❖ 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 4: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓱 ❖

The news didn’t come like a storm.

It came like something breaking quietly.

A phone call.
A voice too formal.
A pause that lasted just a second too long.

Kabir knew.

Even before the words were spoken.

“…He didn’t make it.”

For a moment, nothing moved.

Not the air.
Not his thoughts.
Not even his breath.

Kabir just stood there, the phone still pressed to his ear, as if waiting for the sentence to change.

It didn’t.

“No,” he said, almost automatically. “That’s not possible.”

But the voice on the other end had already said everything it needed to.

The call ended.

And silence took over.

Kabir slowly lowered his hand, his eyes falling to the screen.

Arjun’s last message was still there.

“Some promises are meant to outlive us.”

His jaw tightened.

A sharp breath escaped him.

He stood up suddenly, pacing the room without direction.

“No… no, this isn’t—” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

As if movement could make it unreal.

As if denial could rewrite what had already happened.

Then anger came.

Fast. Sudden.

Kabir hit the wall with his fist, the impact echoing in the empty room.

“Why would you say that?” his voice cracked.
“Why would you talk like that if you knew—”

He stopped.

Because deep down… he understood.

His strength gave way.

Kabir slid down against the wall, sitting on the cold floor, his hands shaking.

For the first time, he didn’t try to hold it together.

His breathing broke.

Tears followed.

“I told you to come back…” he whispered, his voice uneven.
“I told you…”

But the room stayed silent.

Time passed.

He didn’t know how much.

Minutes. Maybe hours.

It didn’t matter.

Because sooner or later—

he would have to stand up.

Aunty. Uncle. Ananya. 

The thought forced him back to his feet.

He wiped his face quickly, even though his eyes still burned.

There was no space left for him to grieve.

Not yet.

The house looked the same.

That was the hardest part.

Arjun's mother in the kitchen.
His father reading the newspaper.

Everything… normal.

“Aunty…” Kabir called softly.

She turned, smiling faintly. “You’re early… did Arjun call?”

Kabir felt something tighten painfully in his chest.

This moment—

there was no preparing for it.

He tried to speak.

“They… there was an operation…”

His father looked up now.

Kabir swallowed hard.

“And Arjun…”

The words refused to come out.

He forced them anyway.

“…he’s not coming back.”

Silence.

Then confusion.

Then the slow, unbearable understanding.

“No…” his mother whispered, shaking her head. “No, you’re wrong…”

Kabir didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Her hands trembled.

Her voice broke.

And then her strength did too.

His father sat down heavily, staring ahead, his face drained of all expression.

Like something inside him had shut down completely.

Kabir stood there—

watching everything fall apart.

And realizing this was the promise he had agreed to.

The days that followed blurred together.

People came and went.

Voices filled the house.

Words like bravery and sacrifice echoed around him.

But none of them felt real.

Because Arjun wasn’t.

And then came Ananya.

She walked in with hope still alive in her eyes.

Looking around, searching.

As if she expected him to appear any second.

“Where is he?” she asked.

Simple.

Certain.

Kabir felt his throat close up.

“He…” he started, but couldn’t finish.

She looked at him carefully.

And something shifted.

A small crack.

“No,” she said, stepping back. “You’re wrong.”

Her voice wasn’t loud.

It was fragile.

Holding onto something that was already slipping away.

“He promised me,” she whispered.

Kabir closed his eyes for a second.

Because he knew—

some promises don’t break.

Life just doesn’t let them be kept.

Ananya didn’t scream.

Didn’t collapse.

She just stood there, tears falling silently, as if even her grief didn’t have the strength to be loud.

The day of the final rites came too quickly.

The tricolor.
The salute.
The fire.

Everything was done with honor.

With precision.

With dignity.

A hero’s farewell.

But to them—

he wasn’t a hero. 

he wasn’t a soldier in that moment.

He was a son.
A friend.
A love that would never return

He was home.

He was everything they had lost.

Kabir stood still as the flames rose.

His hands clenched.

His eyes fixed ahead.

Inside, the storm hadn’t stopped.

But something else had begun.

Something heavier than grief.

A responsibility.

A promise.

Because Arjun was gone.

But his words remained.

His people remained.

Somewhere between the ashes and the silence,
Kabir understood what it truly meant—

To carry someone forward…

even when they were gone.

“He walked away from the flames carrying something heavier than grief—something he could never put down.”

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