chapter -4

The room was quiet.

Samaira was sitting on the edge of the bed when Adam’s voice cut through the silence.

“Get ready in the evening.”

He ignored her unspoken questions—what had happened, why he was here, why he sounded like nothing had occurred at all.

She frowned. “Why?”

“Your father called. We’re going for dinner.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Time had slipped past her without notice. Before she could say anything more, Adam turned around and walked out, his steps measured and detached—just like everything else about him.

The door closed.

Samaira stayed seated for a few seconds, staring at the empty space he had left behind.

Three years.

Three years of living under the same roof, sharing the same bed, and still feeling like a stranger in her own life.

She finally stood up and went to freshen up.

Later, she chose a simple white dress—nothing extravagant, nothing that demanded attention. White felt safe. Neutral. Like she was trying not to exist too loudly.

As she stepped out of the room, Adam saw her from the second floor. He was on a call, his tone sharp and professional.

“Alright. Finish the task,” he said, and disconnected.

“Where are you going?” he asked from above.

She looked up.

For a brief second, their eyes met.

It was strange—how they could feel so distant yet uncomfortably close at the same time. Like a wound that hadn’t healed, only learned how to hide.

“Just some work,” she replied. “I’ll be back on time.”

And before Adam could say anything else, she turned left and walked away.

He clenched his fists.

Samaira drove for a while before stopping at a small bakery. She bought a slice of chocolate cake and a bar of dark chocolate. From a nearby store, she picked up a small bouquet of white lilies.

Then she drove to her destination.

The air there was still, heavy with memories—the pain of losing and the place where those memories were born again. Yes, she was standing in front of the graveyard.

She walked slowly until she reached the familiar tombstone.

To the beloved sister and daughter.

Aisha Kapoor

Her breath hitched. She stood there for a long moment, fingers trembling as she traced the letters carved into stone.

One silent tear escaped her eye.

"It's been a while. How are you?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

She almost smiled at the absurdity of the question. What reply was she expecting? The sister she longed for would never answer. She would never tease her again, never scold her, never hold her when things felt unbearable.

“I’m… I’m good too,” Samaira said softly, forcing a small smile. “I just miss you sometimes.”

She placed the cake and chocolate carefully near the stone.

“See? I remembered,” she murmured. “Your favorite.”

After a pause, she said,

"Happy birthday sister."

Saying this, she sat down, placing her hands on the tombstone.

"Sorry, I couldn't come to meet you earlier. Things were a little crazy on my side."

Then she said, "how easier life was when we were together right "

"everything feels heavier now"

Then, after a pause—

"It’s been three years, Aisha. Three years and he hasn’t changed. Adam is still the same—cold, distant, present only in body. I keep telling myself it’s enough… that I should stop hoping.”

She took out a thin envelope from her bag.

She stared at it for a long time before placing it beside the offerings.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I really don’t.”

She sank down beside the grave, hugging her knees.

Her fingers curled into the grass.

“Should I leave him?” she asked, tears slipping freely now. “Should I just walk away without saying anything?”

She glanced at the envelope again.

“Or should I tell him?” she continued. “Would it even matter? Would he care? even if I want to leave?”

Her voice cracked.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “scared to make the decision for the first time"

She wiped her tears and looked up at the sky.

“Please,” she whispered, “if you can hear me… give me some sign. Just something. Tell me what I should do.”