PART 1:
The house stood at the end of a narrow lane—quiet, ordinary, invisible to the world.
That was exactly why it was chosen.
Avni pushed the gate open slowly. The metallic creak sounded louder than usual. Her bag felt heavier today, not because of books—but because of everything she carried inside her chest.
She stepped in and shut the gate behind her.
The moment the door closed, her eyes stung.
She didn't cry. She never cried.
But something inside her cracked.
From the kitchen came a familiar voice.
"You're back."
She tried to answer normally. "Hmm."
But her voice betrayed her—thin, uneven.
Her uncle appeared at the doorway. One glance was enough. He noticed it immediately: the stiff posture, the way she avoided his eyes, the fingers clenched tightly around the bag strap.
"What happened?" he asked calmly.
"Nothing," Avni replied too fast.
He didn't move. "Avni."
That single word—firm yet gentle—undid her control.
She placed her bag down slowly.
"They still look at me differently," she said quietly.
He waited.
"At school… even when they don't say anything," she continued, her voice trembling just a little, "I can feel it. Like I don't belong there. Like I'm carrying someone else's mistakes."
Her uncle's expression tightened.
"They whisper," she said. "Sometimes they stop when I pass. Sometimes they don't."
She laughed once—dry, broken. "Funny, right? I didn't do anything. But I'm the one punished."
He stepped closer. "Who said something today?"
"No one," she replied. "That's the worst part."
Silence fell between them.
"I hate them," she whispered suddenly. "My parents. I hate what they became. I hate that because of them, I'll never be normal."
For a second, her voice almost broke—but she swallowed it down, lifting her chin like she always did.
Her uncle said nothing. He wanted to. He wanted to tell her everything.
But the truth was dangerous.
So he only said, "You are not them."
She looked away. "That's not what the world thinks."
"Then let the world be wrong," he replied firmly.
She nodded slowly, wiping her eyes before tears could fall.
"I'll study," she said, already turning toward the stairs.
"Dinner in half an hour."
She paused. "Okay."
Upstairs, she shut the door gently and leaned against it for a moment.
Not crying.
Just breathing.
PART 2
Inside the room, her eyes drifted to the corner of the desk—where a small locked drawer rested.
She never opened it.
She didn't want reminders.
Names.
Faces.
A past she refused to accept.
That night, when the house fell quiet, memories returned—unwanted.
She had been seven.
Too young to understand words like abandonment or protection.
All she remembered was waiting by the door.
Waiting until the sky turned dark.
Waiting until someone finally knelt in front of her and said softly,
"They won't be coming back tonight."
That was the day her uncle had taken her hand and brought her here.
Not as a guest.
Not as responsibility.
But as his own.
The world was told he had adopted her after her parents left the country.
No one asked questions.
And she never answered any.
A light knock came at her door.
"Avni?"
She straightened instantly. "Come in."
Ryan stepped inside, still in his school uniform, his tie loosened. He didn't speak at first—just studied her face carefully.
"You look tired," he said.
"I'm fine."
He didn't argue. He never did.
Instead, he sat on the edge of the chair. "Something happened today, didn't it?"
She hesitated.
Then sighed. "A file fell."
His brows knitted. "What file?"
"In the storage room," she said slowly. "Old records. Staff lists."
Ryan stiffened slightly.
"I saw their names," she continued, her voice flat. "Professor Hemanta Lahiri. Professor Agnishree Lahiri."
He swallowed. "And?"
"And the guard said everyone thinks they were criminals," she said bitterly.
"That they betrayed the school. That they destroyed lives."
Ryan clenched his jaw. "They don't know the truth."
She looked at him sharply. "Do you?"
He froze.
Then shook his head. "Not completely."
Her lips curved into a cold smile. "Exactly."
She turned away. "Everyone has secrets. I'm just tired of carrying theirs."
Ryan stood slowly. "You know… even if the world believes something, it doesn't always mean it's right."
She laughed softly. "That sounds hopeful."
"I'm serious," he said. "You're not responsible for what they did. Or what people think they did."
She met his eyes then—really met them.
"Still," she whispered, "I want answers."
Ryan nodded once. "Then you won't be alone."
She didn't reply.
But for the first time that day, the weight on her chest loosened—just a little.
To be continued....