"Who am I supposed to talk to? What am I supposed to do?
If there's no you?"
~ The Night We Met – Lord Huron
~One Week Later~
Everything had been perfect for exactly six days.
Six days of morning coffee runs with the group. Six days of Aadyant's hand finding mine under tables. Six days of feeling like maybe I could have this—have them, have him—without the world falling apart.
And then my phone rang.
Unknown number. Indian country code.
I should've let it go to voicemail. Should've blocked it immediately.
But something made me answer.
"Hello?"
"Kashvi." My mother's voice. Sharp. Familiar. "Don't hang up."
I almost did. My finger hovered over the end call button.
"What do you want?"
"We need to talk. About what happened. About you coming home."
"I'm not coming home."
"Kashvi, it's been three years. This has gone on long enough—"
"Gone on long enough?" My voice rose. I was in my bedroom, but I still lowered it, not wanting Bua to hear. "You mean me trying to heal from something you wanted to pretend never happened?"
"We were trying to protect you—"
"You were trying to protect your reputation!" The words came out sharper than I intended. "You cared more about what people would think than about what I needed."
"That's not fair—"
"You know what's not fair? Being fifteen and traumatized and having your own parents act like you're an embarrassment. Like it was somehow my fault—"
"We never said that—"
"You didn't have to say it!" I was crying now, angry tears that had been building for three years. "You looked at me like I was broken. Like I was ruined. Like I was something shameful to hide away."
"Kashvi, beta, please—"
"Don't. Don't call me that. You lost the right to call me that when you sent me away instead of helping me." My hands were shaking. "I needed my parents. And you abandoned me."
"We thought it was best—"
"For who? For you? Because it certainly wasn't best for me!"
There was silence on the other end. Then: "Your father wants to talk to you."
"I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to talk to either of you."
"Kashvi—"
I hung up. Blocked the number. Threw my phone across the room.
Then I couldn't breathe.
~
Something was wrong.
Kashvi had been fine this morning at coffee. Laughing at Vihaan's jokes. Letting me hold her hand. Making plans for the group to watch a movie this weekend.
But now it was evening, and she wasn't responding to texts. Wasn't in the group chat. Wasn't answering when I called.
Me: Hey, everything okay? Haven't heard from you all afternoon.
Me: Not trying to be pushy, just checking in.
Me: Kashvi, you're worrying me. Can you just let me know you're, okay?
Nothing.
"She's probably just busy," Aadya said, but even she looked concerned.
"She always responds. Even if it's just to say she's busy."
"Maybe her phone died?"
"For six hours?"
My phone rang. But it wasn't Kashvi—it was an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Is this Aadyant?" An older woman's voice. Shaky. Worried.
"Yes, who is this?"
"This is Kritika Singh, Kashvi's aunt. I found your number in her phone contacts listed as 'Aadyant - call if needed.' I think... I think she needs you right now."
My heart stopped. "What happened? Is she hurt?"
"Not physically. But she got a call from her parents in India earlier, and—" Her voice broke. "She's locked herself in her room. She won't talk to me. She's having a panic attack, and I can hear her crying, and I don't know what to do."
"I'm on my way. Text me the address."
I was already grabbing my keys, Aadya right behind me.
"What's wrong?" she asked as we ran to the car.
"Kashvi needs help."
~
I couldn't stop shaking.
The panic attack had hit hard—chest tight, lungs screaming, black spots dancing across my vision. I'd found my inhaler, taken two puffs, but the panic was bigger than the asthma.
I could hear Bua outside my door, knocking softly. "Beta, please. Let me in. Let me help."
But I couldn't. Couldn't let her see me like this. Couldn't face the concern and pity and worry.
You're broken. Ruined. Shameful.
My mother's voice, even though she'd never said those exact words. But I'd seen it in her eyes. Heard it in the silence.
My phone was somewhere on the floor, screen cracked from where I'd thrown it. I should find it. Should respond to whoever was texting.
But moving felt impossible.
The doorbell rang downstairs. I heard voices. Bua's. And then—
"Kashvi?" Aadyant's voice through the door. Gentle. Worried. "It's me. Can you open the door?"
I couldn't move.
"Kashvi, you don't have to talk. You don't have to explain. But please let me in. Let me help."
"I can't—" My voice came out broken. "I can't breathe—"
"I know. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. But I need you to open this door so I can help you breathe, okay?"
Somehow, I made it to the door. Turned the lock with shaking hands.
It opened immediately, and Aadyant was there. Not crowding me. Just there.
"Hey," he said softly. "I've got you."
~
She looked destroyed.
Tear-stained face. Shaking hands. Eyes unfocused. Struggling for breath.
"Panic attack?" I asked gently.
She nodded.
"Okay. Can I come in?"
Another nod.
I stepped into her room, closing the door behind me to give her privacy. Aadya and her aunt were downstairs, giving us space.
"Let's sit down, yeah?" I guided her to the bed, keeping my movements slow and predictable. "Focus on my breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for four."
I demonstrated, and gradually, she started to match me. In. Hold. Out.
"Good. You're doing great. Keep breathing with me."
We sat there for several minutes, just breathing together. Slowly, the panic started to recede. Her shaking lessened. Her eyes became more focused.
"Do you need your inhaler?"
"Already took it."
"Okay. Good." I kept my voice calm. "Do you want to tell me what happened? Or do you want to sit in silence?"
She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "My mother called."
I waited, not pushing.
"I haven't talked to them in three years. And she just—" Her voice broke. "She wants me to come home. Like nothing happened. Like they didn't—"
She stopped, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Like they didn't what?"
"Like they didn't abandon me when I needed them most."
My chest ached. "Kashvi—"
"I can't talk about it. Not yet. Not—" She looked at me, eyes full of pain. "I'm not ready to tell you everything."
"That's okay. You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to share."
"But you deserve to know. You deserve to understand why I'm so—why I'm like this—"
"Hey." I shifted closer, careful not to touch her without permission. "You don't owe me your trauma. You don't owe me explanations. All I need to know is what you need right now. How I can help."
She stared at me for a long moment. Then, quietly: "Can you just... stay? Just for a little while?"
"As long as you need."
~
We sat on my bed, backs against the wall, for over an hour. Sometimes talking. Mostly silent. His presence alone was enough to keep the panic at bay.
"I'm sorry," I said eventually. "For making your aunt call you. For dragging you into my mess—"
"Stop. You didn't drag me anywhere. I chose to come. I'll always choose to come."
"Why?"
"Because I care about you. Because seeing you hurt, hurts me. Because—" He paused. "Because I meant what I said last week. I'm falling for you. And that means showing up, especially when things are hard."
"I'm a lot of work."
"You're not work. You're worth it. There's a difference."
I looked at him—at his patient eyes, his gentle expression. At this person who kept showing up, kept choosing me, even when I was a mess.
"Something bad happened to me," I said quietly. "Three years ago. Something that changed everything."
"Okay."
"I'm not ready to talk about it. Not all of it. But I need you to know—that's why I'm like this. Why I panic. Why I push people away. Why I can't—" I stopped, struggling for words.
"You don't have to explain."
"But I want you to understand. My parents—after it happened, they—" My voice cracked. "They made me feel like it was my fault. Like I was something shameful. They sent me away instead of helping me heal."
Aadyant's hand found mine. Squeezed gently.
"That's why I'm here. In the US. Living with Bua. Because my own parents couldn't look at me without seeing—" I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Kashvi." His voice was rough with emotion. "Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"
"Logically, yes. But it doesn't always feel that way."
"I'm so sorry. For whatever you went through. For your parents failing you. For all of it."
I wiped at my eyes. "I'm broken, Aadyant. In ways I don't know how to fix."
"You're not broken. You're healing. And healing isn't linear. It's messy and hard and some days you take steps backward." He looked at me. "But you're here. You're trying. That's not broken. That's brave."
"I don't feel brave."
"The bravest people rarely do."
We sat in silence for another moment.
"Thank you," I said finally. "For coming. For staying. For not asking for more than I can give right now."
"Always. Whenever you need me. 2 AM or 2 PM. Bad days or good days. I'm here."
"I know. And that terrifies me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm starting to need you. And needing people means they can hurt you."
"They can also love you." He said it so simply. Like it was obvious.
"I don't know if I know how to be loved."
"Then we'll figure it out together."
~
Aadyant stayed until Kashvi fell asleep, emotionally exhausted. He spoke quietly with her aunt before leaving, explaining what he knew (which wasn't much) and promising to check in tomorrow.
"Thank you for coming," Kritika said, walking him to the door. "She doesn't let people in easily. The fact that she let you help—that means something."
"She's important to me."
"I can see that. And I think you're important to her too, even if she's scared to admit it." She paused. "Whatever she's told you about what happened—"
"She hasn't told me much. And that's okay. She'll tell me when she's ready."
Kritika nodded, relief evident. "You're good for her. Patient. Understanding. She needs that."
When Aadyant got home, Aadya was waiting up.
"Is she okay?"
"Not really. But she will be." He collapsed onto the couch. "Her parents called. From India. Wanting her to come home."
"After three years of silence?"
"Apparently." He ran his hand through his hair. "Something happened to her, Aadya. Something bad. And her parents made it worse somehow."
"Did she tell you what?"
"No. And I didn't push. She'll tell me when she's ready."
"You really care about her."
"I'm in love with her," he said quietly. "Completely, terrifyingly in love with her."
Aadya smiled sadly. "Does she know?"
"I told her I was falling for her. But I don't think she understands how deeply I mean it."
"Give her time. She'll get there."
"What if she doesn't? What if whatever happened is too big to get past?"
"Then you'll deal with it together. Because that's what people who love each other do."
~
~Next Morning~
I woke up to seventeen texts from the group chat.
Aadya: Checking in! How are you feeling?
Vihaan: Aadyant said you weren't feeling well yesterday. Hope you're okay!
Ritika: Let us know if you need anything
Aashika: Sending virtual hugs
Shivansh: Take care of yourself.
And then, separately, from Aadyant:
Aadyant: Good morning. No pressure to respond if you're not up for it. Just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you.
Aadyant: Also, I talked to Aadya. We're canceling movie night this weekend. No explanations needed. Everyone understands if you need space.
Aadyant: But if you don't want space, if you want company, we're here. Whatever you need.
I stared at my phone, at the evidence of people who cared. Who showed up. Who didn't demand explanations.
Me: Thank you for coming last night. For everything.
The response was immediate.
Aadyant: Always. How are you feeling this morning?
Me: Tired. Drained. But better than last night.
Aadyant: That's good. Take it easy today. Rest. Take care of yourself.
Me: The group chat... everyone knows?
Aadyant: I told them you weren't feeling well. That's all. Your privacy is yours to share, not mine.
Me: Thank you.
Aadyant: Kashvi?
Me: Yeah?
Aadyant: What I said last night. About caring about you. About showing up. I meant all of it. You're not alone in this.
Tears pricked my eyes.
Me: I'm starting to believe that.
Aadyant: Good. Keep believing it. I'll keep proving it.
I pulled his hoodie out of my closet (I'd washed it again but kept "forgetting" to return it) and put it on. Let myself have this comfort. This safety.
And for the first time since my mother's call, I felt like maybe I could breathe again.
~
FOLLOW ME!! 😄...
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