The silence felt different.
Not peaceful.
Just… empty.
I sat on my bed, staring at my hand.
The mark was gone.
Completely.
I rubbed my fingers over the place where it used to be.
Nothing.
No warmth.
No glow.
It was like everything that happened…
Had ended.
"Aarav…" I whispered softly.
No answer.
For the first time in days—
I was afraid to sleep.
But not because of the shadow.
Because I knew…
He wouldn't be there.
That night, I finally fell asleep.
And for the first time—
There were no dreams.
No road.
No darkness.
No voice.
Just blank sleep.
When I woke up the next morning—
I felt a strange heaviness.
The kind you feel when something important is missing…
But you can't reach it anymore.
The whole day passed quietly.
Too quietly.
At college, everything felt normal again.
People laughing.
Teachers explaining.
Friends talking.
But I felt disconnected.
Sofia looked at me carefully.
"You okay?" she asked.
I forced a small smile.
"Yeah… I'm fine."
But I wasn't.
Because something inside me kept searching.
Listening.
Waiting.
For a voice that never came.
Days passed.
No dreams.
No shadows.
No Aarav.
I started thinking…
Maybe it was really over.
Until—
One afternoon, while walking back home—
I stopped suddenly.
Something caught my attention.
A small notice board near the street.
Old photos pinned randomly.
Lost pets.
Events.
Advertisements.
But one photo—
Made my heart stop.
I stepped closer.
My hands started trembling.
It was a picture.
Of him.
Aarav.
My breath caught.
"This… can't be…" I whispered.
The photo looked older.
Faded at the corners.
Below it—
There were a few words.
I read them slowly.
"Memorial – Aarav Mehta"
My heart dropped.
There was a date.
The same date as the accident.
"He was… real…" I whispered.
Tears filled my eyes.
This wasn't just dreams.
Not just memories.
He existed.
I reached out and touched the photo gently.
And suddenly—
A faint warmth spread through my fingers.
I froze.
"That's not possible…"
The warmth faded quickly.
But it was enough.
Something still remained.
Below the photo—
There was an address.
A small line written under it:
"Remembered at the Lakeside every year."
My heart started beating faster.
"Lakeside…" I whispered.
It sounded familiar.
Like something I had forgotten again.
Without thinking—
I tore the small paper carefully.
Holding it tightly in my hand.
"I need to go there," I whispered.
For the first time since that night—
I felt something again.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
But hope.
Because maybe—
Just maybe—
This wasn't the end.
And somewhere…
The dreams were still waiting.