This chapter contains detailed depictions of self-harm, severe grief, and high-intensity negative emotions, including a brief scene of physical violence, which may be disturbing for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
[POV: Divya]
"Divya, open this goddamn door.NOW!!"
The door shuddered under the force of his voice.
He wasn't knocking. He was *attacking* it—his weight slamming into the old wood again and again, the hinges screaming in protest.
Behind him, Aunt Meera's voice rose, sharp with terror.
"Rajesh, stop! You'll break it! Divya, jaanu, please—say something!"
I pressed my palms flat against the cool bathroom wall, breathing hard.
How DARE he?
This was my room. My silence. The last place left where the world couldn't reach me. He didn't get to storm in here too. He didn't get to rip this moment away, just like everything else had been ripped from me.
A hot, blinding rage flared in my chest, burning through the numb calm I'd been clinging to for days.
I would not let Rajesh Malhotra own this moment.
I would not let him be the one who found me broken. Who made the calls. Who stood there afterward with that same unreadable expression he'd worn at the funeral, like grief was a puzzle he was solving instead of something that was killing him.
The rules changed.
The careful, quiet logic that had been guiding my thoughts shattered, replaced by something raw and feral.
New variable introduced.
Unacceptable interference detected.
My instincts—dead, silent for days—flickered awake, fueled by nothing but fury and pride.
"GO AWAY!" I screamed, my voice scraping my throat raw. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"
I backed away instinctively, my heel catching against the tiled floor, my heart hammering so loudly I could barely hear my own thoughts.
"I'm not going anywhere!" Rajesh shouted back. "You open this door right now or I swear I will break it down!"
Another impact. The frame groaned, a sharp crack splitting the air.
"You have no right!" I screamed. "This is my house. My life!"
"It's not just your life you're about to throw away!" he roared back. "Don't you dare do this. Don't you *dare* be that selfish."
The word hit me like a slap.
Selfish.
Something snapped.
"SELFISH?" I screamed, tears finally spilling, hot and uncontrollable. "He was my *everything*! You don't get it! You don't feel anything—you never have! You're a robot!"
For half a second, there was nothing but the echo of my own sobbing breath.
Then Rajesh spoke again.
His voice was lower now. Closer. Not yelling—*vibrating* with something dangerous and restrained.
"You think I don't feel it?" he said quietly. "You think my world isn't ash?"
The words burrowed into me despite myself.
"He was my brother," Rajesh continued. "Not by blood. By choice. The only color in my life. And now he's gone."
My chest tightened.
"And you're in there," he went on, voice breaking just enough to terrify me, "acting like disappearing is loyalty. Like that's how you honor him. That's not keeping a promise, Divya. That's surrender."
I slid down the wall, my knees giving out beneath me.
"Amit never surrendered," Rajesh said. "Not ever."
The silence after his words was deafening.
I stared at my shaking hands, at how small and ridiculous they looked against the vastness of the moment. Whatever certainty I'd convinced myself of cracked, splintering into doubt.
The door gave way with a violent snap.
Not the whole thing—just the lock finally tearing loose. The door slammed inward, banging hard against the wall.
Rajesh stumbled inside, thrown off balance by his own force.
His eyes swept the room in one sharp, panicked motion—past the mess, past the scattered memories—until they locked onto me.
For a single suspended second, neither of us moved.
We were enemies standing in the wreckage of the same disaster.
Then he crossed the space between us.
Fast. Decisive.
He didn't ask permission. He didn't hesitate. He reached for me like he was afraid I'd vanish if he didn't anchor me to something solid.
"Stop," he said, his voice rough, cracking at the edges. "Just… stop."
I tried to pull back. Reflex more than intent. He held firm—not hurting, not gentle either. Just unyielding.
"No," I whispered, though I wasn't sure what I was refusing anymore.
"Divya," he said, my name stripped of all sharpness. "Look at me."
I didn't want to.
I did anyway.
Whatever he saw on my face made something in his expression break.
The anger drained out of him, leaving behind exhaustion so deep it scared me.
"Don't do this," he said quietly. "Don't leave too."
The fight drained out of me all at once.
The rage. The defiance. The stubborn need to control at least one ending.
My legs gave way.
I didn't hit the floor.
Rajesh caught me, his arms closing around me automatically, like muscle memory. He held me against his chest, solid and unmovable, pinning me to the present whether I wanted it or not.
I hated that he was strong enough to stop me.
I hated that some part of me was relieved.
A sound tore out of my throat—ugly, broken, unstoppable.
I cried for Amit.
For the truth I hadn't seen.
For the future that had vanished overnight.
For the promise that now felt impossibly heavy.
Rajesh didn't say it would be okay.
He didn't offer platitudes or empty reassurances.
He just held me.
His body was rigid, like he was bracing himself against a storm, while mine shook violently in his arms.
Behind him, Aunt Meera gasped softly from the doorway.
Rajesh didn't look back. He only shook his head once—sharp, final.
Not now.
He tightened his hold just enough to make sure I couldn't slip away.
And for the first time in five days, I stopped trying to disappear.
He held on as the storm raged.
As my silence shattered.
As a heart broke—loudly, messily, in real time.
And he didn't let go.