Age 11 – The Night of the Lights (2002)
Dear Diary,
Grams says our family carries stories in our blood. That we're protectors of nature, like elves who keep the balance of the world. Tonight, I almost believed her.
Elena and I were staying at her house, and of course Ayaan was there. He's been living with Grams for almost a year now. She says he's some distant relative — her grandmother's sister's grandson's grandson. That's a mouthful. All I know is he's a weird kid. Too quiet. Too good at listening. It drives me crazy.
He never gets mad at me, which is worse. Once I spilled cold lemon soda all over him on purpose, just to see if he'd snap. He just smiled, stood up, and cleaned himself like nothing happened. I don't trust people who don't get angry.
That night, I was sitting by the window with Grams when the sky suddenly lit up. Elena gasped like it was magic. Ayaan just stared, calm and still, like he'd been waiting for it all along. I didn't know what it was, but looking at Elena and Ayaan standing alone in the garden, I felt a loss.
I laughed at Elena, but inside, I felt different. It was like the whole world was holding its breath, and there was a spark inside of me that wanted to burn fierce. But then it was calm. Ayaan glanced at me — just for a second — with those deep black eyes. I swear I saw some silver flicker in them, like starlight.
Maybe I imagined it. But maybe I didn't.
---
Age 15 – Elena's Confession & Ayaan's Obsession (2006)
Dear Diary,
Elena says she thinks Ayaan likes her. And she's probably right. He makes her laugh, he takes care of her, and he never seems to get tired of it. And if there's one thing I know about Ayaan, it's that he never wastes his time on things he doesn't mean.
But Elena only knows what he makes her feel. She only sees the version of him that exists for her. I see what he does.
I've been around him more. Because of Grams. Because of how close I live. I've seen his locked study room, full of old books in languages most people can't even pronounce. I've seen the strange posters with symbols—yantras, Grams calls them—that look like cousins of her own charms.
I've seen him train alone in the garage at night. Different kinds of fighting techniques. Various weapons like mace, crossbow, and swords. He is interested in cold weapons; and his uncle whom I have never seen, sends some every now and then. He even sent a whip for me once. I heard Ayaan muttering something bad about his Uncle when he saw the package that I received.
They always come in boxes stamped with that golden crown. Grams once muttered, "Alas… the capitalists have come for us". I didn't understand, but the way she said it made me feel like Ayaan and Grams are not like us, as if they are somehow different. I think as she ages, she is starting to believe the bedtime stories that she used to read me.
What I wonder about most. Why is Ayaan so hard on himself? Why does he push every single day like he's racing against time? I've seen the weight he carries, both metaphorical and physical, even if Elena hasn't. I've seen him give everything to everyone else around him, even if it exhausts him.
And still… he's always there. He always shows up. That's what I like about him. Although he will never hear a word of it. ~hehehe
He was there the night I ran away from home because I couldn't stand the stuffy air, the yelling, the rules. I found myself on a dark street with drunk men shouting things I don't even want to remember. Ayaan appeared out of nowhere. He fought them off like they were children, like they didn't matter. That was the only night I cried in front of him. He just stood there, let me cry, and then told me I'd be okay.
Since then, every time he encourages me, every time he steadies me, I feel that same urge—to lean into him, to leave it all in his hands. Because that's the guy he is, he absorbs your burden, so that you'll feel lighter. But I can't do that to him. That's not me. I don't cling, I don't cry, I don't show weakness — Not like Elena.
So I watch. I notice. I understand. I carry it in silence, because that's the only way I know how to be strong. The only way to lessen whatever burden he carries.
But sometimes… sometimes, when I see the way his shoulders bear every weight without complaint, I wish I could let go of my stubbornness and just rest my chin there.
----
Age 15 – Bonnie's Thoughts (2006)
Dear Diary,
Elena was crying again tonight. Heartbroken, trembling, saying she felt small. That Ayaan ignored her feelings, that he didn't care enough to tell her the truth. I held her hand, I nodded, I listened. But inside, I wanted to shake her.
She doesn't see it. She doesn't see him.
It was Matt who put the thoughts in her head. He told her he saw Ayaan at the Continental — probably one of the nights he went to drag Vicki out before she destroyed herself completely. Matt says it like proof, like Ayaan was sneaking off for hookups or drugs. And Elena believed him.
The irony is laughable. If Ayaan ever wanted to let off steam, he wouldn't need to vanish into shadows. He could have his pick. Half the cheer squad would line up for him. Caroline certainly would. And me? …Maybe I'd say yes too, if he asked.
But that's the point. He doesn't. He trains, he studies, he disappears into his secrets. That's who he is. Not careless. Never careless.
Elena doesn't understand that. She thought he was born perfect — the golden boy who never faltered. She never saw the sweat, the discipline, the weight he carries. And when she realized she'd been blind all this time, instead of admitting it, she blames him.
So she broke it off. She says he made her feel small. But he doesn't make people small. He makes them realize how much bigger he is. And maybe that's what she couldn't take.
I didn't say any of this out loud. I just let her cry, because that's what she needed. But deep down, I couldn't stop thinking: if Ayaan ever chose to confess to me, I wouldn't run. I wouldn't demand answers he wasn't ready to give. I'd stand beside him, no matter how heavy the burden.
Not that I'd ever admit that — not to Elena, not even to myself.
---
Age 16 – Premonition (March 2008)
Dear Diary,
The fire came.
All those nights I woke sweating, hearing wolves in the dark, smelling smoke that wasn't there — I thought it was just me, just bad dreams. But last night the whole town saw it. The wildfire tore through the forest like nothing anyone had seen before. Flames eating the sky, houses burning at the edge of the woods, people screaming, running…
And yet, somehow, no one died. Not one. They're calling it luck. I don't believe in luck. Hours before the fire started, there was a locust warning — yes, locusts of all things — and Grams told me the Council rushed to evacuate the houses nearest to the tree line. People listened because they were scared, because who ignores a plague of locusts? It doesn't feel like luck. It feels like someone planned for this.
And then there was the Continental. For the first time since it opened last year, its doors weren't guarded by rules or memberships. They opened the motel to anyone who needed shelter. Families poured in, people too terrified to look back. And whispers spread even in the panic — The Continental has broken its own rule. They never break rules. That's what makes them untouchable. But last night, they did. And it was to save people.
When the rain finally came, hours later, the fire died out. What was left behind was ash, ruin, people covered in burns, the smell of smoke clinging to everything. I thought that was the end of it. Until we got the call.
They found him.
Ayaan.
In the dead center of it all.
Collapsed in a clearing that looked like hell itself, his body torn apart by burns no one has ever survived in medical history. They said his skin was blistered, peeling, blackened. His face — the face I've known since we were children — scarred beyond recognition. The doctors whispered it was a miracle he was even breathing.
I couldn't stop shaking when I heard the doctor say it. My throat hurt from holding back the scream. Besides me, Elena collapsed into tears, and Matt held her tightly and worried—afraid she will run away. But I, just stood there, numb and blank. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I couldn't even cry the pain out.
I can't believe it even now. Because, it doesn't make sense. None of it. Not the locust warning. Not the way the Continental broke its own rule. Not the fact that everyone else walked out alive, but Ayaan was left behind in the fire. As if it chose him. Or as if he chose it.
I should've told him. I should've told him what I felt, what I saw in him, what I kept locked inside. But I didn't. I just watched, and now all I can do is write, my hands shaking, my chest breaking open.
He carried so much weight, and I never said a word. And now… now he's broken, and I don't know if he'll ever be the same again.
---
Age 16 – Premonition (September 2008)
Dear Diary,
He woke up today.
Three months. That's how long it's been since the fire, since the night the whole town whispered about miracles and cursed blessings. For three months he lay silent, burned and broken. And for three months, every evening, I sat by his bed. Reading, breathing, waiting.
I was there when his eyes finally opened. Not Elena. Not Matt. Not even Grams or my parents.
Just me. Elena only came six times in all these months. Grams and Mom and Dad came every couple of days. His uncle? Never. Though another black box arrived last week, stamped with that crown again. I almost smashed it. How can a man send packages but not his presence? How can he not come see his nephew when the whole world knows?
Because the world does know. His survival went viral on Orkut, then Facebook. Photos, posts, "miracle boy in Mystic Falls." People he doesn't even know are talking about him like he's a headline. I should've felt grateful. Instead, I just feel sick.
Because the boy who opened his eyes today isn't Ayaan.
He looks like him. He talks like him, slowly, painfully, voice broken like glass, but the words aren't the same. He remembers everything Ayaan remembered — the books, the languages, the endless lessons, the weight of it all. But when I looked at him, when our eyes met, it wasn't him.
Not the boy who laughed at my stubbornness. Not the boy who fought off those drunkards when I was thirteen and crying in the street. Not the boy who carried burdens no one else saw.
And the worst part? I knew it before he woke up. I saw it in my dreams.
Ever since I started using the breathing exercises he taught me — to steady my mind, to stop the nightmares — the dreams have only sharpened. Vivid, blinding. And in them, I saw him burn away in the fire. His skin melting, his soul tearing loose. And something else — something colder, stranger — settling into his place.
"Manasa eva jagat jitam" — the mind alone conquers the world. He told me that once, in Sanskrit, when he was teaching me to breathe. I hold on to it now like a lifeline, because if I don't, I'll break.
I have no reason to stay in that room anymore. The one lying in the hospital bed may look like Ayaan, may wear his scars, may even carry his memories. But he isn't Ayaan. I know it. I feel it.
So I'll do the only thing left for me. I'll get stronger. I'll find the truth. And when I'm ready, I'll uncover what really happened in that fire… and who — or what — came back in his place.
Time to have a serious talk with Grams!
- bonnie