Aanya had been ten when she was sent away.

It happened just days after her father's funeral—after the twisted wreckage of a car crash that stole him from them. Aanya remembered the rain that day, the smell of blood and metal, the way her eldest brother Aaryan had carried her out of the crumpled car, his hands shaking as he whispered, "You're safe, you're safe now."

She believed him.

But the days that followed were filled with silence. Her mother’s eyes were empty, her brothers distant. And then, without warning, they shipped her off to a boarding school in another city. No explanations. No goodbyes. Just a cold car ride, a stranger dropping her at the hostel gates, and the echo of a door that never opened again.

She thought they hated her.

She thought they blamed her for the accident—for being the reason their father was in that car at all. He had died trying to protect her, shielding her tiny body from the worst of the impact. The guilt consumed her. The silence from home only confirmed it.

Letters came, sure. Money. Clothes. School forms signed in elegant handwriting. But never love. Never warmth. Never them.

For five years, Aanya learned to survive on her own.

She dove into fashion school after completing high school, clinging to creativity like a lifeline. Her dreams became her comfort, the sketches on her walls her only family. She made friends, laughed, even smiled—but never truly healed.

And then, one day, a call came.

It wasn’t from any of her brothers.

It was from a nurse.

Her mother was dying.

Cancer, terminal. Days left.

She was wanted. One last time.

The ride back to the city she had left as a child felt like stepping into a memory. Or a wound.

Aanya stared out of the train window, her heart a hurricane of resentment, grief, and confusion. She hadn’t spoken to any of them. Not Aaryan, the cold mafia boss. Not Abeer, the doctor with blood on his gloves. Not Aarav, the icy CEO of luxury. Not even Aarush, her twin—the only one who had ever felt like home, and yet had vanished from her life without explanation.

They had abandoned her. Forgotten her.

And now, she was going home to say goodbye to a woman she barely knew anymore.

She didn’t know that the truth—the real reason she’d been sent away—was far more terrifying than anything she’d imagined.

She didn’t know that her family had spent the last five years protecting her from a threat that hadn’t gone away.

She didn’t know that she had never been forgotten.

Only hidden.

And now that she was coming back, the shadows were stirring again.

HELLO EVERYONE ONE I AM BACK AFTER A VERY LONG PERIOD I HOPE YOU ALL DONT FORGET ME I AM YOUR AUTHOR SMAY ANYWAY PLEASE ENJOY MY NEW STORY AND DONT FORGET TO LIKE, SHARE AND COMMENT YOUR BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS. 😊 😘 ☺️

Hospitals always smelled like sterilized sorrow.

Aanya rushed through the long white corridors, her suitcase bumping behind her, heart pounding like a drum against her ribs. It had been five years since she last saw her family. Five years since she walked away from a life that never really felt hers. But now, her mother was dying—and she was late.

The hallway felt like it stretched forever. Every step she took only made the walls seem taller, whiter, more suffocating. Her breath hitched as she rounded the final corner—and stopped.

There, slouched in a steel chair outside the ICU, was Aarush.

Her twin.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His white shirt was wrinkled, tie hanging loosely around his neck, dark circles sinking beneath his red-rimmed eyes. But he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just stared at the tiled floor, hands clasped tightly between his knees.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the words turned to ash on her tongue.

He didn’t look up.

So she walked past him, her chest tightening with every step. She pushed open the ICU doors just as a nurse came out. The woman paused, recognizing her.

“You’re Aanya?” the nurse asked gently.

Aanya nodded, breath shallow.

“I’m sorry. She passed ten minutes ago.”

Ten minutes.

Five years apart. Ten minutes too late.

Aanya stood still, swallowing the lump in her throat. She didn’t cry—not yet. She simply nodded and walked inside.

Her mother lay on the bed, still and pale, wrapped in the thin white blanket that now seemed too large for her small, frail frame. Tubes had been removed. Machines unplugged. Only the silence remained.

Aanya stepped closer, her knees trembling beneath her.

She brushed a hand against her mother’s fingers—still soft, still warm.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

The silence didn’t answer. It never did.

Memories flickered across her mind—of her mother’s soft hands braiding her hair, of the rare moments she sang lullabies when Aanya couldn’t sleep, of the day she had sent her away without saying goodbye.

There were too many words left unsaid. Too much space between them now.

And all of it was permanent.

---

Two hours later.

Aanya sat in the hospital office, her mother’s documents spread out before her. The nurse handed her forms to sign, explaining the procedures in a voice that sounded like background noise.

“We’ll need a signature for the body release. The cremation slot has been confirmed for tomorrow morning.”

“Yes,” Aanya murmured, signing. “I’ll take care of it.”

Still, no one else had arrived.

No Aaryan. No Abeer. No Aarav.

Just Aarush, who remained exactly where she’d left him—outside the ICU, unmoving, silent, staring into nothing.

She approached him with the file in her hands.

“They’ll be taking her in an hour,” she said, voice steady. “I’ve taken care of everything.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t even blink.

His silence wasn’t cold—it was shattered.

Aanya stood there for a few seconds longer, waiting for a reaction. When none came, she turned and walked away.

Aarush stood a moment later.

And followed.

Not beside her.

Not behind her.

Just walking with her, like a shadow with no words.

They didn’t speak as the white-sheeted stretcher was wheeled past them.

They didn’t speak as the ambulance pulled away.

And they didn’t speak when the silence between them began to scream.

---

Outside, dusk was settling over the city. The hospital lights flickered on, bathing the street in sterile gold.

Aanya stood by the ambulance, arms crossed, watching the last physical piece of her mother disappear into the back of the van. A hollow ache sat in her chest, deeper than grief. It was disappointment. Anger. Regret.

She should have seen her sooner.

She should have been told sooner.

She should have known her mother was sick at all.

But her brothers hadn’t told her. Not even Aarush. Especially not Aarush.

Aanya turned to him now, her voice low and shaky.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

He blinked, startled.

“You knew she was sick. You all knew. And no one said a damn word.”

Aarush looked at her, his lips parting as if to speak—but no sound came out.

“I’m not a child anymore,” she whispered. “You didn’t have to protect me. You just had to tell me.”

Aarush lowered his gaze, his throat moving as he swallowed hard.

And still, he said nothing.

The doors of the ambulance shut.

With it, the final page of Aanya’s childhood.

She turned away, walked toward the cab waiting by the curb.

Aarush followed.

Neither of them looked back.

The air in the cremation ground was heavy with the scent of burning sandalwood and something far more unbearable—grief.

Aanya stood silently as the flames engulfed the mortal remains of her mother. The white saree she wore felt stiff against her skin, soaked from earlier rain and now drying slowly under the pale sun. Her fingers clutched the edge of her pallu as if holding onto something tangible in a world that had shifted beneath her feet.

The priest murmured the final prayers, and the logs crackled softly in response. Beside her, Aarush stood quietly, unmoving. He hadn’t said anything since the hospital. He hadn’t needed to. His red eyes and hollow face said it all.

But they were the only ones there.

Three seats remained empty.

Aaryan, the eldest—the mafia boss feared across the city. Abeer, the second brother—the doctor who patched bullet wounds and hearts with the same precision. Aarav, the third—the polished CEO who could manipulate boardrooms and investors alike. They weren’t there.

Her heart twisted.

Not even for their dying mother.

No calls. No texts. Not even flowers. The woman who gave them life had passed on, and they hadn’t even shown up to bid her farewell.

Tears stung Aanya’s eyes, but she blinked them away, locking her emotions behind a wall she’d built over the last five years. She handed the paperwork to the cremation staff, managing every formality like an automaton. Aarush followed, a silent shadow.

She didn’t ask for his help. He didn’t offer it.

Just as the fire reached its peak, the sound of screeching tires broke through the quiet.

Aanya didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn around.

But Aarush did.

Three black SUVs rolled to a stop just outside the cremation grounds. Doors swung open and out stepped the rest of them—Aaryan in his black kurta and commanding stance, Abeer in a muted blue shirt, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, and Aarav, sharp and cold in his crisp attire.

They arrived too late.

Aanya remained frozen, her eyes locked on the flames, refusing to look at them. It wasn’t anger—it was worse. It was indifference.

Aaryan was the first to approach, his footsteps heavy on the stone path. He stood a few feet behind her, saying nothing.

Abeer and Aarav followed. No one dared speak.

It was Aanya who broke the silence.

“You missed her last breath.”

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Abeer swallowed hard. “We came as soon as we could.”

“Not soon enough.”

Aaryan stepped forward. “Aanya—”

She turned then, slowly, her gaze sharp as a blade. “Don’t. Don’t call me like we’re still family.”

Aarav looked away. Abeer flinched. Aaryan’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

“You sent me away,” she continued. “You cut me off. For five years, I wasn’t your sister. And now suddenly you show up when it’s convenient?”

“It’s not like that,” Abeer whispered.

“Then what is it like?” she asked, voice rising. “You weren’t there when she needed you. When I needed you.”

Aaryan tried again. “We’ll talk about everything, I promise. Just not here. Not now.”

Aanya shook her head, lips trembling. “There’s nothing left to talk about. She’s gone. And I buried her alone.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned her back to them and walked away from the fire, from the silence, from them.

Aarush looked between his older brothers and his sister’s retreating figure. Then, without a word, he followed her.

None of them moved.

Three brothers.

Too late.

Too silent.

Too far gone.