Where Shadows Learn To Dream

Finding Pieces Of Myself

Aanya

Waking up in Kanishk’s house felt surreal. The softness of the bed beneath me, the scent of fresh linen, even the sunlight streaming gently through the window—all of it was unfamiliar, like stepping into a life that wasn’t my own. The stillness wrapped around me, cozy yet foreign, as if the walls themselves whispered, You don’t belong here.

I wandered out, drawn by the aroma of morning tea. Kanishk was already up, giving me a warm, casual smile that made me feel slightly more at ease. Still, my own insecurities gnawed at me, like a silent reminder that I didn’t fit into this life he had built for himself.

As the day began, Kanishk suggested we go out shopping for clothes, a prospect I greeted with mixed emotions. Stepping into a store meant confronting all the things I’d been avoiding—the looks, the discomfort of blending in, and the raw reminder that I didn’t own much. I hesitated, instinctively glancing down at my worn, faded outfit. But eventually, I agreed, realizing I couldn’t keep clinging to scraps of my past.

The store we entered was nothing like the cramped, cluttered shops I’d grown up with. Here, polished floors gleamed beneath soft lighting, and rows of clothes hung as if on display in a museum. As I moved through the aisles, I felt overwhelmed by the colors, the neat stacks, the luxury of so many choices.

Kanishk seemed at ease, pointing out options while giving me space to choose. Yet each time I picked up an item, I couldn’t shake the guilt that settled in my chest. I kept glancing at the price tags, wincing at numbers that seemed far beyond anything I could afford. I insisted on paying for whatever I chose, despite the limited cash in my worn wallet.

He didn’t argue, though I caught him watching me, a quiet empathy in his gaze. His restraint touched me—he was letting me hold on to my independence, however fragile it was.

At the checkout, I took out my old phone, its cracked screen and battered case an embarrassing reminder of everything I lacked. Kanishk’s gaze lingered on it, and before I knew it, he had stepped away, returning a moment later with a sleek new phone in his hand.

“Kanishk, I don’t need that,” I protested, feeling the familiar burn of shame.

“You need better than something that barely works,” he replied, his tone gentle but insistent as he handed it to me. The new phone felt foreign in my hand, cold and unfamiliar, a piece of a life that wasn’t mine… not yet. Yet the gesture softened something in me, a quiet reminder that he believed I deserved something good, something whole.

As we walked back through the bustling streets, memories of home crowded my mind. My thoughts drifted to my parents, their faces hazy yet vivid in the way memories often are—half-remembered and entirely unforgettable. The urge to know if they still thought about me gnawed at my heart, each step making it harder to hold back.

“Kanishk,” I began tentatively, “do you… do you know anything about my parents?” My voice wavered, as if asking might shatter whatever fragile answers he had.

He glanced at me, a softness in his gaze that told me he understood the weight of my question. “Your parents still live in the village. And… I think this might surprise you,” he said carefully, “but they did go to see your film.”

I stopped in my tracks, the words sinking in slowly. My parents had watched my film? The thought felt surreal, a small flame of connection flickering to life where I thought there was only darkness.

“They were… disturbed when you disappeared,” he continued, his voice gentle. “They wanted to know where you’d gone, what you’d become. I think, in a way, going to see that movie was a way for them to see you, even if only on a screen.”

I felt a rush of emotions—relief, sadness, guilt—colliding within me. For so long, I’d convinced myself that my parents had erased me from their lives, that my absence was more bearable than my presence. But knowing they’d searched for traces of me, even if only in a movie theater, filled me with a bittersweet ache.

“And… Maitreyee?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The thought of her, my closest friend, brought a sting of guilt I could hardly bear.

“She’s been worried about you too,” Kanishk replied. “She felt responsible in a way, for not being there when things fell apart. She’s been asking about you since you disappeared. If you’re up for it, I could take you to the village next Sunday. Give you a chance to reconnect… if you want.”

I nodded slowly, still processing everything. The thought of returning to the village stirred something raw within me, a mixture of fear and yearning. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face the fragments of my past, but the idea of reuniting with Maitreyee, of seeing my parents—even from a distance—felt like a step toward healing.

“Thank you,” I whispered, looking up at him with a gratitude I couldn’t fully express. He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed mine for a moment, a silent reassurance that I wasn’t alone in this.

That evening, back at his house, Kanishk excused himself for a work call. I watched him set up his laptop, the glow of the screen illuminating his face. It was fascinating to see him slip into this role, his voice steady and focused as he discussed projects and deadlines. In that moment, he seemed untouchable, a man with a life so far removed from the chaos I’d known.

His voice was soft but firm, the tone of someone in control, someone who knew his worth. I watched him intently, a quiet awe blooming in my chest as he navigated this world of responsibility and purpose.

When he finished, he glanced over at me with a sheepish smile, almost as if he were embarrassed by the seriousness of it all. I couldn’t help but smile back, curiosity overcoming my hesitation.

“What… what exactly do you do?” I asked, genuinely interested.

He sighed, leaning back. “It’s tedious, mostly. Endless calls, deadlines, projects. Some days it feels like a loop that just never ends.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile, as if he felt silly for complaining.

“You’re amazing, you know?” I said before I could stop myself. “To have built this life… to keep going, even when it feels like a loop.”

He looked at me, a bit surprised, but a slow, gentle smile softened his face. “You’ll find that strength too, Aanya,” he said, his voice a quiet promise.

As the evening grew darker, I found myself feeling, for the first time in a long while, that maybe I could belong somewhere again—not just in this house, but in the life I had yet to build.