Chapter 3: Echoes in the Silence

Arnav had always been a master of control-of emotions, of memories, of pain.

But nothing in his iron-clad discipline prepared him for Khushi Kumari Gupta's laughter echoing across the AR Designs atrium that afternoon.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't even meant for him. But it sliced through the silence of his heart like a blade.

He was in the middle of a call, discussing international designs for the spring campaign, but his voice trailed off. His fingers froze over the mouse.

Her laughter clashed with the sterile steel and glass of his world-sweet, bright, unbearably familiar.

It wasn't just a sound. It was a memory. A sensation. A scar reopened.

Aman's voice on the other end snapped him back.

"Sir? Shall I confirm the Milan shipment?"

Arnav cleared his throat, masking the moment. "Yes. Do it."

But his eyes didn't leave the corridor where she had disappeared, her braid swinging, her notebook pressed to her chest.

It had become a habit-watching her from a distance.

Her movements. Her voice.

The way she tilted her head when confused, biting her lip slightly.

The childlike glee when she solved a design dilemma.

And sometimes... the quiet moments.

When she thought no one was watching, and her smile faltered-like it was holding back grief that had no name.

There was something there.

Something he should've forgotten.

But couldn't.

---

Khushi, meanwhile, was fighting her own storm.

Ever since she starts workin AR , her nights had grown restless. Fleeting images haunted her sleep-fragments of a life she didn't remember living.

A courtyard bathed in golden sunlight.

A soft breeze tickling wind chimes.

The weight of crimson bangles on her tiny wrists.

And most vividly-a boy.

He was always there, just at the edge of the dream.

Standing near a large banyan tree.

His hair wind-swept.

His eyes... intense. Brown like burnt cinnamon.

There was pain in those eyes, but also a promise-something he said to her in that dream, something she could never fully hear.

She would wake up gasping, her heart pounding.

"Amma...?" she had whispered into the darkness once.

But there was no one. Just the ceiling fan whirring and the echo of memories that didn't belong.

One evening, over dinner, she couldn't hold back anymore.

"Buaji... Did I ever live in Lucknow when I was small?" she asked softly, her eyes trained on the dal in her plate.

Buaji froze for a second, the ladle halfway to her mouth. "Why do you ask that, bitiya?"

"I keep dreaming of... things. A courtyard. A tree. A boy. I think I even smelled marigolds last night in my dream. And my wrists... they had red thread tied to them."

Buaji set her bowl down with a soft thud. "Hawa mein mat ud Khushi. Sapne toh sab dekhte hain. Kabhi kabhi dimag humein bewakoof banata hai."

"But it felt real, Buaji. Like I've been there before."

Buaji stood up abruptly. "Bas. Don't think too much. Dreams are dreams. Now eat before the food gets cold.

But Khushi saw the flicker of something-fear-in Buaji's eyes.

And for the first time, a chill ran down her spine.

---

The dreams didn't stop.

In fact, they became more vivid.

Khushi began sketching again-not because she wanted to, but because her hands itched to draw the faces she saw behind her eyelids. She would wake up, rush to her old sketchbook, and draw until the images stopped tormenting her.

And one morning, she stared at the page in stunned silence.

There it was-a courtyard, an old banyan tree, vermillion flowers strewn on the ground.

And beside the tree... a boy. Half-turned, his eyes downcast. She had drawn his expression too perfectly for it to be imagination.

He looked familiar. Too familiar.

But why?

---

Later that week, while helping Buaji clean the attic, Khushi stumbled upon an old carved trunk, its hinges rusted and wood faded with time.

"Leave that, Khushi," Buaji said quickly. "It's just old rubbish."

But Khushi had already opened it. Dust swirled in the sunlight filtering through the window.

Inside were bits and pieces of another life: faded letters, broken bangles, a child's frock, a cracked diya.

And then, at the very bottom, wrapped in a silk cloth-a photograph.

Khushi's fingers trembled as she unfolded the fabric.

The photo was faded, but clear enough. Two children. Dressed in traditional wedding clothes. Sitting before a havan kund. A priest in the background. Red thread tied loosely around their tiny wrists.

Her breath caught.

The girl was unmistakably her.

And the boy-

She stared, her heart hammering.

"No..."

But there was no doubt.

Those eyes. That mouth. That tilt of the head.

It was Arnav Singh Raizada.

---

Meanwhile, Arnav couldn't stay away.

He told himself it was coincidence. That bumping into her in the hallway, near the design boards, was just timing.

But then he began anticipating those moments.

"Sir, should I schedule your meeting with the investors?" Aman asked.

Arnav shook his head. "No. Push it to next week. I want to review the sample designs personally."

"You haven't done that in two years."

Arnav didn't answer. His gaze had already drifted to the mezzanine floor-where Khushi stood, absorbed in her sketchpad.

Aman followed his gaze. His brows furrowed. Something about this didn't feel professional anymore.

---

That evening, after another dream left her gasping and restless, Khushi walked into the guest room where Buaji was folding saris.

"Tell me the truth," Khushi said, holding out the photo. "Who is this?"

Buaji froze. Her eyes widened. She sat down heavily on the bed.

"Khushi..." she whispered.

"Why do I remember him?" Khushi demanded. "Why do I dream of a banyan tree and bangles and promises I never remember making?"

Buaji's hands gripped the edge of the bed.

"You were both just children," she said, her voice trembling. "We never thought it meant anything. It was a silly ceremony... symbolic. Just to please your Nani. After the accident, everything changed."

"What accident?"

Buaji looked away. "It's better you don't remember."

"I do remember!" Khushi cried. "Pieces of it. Bits that don't make sense."

Buaji stood up suddenly. "Let sleeping memories lie, Khushi. They can only hurt now."

---

Flashback - Sheesh Mahal, many years ago.

Arnav stood in the Sheesh Mahal courtyard, barely twelve, his fists clenched at his sides. The late afternoon sun cast golden shards through the jharokhas, painting fractured light across the marble floor.

He had just overheard the hushed conversation between his Mama and his mother in the next room.

"They've decided. We're leaving Lucknow. Sheesh Mahal will be sold."

His stomach dropped. "But what about Khushi?" he asked his mother as soon as she emerged.

She knelt beside him, brushing his hair back gently. "She's just a little girl, Chhotey. You'll forget."

He shook his head. "I don't want to forget."

She looked at him for a moment, then stood and walked away. But he stood there for a long time, fists clenched, throat tight.

That night, when the stars were bright and trunks half-packed, he sneaked out of his room. The haveli's halls echoed beneath his bare feet as he made his way to the small temple in the courtyard-the place he and Khushi had once called their secret world.

He climbed onto the platform and tied a folded note to the iron bell that had always made Khushi giggle when he rang it. The words were scrawled in his childlike hand:

"I promise I'll come back."

He rang the bell once. A soft chime. A quiet vow.

And then he left. And never returned.

Present - Lucknow

Now, years later, Arnav stood at the temple once more. It looked older, smaller somehow. Vines crept up the crumbling stone walls, moss lining the crevices like wrinkles of time. The bell still hung, rusted but resolute.

The banyan tree stood firm-its roots tangled and deep, like memories buried beneath a polished surface.

Arnav stepped forward, removing his shoes, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. The air was thick-not with dust, but with unshed words and lost years.

He walked to the tree, reached out, and placed his hand gently on the bark. His fingers trembled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The wind rustled the leaves. The bell above him swayed slightly, releasing a hollow chime that echoed like an old heartbeat.

A child's laughter. A girl's anklet. A red thread.

And for the first time in years... Arnav let his tears fall.

He sank to his knees before the old temple bell and closed his eyes.

"I never forgot, Khushi," he murmured to the wind. "Even when I tried."

The temple remained silent. But in that silence, something shifted.

Something forgave.

---

Back in Delhi - Evening

A car halted in front of the Gupta residence. Arnav sat still for a moment, the worn edges of his soul frayed from the visit to Sheesh Mahal. He hadn't expected it to shake him this much.

He hadn't expected the ghosts to be so alive.

Buaji opened the door herself. Her eyes narrowed in surprise. "Tum?"

Arnav stepped inside silently. "I... I needed to talk."

She watched him closely-his silence, his drawn expression. She didn't say a word, just stepped aside to let him in.

Inside, the house was quiet. Khushi was out, thankfully.

Buaji placed a cup of chai before him and sat opposite, her hands folded.

"Lucknow kaise laga?" she asked softly.

He exhaled, broken. "It hasn't changed. But I have."

Buaji nodded. "Wahan jaake purani yaadein jal jaati hain. Ya kabhi kabhi... aur zyada zinda ho jaati hain."

He met her gaze. "I didn't remember it all. Not clearly. But standing there... the tree, the bell, her laughter in that courtyard... it all came back. And I realized how badly I failed."

Buaji's face softened. "Tum dono bacche the, Arnav bitwa. Bacchon ki shaadiyon ka matlab duniya nahi maanta."

"I made a promise." His voice cracked. "I promised her I'd come back. And I never did."

She leaned forward, placing a gentle hand over his. "Par tum wapas aaye. Shayad der hui, par tum aaye. Aur uss waade ka asar... ab bhi Khushi ke sapno mein dikh raha hai."

He blinked. "She dreams of it?"

Buaji nodded. "Usse yaad nahi hai. Par uska dil sab yaad rakhta hai. Tumhare bina uska chain nahi hai, aur tumhare saath uska bharosa tut gaya toh... woh kabhi wapas nahi banegi."

Arnav bowed his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I don't want to hurt her."

"Tab toh sirf ek rasta hai," Buaji whispered. "to bhul jao Usse .Warna ya toh uska dil tootega... ya tumhara."

Silence hung heavy between them, but something shifted. A shared grief. A broken past. And the beginning of a long-overdue reckoning.

---

AR Designs - Late Evening

The office was bathed in the soft amber glow of the setting sun, shadows stretching long across the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Arnav sat at his desk, eyes unfocused, fingers lightly brushing over a document he wasn't reading.

A soft ding from the elevator echoed through the near-empty office floor.

Lavanya walked out, her stilettos clicking with purpose, a printed photo clutched in her hand. Her expression was unreadable-equal parts disbelief, confusion, and something dangerously close to heartbreak.

Without knocking, she pushed the glass door open.

"Care to explain what this is, ASR?"

Arnav's eyes rose slowly. He recognized the image instantly.

Two children. A sacred fire. Marigold garlands. A red thread of fate tied around their small wrists.

His breath caught-but only for a moment.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, voice cool but laced with warning.

"In the design room printer," Lavanya replied sharply. "Looks like Khushi scanned it earlier today and forgot to pick it up."

She stepped forward, slapping the photo down on his desk. "And imagine my surprise when I recognized that little groom as you."

Arnav didn't respond immediately. He stood, walking to the window, staring out at the Delhi skyline like it could offer him an escape.

"I don't want you involved in this, Lavanya," he said finally, his voice low, gravelly.

Lavanya's laughter was bitter. "Too late for that, don't you think?"

She circled the desk toward him, her heels echoing like accusations. "I've known you for what-six years? I've seen you bulldoze deals, break hearts, and rule this office like a fortress. And suddenly... you hesitate."

She tapped the photo with her nail. "This girl... Khushi... has you unraveling. You think I haven't noticed?"

"Lavanya-" he started, but she cut him off.

"Don't 'Lavanya' me," she snapped. "What is this? Some... symbolic child marriage? Are you two acting out some twisted past-life drama or is this real?"

Arnav turned, his eyes hard. "This is not a joke."

Her shoulders dropped. The fight in her drained for a second as she looked at him-truly looked. "I know that now," she said softly.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I saw the way you looked at her yesterday, Arnav. Like she was the only thing keeping you breathing. And I saw her flinch when you walked past-like her heart recognized you before her mind did."

She paused. "Whatever this is... it's changing you. And it's making her vulnerable."

He looked away. The silence between them was thick.

Lavanya's voice trembled slightly, but she steadied it. "She doesn't remember, does she?"ll2

M1

"No," he said. Just one word. But it carried the weight of years, of guilt, of buried promises.

"And you do," she whispered.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

Lavanya took a step back, her arms crossing-this time not in defiance, but to hold herself steady. "You need to be careful, ASR. You're not just reopening old wounds. You're slicing open hers too."

Arnav sat down again, rubbing his temples. "I didn't ask for this, Lavanya."

"I know," she said quietly. "But maybe... she did."

She left the photo on his desk and turned away, her reflection catching in the glass.

"I don't know what happened between you two back then, Arnav... but if you break her this time-"

He looked up sharply. "I won't."

Lavanya didn't smile. She just nodded once and walked out, her voice echoing in the silence she left behind.

"Then you better remember the promises you made back then... because she still might."

----

The glass door slammed shut, reverberating through the silence Arnav had left in her wake. But he didn't flinch. He stood still-back to the room, eyes fixed on the skyline. The photo Lavanya had thrown on his desk remained like an unspoken confession, curling slightly at the edges.

He picked it up slowly. His thumb brushed over the image-two children, bound by a thread of vermillion and fate.

Khushi's eyes in the picture held a kind of innocence the world had long since burned out of him.

A voice interrupted his storming thoughts.

"I saw her leave."

Aman stepped in quietly, closing the door behind him.

Arnav didn't turn around. "Let it go, Aman."

"You went to Lucknow, didn't you?"

This time, Arnav turned.

Aman continued, "I called your driver. He said you left the airport without him."

Arnav exhaled, dropping into his chair. The silence between them stretched before he finally said, "I stood under that tree again."

Aman frowned.

"The one near the temple. The one where it happened."

There was weight in those words-years of silence, memories buried under rage and boardrooms.

"I thought I could forget, Aman. But when I saw that picture... everything came back. The promise. The fire. Her hand in mine."

Aman stepped closer, his voice lower. "Do you believe it was real? That... that it meant something?"

Arnav met his gaze. "It wasn't just a game. We were children, yes. But she remembered enough to keep that photo. That has to mean something."

Aman hesitated. "And what if it breaks her to remember more?"

Arnav's jaw clenched. "Then I'll carry it for both of us."

---

Gupta House, Delhi - That Night

Khushi sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook open on her lap. The pencil danced between her fingers. She didn't know why she kept drawing the same image: a tree, a boy, a flicker of flames. It came in pieces, like a forgotten lullaby.

Payal walked in and paused.

"Another tree?" she asked gently.

Khushi gave a small smile. "This one feels... important. Familiar."

Payal sat beside her. "You've been quiet since that day at Buaji's storeroom. Did you find something?"

Khushi's fingers froze. "A photo. Two children. A wedding."

Payal stilled. "You think it's you?"

Khushi nodded. "And him."

"Him who?"

Her silence was answer enough.

---

Outside the Gupta House - Later That Night

Buaji was standing under the porch light, arms crossed.

She didn't flinch when a car pulled up quietly.

Arnav stepped out, slow and measured.

"Tum phir aa gaye," Buaji said coldly.

"I needed to see her."

"She doesn't remember, bitwa."

"But I do," he said, stepping closer. "And you do too."

Buaji's jaw set. "What's the point of stirring ashes? The child she was... she died with her parents in that accident. And what rose after-Khushi-she's fragile. Happy, finally."

"I'm not here to destroy her peace," Arnav said, voice rough. "But if she remembers, and I'm not there to help her through it-wouldn't that be worse?"

Buaji studied him for a long moment. "Are you willing to hurt yourself for her?"

"I already did," he said simply.

----

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