The moment Aaron carried that wrapped portrait into the house, Meera's eyes fell on it.
Her face softened with sadness, she knew exactly what memories that painting carried, and how deeply the truth of Apoorva's marriage and divorce had shaken her brother. She didn't say a word.
Quietly, she walked toward him, took the portrait gently from his hands, and carried it into her room. Aaron followed her, not ready but unable to stay away.
Meera placed the portrait on her bed and slowly unwrapped it. The painting caught the dim light of the room — Apoorva's smile frozen in time, untouched by the storms that had followed.
Aaron's breath hitched. He looked at the painting, then at Meera, and whispered in a strained voice,
"Just… just destroy it, Meera. Please."
His voice cracked in the middle — the pain still raw, the truth still too heavy.
Meera felt her heart tighten. She hate the thought of destroying something that held so many memories, but she knew her brother. She knew how love could cling to him, how memories could suffocate him, and how this painting would only deepen his wounds.
It hurts her, but she nodded. "Okay, Aaron," she murmured, her voice breaking a little. "If that's what you need."
Aaron left the room silently, like someone walking away from a war they didn't choose.
He washed his face, trying to cool the burning behind his eyes, and forced himself to eat a little dinner even though the food felt tasteless. Afterward, he went to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at nothing, feeling everything.
The silence was thick — filled with memories he didn't want to remember and questions he didn't know how to answer.
A few minutes later, Meera entered his room quietly. She didn't speak at first. She simply sat beside him, her presence gentle and grounding. She knew her brother didn't need words right now, he needed someone who understood his silence.
Finally, she placed a hand on his back and said softly, "Aaron… I know this hurts. I know everything feels unfair. But you're not alone, okay? I'm here."
He exhaled shakily — the kind of breath that comes from holding too much inside. Meera leaned her head slightly toward him, her voice low and comforting.
"Life doesn't always give answers immediately. Sometimes… we just survive the moment. One moment at a time."
Aaron didn't reply. But just as Meera finished speaking, a sudden notification sound broke through the thick silence of the room — sharp, echoing, almost unreal. Both of them froze.
It was as if the universe itself had chosen that exact moment to respond.
The tiny chime from Aaron's phone carried a weight far heavier than any sound should.
That single notification felt like an answer. The answer they had been waiting for.
Apoorva, the next morning, got ready for the office as usual. Being a weekend, the office was almost empty — only the department heads and a few employees came in for formality's sake. Everyone had light work, mostly scheduling tasks and following up on weekly reports.
As planned, Apoorva and Aaron reached the office together. Apoorva settled into her cabin, busy sorting out files and completing a few leftover tasks. Aaron walked in a few minutes later, taking his usual seat opposite her. They chatted about the orphanage visit, families, and the oddness of weekend work, mixing their conversation with small bits of actual office duties.
In the middle of their easy exchange, Aaron's phone lit up. The name Karthika appeared on the screen.
The change in him was immediate — Apoorva noticed it instantly. Aaron's face brightened like a thousand lamps being lit at once. There was warmth in his eyes she hadn't seen in days.
He excused himself with just a glance and answered the call.
His voice softened, playful, affectionate — nothing like the tone he used with anyone else. It was as if he had been pulled into another world the moment he heard her voice. Apoorva watched silently, not out of curiosity, but because the transformation in him was impossible to ignore.
When the call ended, Aaron was still smiling — lost in the afterglow of whatever sweetness the conversation had carried.
Apoorva didn't ask him anything. She never interfered in his personal matters, and Aaron, in return, never really opened up unless he wanted to. So she waited, expecting that maybe he would explain who Karthika was, or at least mention something about the call.
But he didn't.
Still wrapped in his excitement, Aaron didn't even realize he was in Apoorva's cabin. He stood up abruptly, typing something on his phone, and without saying a word — without even glancing back, he walked out of her cabin, leaving her mid-conversation.
The moment the door closed behind him, something inside Apoorva sank.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't jealousy. It was the quiet ache of being dismissed without a thought — of being forgotten, even if just for a moment.
She stared at the open doorway, then slowly lowered her eyes to her desk. To shield her own heart, she whispered gentle explanations to herself:
"He must be in a hurry."
"Maybe it's something important."
"He didn't notice because he was busy… that's all."
She knew these were true. But she also knew she was saying them not to justify Aaron's action… but to soothe her own heart.
Because sometimes the smallest neglect wounds the deepest — not because of the act itself, but because of who does it.
Apoorva swallowed the hurt quietly and forced herself back into work.
She typed, sorted, checked mails — but her mind kept circling around the way Aaron had walked out, his eyes glued to his phone, his smile still lingering from the call.
That smile had something… something she had never seen on his face before in their journey of a year.
She shook the thought away. "Why am I even thinking about this? It's his life… his happiness." She tried to convince herself, but the ache didn't leave easily.
Hours passed. By afternoon, the office floor grew silent. Most employees had already left, leaving only a few scattered footsteps here and there. The air-conditioner hummed softly, and the pale weekend sunlight fell lazily across Apoorva's cabin.
She stepped out to refill her bottle, and from a distance, she noticed Aaron standing near the balcony rail of the office — phone in hand, eyes lost somewhere far beyond the city view.
He was smiling again. A softer, gentler smile. Apoorva paused for a moment. She didn't want to disturb him. Didn't want to walk into another moment where she might feel out of place. So she quietly returned to her desk.
A few minutes later, Aaron walked back in, still typing something rapidly on his phone. He didn't even look up when entering the cabin. He sat down, still lost in whatever conversation was happening through the screen.
For a moment, Apoorva felt invisible. Then suddenly, Aaron broke into a laugh, the kind that comes unconsciously, naturally, unfiltered. It echoed in the small cabin, warm… and somehow painful.
Apoorva closed her laptop gently. "Aaron," she called softly. He looked up — finally remembering she existed in the same room. "Huh? Oh… Apoorva… yes?" he said, but his tone still carried the aftertaste of his excitement, not the calmness of someone listening.
"It's late. I'm leaving." "Oh… okay, okay," he said quickly, picking up his phone again. "I'll also come in a few minutes."
She nodded. He didn't notice her.
She walked out of the cabin, stepping into the hallway where her own thoughts accompanied her like shadows.
Why did this hurt so much?
Why did his happiness feel like a reminder of her own emptiness?
Why did she feel replaced, even when she had no right to feel anything at all?
She reached the elevator and pressed the button. The doors slid open slowly, reflecting her tired face.
Maybe it wasn't about Aaron. Maybe it was about her heart — a heart that had been alone for too long, a heart that had learned to find comfort in a friendship that suddenly felt distant.
And as the elevator descended, she whispered to herself: "It's okay. People grow… people change… and I have to accept it." But deep inside, she knew acceptance doesn't come that easily.
That day, Apoorva kept glancing at the clock again and again. They were supposed to visit the orphanage together — something they never missed, something both of them treated as a responsibility and a promise.
But today… everything felt different. It was already evening. The sun had started dipping behind the buildings, and the shadows grew longer inside her apartment. Apoorva kept her phone beside her, waiting… hoping.
She finally dialed Aaron. It rang once, twice, thrice. No answer. She waited a few minutes and tried again. Still nothing. She stared at the silent phone screen and exhaled slowly — not out of anger, but out of a quiet disappointment she couldn't voice.
She had handed over half the responsibilities of the orphanage to Aaron the moment he asked, without a second thought. For years, she had single-handedly managed every task — birthdays, fees, schedules, medicines, festivals — with care, with dedication, with a heart full of commitment.
And today… the very first time he was supposed to handle his part, he didn't even remember. Apoorva sat down on the sofa, her mind tangled in conflicting feelings. The sting in her heart grew sharper with each passing minute.
"Was it a mistake?", She asked herself. "Did I give away half the responsibilities too soon? Too easily? Just because he asked?"
She remembered how happily she said "Of course, Aaron, we'll share it" — how she trusted his sincerity without thinking twice. But now… Now she waited alone in a quiet room, with no reply, no reminder, no sign that he even remembered the plan.
Her thoughts whispered painfully: "I held this with my whole heart… I never skipped a single thing. Then why does it feel like he forgot it?"
She blinked back the hurt in her eyes. Apoorva wasn't angry. She wasn't blaming him. She wasn't expecting perfection. But the feeling of being the only one who remembers — the only one who cares consistently — that feeling hurt in a different way.
She knew Aaron wasn't careless by nature. She knew he didn't mean to neglect anything. But today… he behaved as if the entire orphanage visit had slipped his mind completely. And that quiet realization, more than anything else, made her heart ache.
She leaned back, closed her eyes, and whispered to herself softly: "Maybe I expected too much… maybe I trusted too quickly." Outside, the evening faded into night. Inside, a part of Apoorva's heart felt unseen, unheard, and unexpectedly alone.
Apoorva stepped outside the office and waited near the parking lot, her thoughts heavy and tangled. A few minutes later, Aaron came out, still smiling faintly at something on his phone—still lost somewhere far away from her.
He unlocked the car, and without a second thought, he began driving toward her home. He didn't even mention the orphanage.
Apoorva's heart squeezed. She kept watching him, his relaxed face, the calmness in his expression, nothing in him hinted that he had forgotten something important. And not just important, something she had handed over to him with so much trust.
Finally, she couldn't hold it in anymore. "Aaron… stop the car," she said quietly. He frowned. "Why? We're almost near your—" "Aaron, just stop the car," she repeated, this time with a little more weight in her voice.
He pulled over to the side, confused. "What happened now?", "I… I have some other work," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I have to go." "What work?" he asked lightly—but Apoorva knew that tone.
It was the tone of someone asking for the sake of asking, not because they cared for the answer.
"It's just something personal," she said, keeping her voice steady. "Okay then, I too have an important person to meet at home and now I could go fast to reach her!" Aaron shrugged almost instantly. He didn't ask what work, didn't ask if she was okay, didn't offer to drop her, didn't wait even a moment.
He simply waved his hand casually. "Bye then… take care." The car sped away before she could even respond. For a few seconds, Apoorva stood there, frozen on the pavement, her bag hanging loosely from her shoulder. The taillights disappeared into the traffic, leaving behind a silence louder than any argument.
It cut her—deeply. Not because he left. But because of how easily he left.
Her mind replayed the image she had seen days ago—the portrait hidden in Aaron's cabin. The one with such affection, such care. The one where her face beside his. The one that told her, silently but surely, that he once wanted to marry her.
Was this the same Aaron? Was this the same person who once held such feelings? Or…
Was this the new Aaron? The Aaron who had learned the truth about her marriage… her divorce… her past. The thought struck her like a blade: "Is he distancing himself because he found out I was married… and divorced?" Her chest tightened painfully.
She had never asked anything from him. Never demanded closeness. Never expected love.
But the ease with which he forgot her, her presence, the orphanage, their shared responsibilities…
It hurt more than she was prepared for.
Standing under the dim street light, Apoorva whispered to herself: "I trusted him with half the responsibilities… without thinking twice. Something I handled with utmost care all these years.
And he forgot it… just like that."
Apoorva stood still on the roadside, the evening wind brushing against her face. She wasn't crying. Her heart was.
For years, Apoorva carried everything alone. She never needed anyone. She never expected anyone. She never waited for anyone.
Her strength was her solitude. But then… Aaron entered her life.
He entered so gently as of her first love, so unexpectedly, like sunlight entering a dark room.
For the first time in years, she felt there was someone she could lean on, someone who would look after her, someone who would share her burdens, someone who would catch her if she broke.
And so, slowly, hesitantly, carefully, she allowed herself to lean. She allowed herself to depend.
She allowed herself to trust that someone would stay.
But the very moment she leaned, the moment she let herself rest on the shoulder she thought would hold her… that shoulder disappeared. And she was reminded painfully, that she was right from the beginning.
Summoning every ounce of strength left inside her, Apoorva stood up from the roadside where Aaron had dropped her, wiped the faint sting from her eyes, and called a taxi.
Her heart felt bruised, but her purpose remained clear. Anitha had been waiting all day.
And Apoorva had never broken that promise before — not even once. The taxi arrived, and she sank into the backseat, leaning her head against the window. The city lights blurred past, but her thoughts were louder than any passing traffic.
Her heart hurt, but she didn't let it break. Not today. Not where someone depended on her. When she reached the orphanage gate, she found Anitha standing there, still waiting — worry written clearly across her face.
"Appu! Finally!" Anitha rushed toward her. Apoorva managed a soft smile. "Why didn't you call me if you were waiting for so long?"
Anitha replied with a sincerity that cut deeper than any wound, "I thought you must be stuck with some urgent work at office. Unless it's something serious… you never miss coming here after promising… right? Ahh Where is Aaron then?"
She had been someone who never disappointed the ones relying on her…But today, she had allowed someone else's presence in her life to disturb her rhythm. That realization hurt more than everything Aaron had done.
Apoorva replied with a soft tone, not revealing what actually happened, "He just had an important meeting, so he left!" Apoorva held Anitha's hands firmly and said with full consciousness, "From now on… I will never be late for anything related to this orphanage. Not again. I promise."
Anitha smiled with relief, unaware of the storm behind Apoorva's eyes. They walked inside. The rooms smelled of phenyl, warm food, and children's laughter. The familiar environment calmed her heart a little.
She sat with the accountant, verified the bills, spoke to the doctors about the ongoing treatments, checked the prescriptions, and made sure everyone's needs were met. Work grounded her. Work reminded her of who she really was.
By the time she finished, night had settled deeply around the building. Finding a taxi now was almost impossible. "Appu, stay here tonight," Anitha said. "Don't go out this late."
Apoorva nodded. She informed her mother, spoke briefly to her little Roohi — who sleepily said, "Come soon, amma…" — and that alone melted a piece of her heart. She freshened up, changed into something comfortable, and lay down on the small iron cot in the room she usually prefer to stay. The fan rotated lazily overhead, making soft clicking sounds.
But sleep wouldn't come. Her body was exhausted, begging for rest… yet her mind was busy tearing open every wound she had tried to stitch today. Every suppressed feeling surfaced. Every ignored hurt replayed like a reel she hadn't pressed play on.
Apoorva rolled onto her side, trying to push away the thoughts. She closed her eyes tight. And that's when—Her phone rang.
Her heart jumped. She grabbed the phone quickly, thinking it might be Roohi again. But the screen flashed another name - Aaron.
She checked the time — 11:00 PM. "Must be about the orphanage visit…" she tried to reason. But her heart knew better. And her heart wasn't ready.
She let it ring, And ring, And ring.
Then she switched it to silent, placed it face-down, and slowly lay back again. For the first time in a long time… Apoorva chose herself.
She closed her eyes, trying to drift into sleep. But her chest still ached with everything she had carried — and everything she had lost today.