"Where are you going?"
Raha pulled at her hand. Again. And again.
Rohan didn't let go.
"What's wrong? Open the gift."
She shook her head. Kept shaking it.
He guided her firmly back to the seat and sat her down. "Sit. Open it."
Raha sat. She picked up the gift slowly and stared at it for a long moment.
He's probably doing this to humiliate me. Another way to bully me. That's all this is.
She unwrapped it carefully.
A phone.
Raha looked up at Rohan.
Rohan looked back at her — quietly, without a word.
She picked up the notebook.
Whose is this?
"Yours. Who else's?"
Raha said nothing. She just sat there, holding it.
"That day," Rohan said, his voice calm, "your mother was out of her mind with worry. You were nowhere to be found. She had no way to reach you — no number to call, nothing."
He paused.
"Do you know how much she cried?"
Raha's eyes began to fill.
She wrote — I can't take this. I'm sorry.
"Why not?"
She just shook her head.
"You know," Rohan said quietly, "if your father were here today — he would have bought you a phone himself."
The pen slipped slightly in her fingers.
Her father.
The tears came before she could stop them — spilling down her face, silent and unstoppable, the way grief always moves when something catches it off guard.
Rohan stood. He moved to the seat beside her and took both her hands in his, firmly.
"I know, Raha," he said softly. "I know what it feels like to lose someone you love."
Raha yanked at her hands.
He held on.
She shoved him — hard — with everything she had.
He moved back.
And then she broke completely.
Her whole body shook with it — silent, violent sobs, the kind that have nowhere to go when you have no voice to carry them.
Rohan's eyes filled.
She grabbed the notebook through her tears and wrote — furiously, the pen pressing deep into the paper —
You don't know. You don't know what it feels like to lose someone you love. Because you're not a person. You're a demon.
If you actually knew — you would have helped Meena. She would still be here. You wouldn't have forced me to stay quiet. You wouldn't have kept me from going to the police.
Have you ever thought about how Mr. Lee is supposed to live with this?
You say you understand pain?
Shame on you.
Rohan read every word.
His tears fell without him trying to stop them.
He looked up at her.
She didn't look back.
She left the phone on the table. She walked out into the rain without her umbrella, without looking back, without stopping —
And this time, Rohan didn't follow.
He stood exactly where she had left him, watching her disappear through the glass doors into the downpour.
Then he looked down at the phone on the table.
A demon.
Was she wrong?
If I had helped Meena — she would still be here. And Ms. Garcia's case — I didn't do anything then either.
The tears kept coming, quiet and steady.
"Mom," he whispered to no one. "Everyone hates me."
Raha didn't go to school the next morning.
She sat by the window, knees pulled to her chest, watching the light change on the street outside.
Did I do the right thing?
Her mother appeared in the doorway. "What's wrong? Aren't you going to school?"
Raha shook her head.
"You've had that face since last night. Where did you go? What happened?" Her mother sat beside her. "Talk to me."
Raha said nothing.
Her mother sighed. "Alright. I'm heading out. Lock the doors and windows."
She waited for a response.
Nothing.
She left.
In the Watson house, Rohan hadn't moved from his bed.
Last night replayed on a loop behind his eyes.
"Mom," he said to the ceiling. "Mom."
He got up eventually, opened his wardrobe, and took out the photograph again. He held it against his chest and sat on the floor.
A little while later, he came downstairs.
Raha's mother was there.
He turned his face away instinctively — his eyes were red and swollen, his face still carrying the evidence of everything from the night before.
He kept his head down and tried to walk past.
"Aren't you going to school today either?" she called after him gently.
Rohan stopped. "Either?"
She smiled. "Raha didn't go either. She came home last night and hasn't been herself since. This morning she was just sitting by the window with that heavy look on her face."
Rohan went quiet.
He stood there for a moment. Then he went back upstairs, came down with the phone, and placed it in her hands.
"This is for your daughter."
She blinked. "What?"
"I called Raha out last night," he said, his voice completely steady now. "She came to meet me. I tried to give her this as a gift. She refused. She left angry."
Her mother stared at the phone. "You called her out? That's why she asked me—" She stopped herself, then laughed softly. "So that's why she asked me if anyone would wait in the rain for someone."
"She asked you that?"
"She did. And I told her — only someone who's completely mad would."
Rohan looked at her for a second.
Then, for the first time since last night, he laughed — a real one, quiet and surprised. "So she called me mad."
Her mother smiled warmly. Then she held the phone back out toward him.
"But we can't accept this."
"Why not?"
She just shook her head. "We can't."
She set it down and walked away.
Rohan stared at it.
Fine.
I'll find a way to give it to her. One way or another.
Raha was alone in the house.
A knock at the door.
Mom must have forgotten something.
She opened it.
Mr. Lee stood on the doorstep.
Two men she didn't recognize stood behind him.
The blood drained from Raha's face.
Mr. Lee's eyes were hollow — the eyes of a man who hadn't slept properly in months.
"Raha," he said quietly. "You're my last hope now."
Raha couldn't move. Cold sweat broke across her skin.
They stepped inside before she could think of how to stop them.
She wanted to say something — anything — but the words that didn't exist for her stayed silent, the way they always did.
They sat down.
One of the men leaned forward. "We know you saw something that day. Tell us everything. The truth."
Raha stood frozen.
Her mother's voice came from the doorway — she had come back.
"Who are you?"
Mr. Lee stood. "I used to teach at Raha's school. I needed to speak with her urgently."
"About what?"
"About who killed my daughter." His voice cracked on the last word. "Raha knows. I'm sure of it. I came to hear it from her."
Raha's mother turned to look at her — eyes trembling, hands trembling, everything trembling.
"I've given Raha time," Mr. Lee said, his voice rising now. "How long am I supposed to wait? How long am I supposed to live like this? I will see my daughter's killers punished. I will." He looked at Raha directly. "If she doesn't tell us — she'll have to live with that. She'll carry that."
"No — no, Raha doesn't know anything about this," her mother said quickly.
The second man spoke. "We know she does. And if she stays silent — that makes her complicit. And trust me, I know exactly what to do with people who are complicit in a crime."
Mr. Lee turned back to Raha, his voice dropping low.
"I've been watching. I know you've been spending time with Rohan Watson." A pause. "Rohan is a criminal. And you know very well what the law says about people who protect criminals."
Raha's mother looked at her — helpless, frightened, searching her face for something she couldn't find.
Raha's tears spilled over silently.
Mr. Lee stood, straightened his jacket, and walked to the door.
"I'll be back," he said simply. "But next time, I won't leave so easily. Next time, I'm leaving with the truth."
The door closed behind them.
The house went silent.