Chapter 13: Echoes in Ink

POV: Ira

Some pages speak louder when they’re missing.

That was Ira's first thought when she flipped through Meera’s journal again �" the one she had read, reread, underlined, highlighted, cried over. But today, something felt... incomplete.

She had memorized Meera’s cadence, her rhythm of confession. But now, after the conversation with Aarav, after the name “Kiara” had finally cracked open something ugly and real, Ira saw the space �" a thin tear, almost invisible �" where one page had been torn clean.

She rubbed her thumb across the scar in the spine.

> Why would Meera rip just one page?

Not out of rage. Not even to erase a memory.

Only to hide it.
---

Later that afternoon, Ira found herself pacing outside Rehan’s studio. It was built like a place that made beautiful things for people with money and guilt. He was smoking something herbal and judging her boots.

> “So,” he said slowly, “you’ve become our very own Nancy Drew.”


> “I need to ask about Vivaan,” she said bluntly.

That got his attention.

He crushed the smoke beneath his heel. “He’s not a name you just casually bring up.”

> “But he’s someone Aarav casually protects. Isn’t he?”

Rehan exhaled, not with irritation, but with exhaustion. “You think Aarav’s protecting him?”

> “I think Aarav’s protecting everyone from something they’re not ready to know.”

Rehan didn’t argue.

Instead, he said, “There was a night. Years ago. Before you. Before therapy. Aarav showed up at my place. Drunk. Or maybe broken in some other way.”

> “What happened?”

> “He kept repeating one line: ‘I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t want to see it.’”
---

Ira returned home to Meera’s journal, now dangerous in its quietness.

She stared at the torn space again, pulled the spine apart gently �" and there it was.

A faint bleed of ink from the next page. Not much. Just the ghost of one word pressed through:

> K�"r�"

“Kiara.”
---

POV: Aarav (Session Recording �" Unofficial)

The recording wasn't supposed to exist. It wasn’t part of Dr. Rehm’s structured sessions. But that day, Aarav showed up early, unannounced.

He sat down. Looked directly at the corner of the room �" not at the therapist.

And began talking.

> “Vivaan was always the star. He had this… pull. Like gravity, but colder. People didn’t just listen to him �" they surrendered. I used to watch him twist stories around like vines. Make people believe what he needed them to.”

> “Sanya told me once, ‘Your brother scares me when he smiles.’”

> “I thought she was joking.”

---

Back in her flat, Ira scribbled one word in her notebook. It was the only one that made sense now:

> Control.

Vivaan hadn’t just done something.

He had rewritten what everyone thought had happened.

And Aarav? He wasn’t carrying guilt for an action. He was carrying the silence left behind.