from her, candlelight flickering between them. Noor's face was pale, her lips chapped, her eyes... swollen and blank.

Outside, the world mourned in slogans and screams.

Inside, silence rotted the walls.

Parvati couldn't take it anymore.

"Kuch toh bol, Noor."

[Say something, Noor.]

No response.

Parvati's voice broke. "Tu ro bhi nahi rahi. Mujhe darr lag raha hai tujhme."

[You're not even crying. It scares me.]

Noor slowly looked up. Her voice, when it came, was hollow.
"Ro chuki hoon, maa. Toot chuki hoon."

[I've already cried. I've already broken.]

Parvati's hand trembled.

"Main tujhe aise nahi dekh sakti. Tere baba chahte the-"

[ I can't see you like this... your father wanted -]

"Baba chahte the main sapne dekhun," Noor interrupted quietly, her voice suddenly sharp. "Unhone kaha tha yeh desh ek din azad hoga. Par unhe hi mar diya gaya, maa. Sapne maar diye gaye."

[He wanted me to dream. He said this country will be free one day. But they killed him, maa. They killed our dreams.]

Parvati stared at her, eyes glassy. The words cut deeper because she'd thought them too - alone, in corners of her mind she couldn't say aloud.

She stood up abruptly.

Paced.

Then stopped.

"Hum yahan se ja rahe hain."

[We are leaving from here]

Noor looked up, startled.

"Kya?"

[ What?]

"Is sheher ne tujhse tere baba ko cheen liya. Mujhse mera sukh, mera ghar. Ab main nahi chahti yeh sheher tujhe bhi kha jaaye. Kal subah hum nikal rahe hain. Punjab chor ke ja rahe hain."

[This city stole your father from you. It stole my happiness, my home. I won't let it take you too. We're leaving Punjab tomorrow.]

Noor stared at her.

For a moment, her expression twisted - as if she wanted to scream no, to fight back, to say but this is all I know. But she didn't. Because she knew her mother was right.

This place was now soaked in death.

And so, Noor nodded.

That night, while Parvati packed in another room, Noor slipped out.

Feet dragging.

Past the old banyan tree.
Past the shuttered shops.
Down the familiar alley.
To the only place where something still felt untouched by blood -

The library.

It was locked. Of course it was.

But she knew the gap in the side wall - the one she and Arthur had discovered years ago.

She slid through it, her hand scraping against brick.The library smelled of dust and time. It was empty. Still. Like even the books were holding their breath.

Noor sat in their old corner. Her fingers brushed the spine of a book they'd once read together. She opened it. And sobbed into the pages.

She cried not the way children cry - not in gasps or screams. She cried like she was breaking. Silent, deep, shaking.

That's when-

A crunch of a footstep. She turned, startled.

Arthur.

He froze at the sight of her.

Her eyes were swollen. Her dupatta stained. She looked like something that had survived a fire, but barely.

"Noor..."

"Noor tum theek ho?" He whispered taking a place beside her

[ Noor are you okay?]

He looked at her - at her trembling hands, at the bloodless curve of her lips, at eyes too hollow for someone so young.

Slowly, gently, he turned toward her.

His hand reached up, careful like a breath, and he touched her chin - coaxing her to look at him.

Noor's gaze met his.There were no words.
Just a question in his eyes.
A quiet: Can I?

He opened his arms. Not fully.

Just enough to ask without asking.

For a heartbeat, Noor didn't move.

But then - she did. The smallest nod.

Arthur exhaled like he'd been holding it in for days, and he leaned in. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her in gently - not to protect, not to fix, but simply to hold what was breaking.

And Noor collapsed into him.

Like her bones remembered softness.Like her grief needed a place to land.She buried her face in his chest.

And finally, finally - the tears came.

Not silent this time.

Not hidden.

Sobs tore through her, raw and aching, her fists clenching into his shirt like she was holding on to the last thing she hadn't lost.

Arthur didn't speak.

He didn't try to hush her or say it would be okay - because it wouldn't.

He just held her.

Tighter.

And though he said nothing,
his silence screamed every word she needed:
"You're not alone."
"I'm still here."
"Break if you must - I'll hold what remains."

And for the first time, Noor let someone hold the weight of her sorrow with her.Even if only for a moment.

A moment that would stay with them both, long after goodbyes were said - long after everything else was gone.

Noor sat curled against Arthur, her sobs now slowed to soft, broken breaths. Her face was damp, her voice hoarse. His shoulder was soaked with her grief, but he didn't mind. He didn't move.

After a long while, Noor gently pulled away. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, trying to gather what little strength she had left. Arthur didn't rush her. He waited. Finally, she whispered - eyes on the floor:

"Main jaa rahi hoon."

[I'm leaving.]

Arthur blinked, slowly straightening

"Kahan?"

[ where?]

"Yahan se. Punjab se. Hamesha ke liye."

[From here. From Punjab. Forever.]

His breath caught.

He didn't ask why. He didn't need to.

He could see the answer in her hollow gaze, in the dried blood on her dupatta, in the way her fingers still clenched at invisible threads of a father who would never return.

"Kal subah ki train hai," she said softly, as if saying it aloud would make it more real.

[The train's in the morning.]

Arthur looked away for a moment, The library had never felt emptier.  He let out a shaky breath, eyes glossy now.

"Tum jaa rahi ho... toh main kaun ban jaunga?"

[If you leave... who will I become?]

Noor smiled, a small, broken thing. She reached out and took his hand.

"Tum wahi rahoge... jo mere liye hamesha rahe ho."

[You'll still be who you've always been to me.]

He looked at their intertwined fingers.

And for the first time in days — they both cried together.

Not in pieces.

Not from pain.

But because something good was ending, and sometimes, that's the hardest grief of all.

After a while, Arthur reached into his pocket.

"Main kuch laya hoon."

[I brought something.]

He opened a soft cloth bundle and unwrapped it with care.

The kamarbandh.

Delicate. Silver. The one Noor had longed for in the market weeks ago, back when dreams still felt safe. Her eyes widened in quiet awe.

"Tumhe yaad tha?"

[You remembered?]

Arthur nodded, smiling faintly. "Tum usse dekh rahi thi, jaise esse khareedna tumhara sapna ho. aur mai badam khata hu bohot sharp memory I mean ya-ad yaad  hai"

[ You looked at it as if buying it was your dream. And I eat almonds I have a very sharp memory]

He gently placed it in her palm.

She turned it over, bells chiming ever so faintly. Her eyes softened,

"Yeh... kamarbandh hai," she said.

Arthur tilted his head. "Kya?"

She grinned, just a little, her voice still fragile.

"Kamarbandh. Aise bolte hain. Kamarrr-bandhh. Tumhe seekhna chahiye... jab kabhi kisi ko dena ho, galat naam se toh nahi dena chahiye, hai na?"

[Waist chain. That's how you say it — kamarbandh. You should learn it... can't go around giving gifts and calling them the wrong thing, right?]

Arthur chuckled under his breath.

Then he said, slowly, "In English... it's called a waist chain."

Noor repeated it after him.

"Waste... chain."

He laughed, correcting her gently.

"No... not waste. Waist."

She rolled her eyes. "Ullu. Tumhari angrezi bhi ajeeb hai. 19-20 ka hi toh farak hai"

[Idiot. Your English is strange too.]

They both laughed, just for a second, the sound light, fragile, but real.

For a moment, they weren't Indian and British. Not colonised and coloniser.

Just Noor and Veer.

Two hearts in a broken library, holding on to a memory they were still writing.

She looked down at the kamarbandh one more time, then clutched it to her chest.

"Main isse zaroor pehnungi. Jab kabhi roshni wapas aayegi."

[I will wear this. When the light comes back.]

Arthur nodded, his voice a whisper:

"Aur jab pehnogi... mujhe yaad karna."

[And when you do — remember me.]

Noor looked up.

"Main kabhi bhool hi nahi paaungi, Veer."

[I never be able forgot you.]

And in that dim corner, under shelves of untouched books and years of silent friendship, they smiled through tears.

Two children who had seen too much.

Still trying , against all odds , to keep something of themselves alive.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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