While warmth and laughter filled the Raichand house in India—
on the other side of the world, someone was fighting a battle against silence.
New York.
Past midnight.
The Malhotra estate stood still beneath the pale city lights. The glass walls reflected the distant skyline, cold and beautiful, while silence settled heavily across the mansion.
Unlike the Raichand house, where every room carried noise, conversations, and emotional chaos—
this place carried discipline.
Controlled movements.
Measured voices.
And loneliness hidden beneath luxury.
Inside his dark room, Krishnaveer shifted restlessly in his sleep.
For the first time in weeks, his usually composed mind seemed disturbed.
Fragments of blurry images flashed before his eyes repeatedly.
Broken.
Incomplete.
Yet painfully real.
A child standing alone in the corner of a large hallway.
Someone crying loudly.
A woman collapsing to the floor while elders tried holding her.
Then suddenly—
people dressed in white carrying a body covered completely beneath cloth.
The atmosphere inside the dream felt suffocating.
Heavy.
Filled with grief so intense that even breathing felt difficult.
Krish's brows tightened unconsciously in sleep.
The scene changed again.
A little boy trying desperately to run forward—
but someone held him back.
"Let me go!"
The child's voice cracked through tears.
Then another image appeared.
Two men forcefully pulling away a smaller child while tiny trembling hands tried holding onto someone desperately.
The crying became louder.
The chaos sharper.
A woman screaming.
A child begging.
Someone shouting orders.
Then suddenly—
darkness.
Krish jerked awake abruptly.
His breathing had turned uneven.
For a few seconds, he simply sat there on the bed, staring blankly into the darkness of his room while trying to steady himself.
The silence around him felt strange after the noise inside his dream.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
He pressed one hand against his forehead and closed his eyes briefly.
Again.
That same nightmare.
Or perhaps—
not a nightmare at all.
Because somewhere deep inside, he knew these were not imaginary scenes created by sleep.
They felt like memories.
Broken fragments his mind remembered…
but refused to fully reveal.
Krish exhaled slowly before getting out of bed.
The digital clock beside the lamp showed:
2:17 AM.
Normally, he slept peacefully.
His routine rarely failed him.
But tonight his thoughts refused to calm down.
He walked toward the small kitchen attached to his suite and poured himself a glass of cold water. Even in exhaustion, his movements remained disciplined and composed.
Controlled.
But the slight tension visible in his jaw betrayed what he himself refused to acknowledge.
He drank the water slowly before stepping out toward the balcony.
Cold night air immediately brushed against his face.
The city below still remained awake.
Cars moved endlessly through glowing streets. Distant lights flickered against the skyline while the world continued normally beneath him.
Yet standing there alone, Krish felt strangely disconnected from everything.
He rested both hands against the balcony railing and stared silently into the distance.
And suddenly—
another blurry image flashed through his mind.
A little girl laughing.
Running somewhere brightly lit.
Then disappearing.
Krish frowned slightly.
For a second, something painful twisted inside his chest.
"…Who are you?" he whispered unconsciously.
But only silence answered him.
The wind moved softly through the balcony.
Nothing else.
Krish closed his eyes again, frustrated at himself.
He hated uncertainty.
Hated emotions he could not explain.
Hated losing control over his own thoughts.
Just as he was about to return inside, his eyes shifted toward another balcony across the courtyard.
A faint light still glowed from Ananya's room.
His brows furrowed immediately.
"At this hour?"
Without thinking further, he pulled out his phone and called her.
The call connected after two rings.
"Bhai?" Ananya's soft voice came from the other side.
"You're awake."
It wasn't a question.
A small silence followed before she answered quietly,
"I tried sleeping… but I couldn't."
Krish leaned slightly back against the railing. "Why?"
Another pause.
Then finally—
"That incident today at college…" she admitted softly. "Every time I close my eyes, I remember everything again."
Her voice carried exhaustion beneath it.
Not physical exhaustion.
Emotional.
Krish's expression softened slightly.
All evening she had acted strong in front of everyone.
But now, late at night, the fear she had hidden was finally surfacing.
"I keep thinking…" Ananya continued quietly, "what if you hadn't reached on time today?"
Krish immediately interrupted her.
"But I did."
His tone was calm.
Steady.
Certain.
"And nothing happened to you."
The silence on the other side deepened slightly.
Then Ananya let out a weak breath.
"You always say things so simply."
"Because overthinking changes nothing."
"That sounds very CEO-like of you."
A faint almost-smile appeared on Krish's face.
"That's because it's true."
For the first time since the call started, Ananya laughed softly.
Small.
Tired.
But genuine.
Krish glanced once toward the dark sky above New York before speaking again.
"Try to sleep now."
"I can't."
"You can."
"No, seriously, Bhai. Every time I close my eyes—"
"I'll stay on the call," he said quietly.
Ananya became silent instantly.
"Really?"
"Yes."
The single word carried enough reassurance to calm her immediately.
"Okay…" she whispered softly.
After that, neither of them spoke much.
The call remained connected quietly in the background while the night grew deeper around them.
Krish sat down slowly on the swing chair placed in the balcony and leaned back against it.
The soft night wind moved through the silence.
On the other side of the phone, Ananya's breathing gradually became calmer.
Slower.
Steadier.
Until eventually—
she fell asleep.
Krish understood it immediately.
Yet he still didn't disconnect the call.
Instead, he remained sitting there beneath the dark New York sky, staring silently at the city lights glowing endlessly before him.
His mind still carried fragments of those broken dreams.
Crying.
Separation.
Loss.
And somewhere hidden between those shattered memories—
a strange feeling he could not explain.
For the rest of the night, sleep never truly returned to Krishnaveer Malhotra.