Chapter: When Hugs Talk

Arnav sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding Avyuktha close, his arms curved protectively around her small frame. Her laughter, that wild, uncontrollable sound that had spilled out of her after so long, still lingered in the air, soft and golden.

He smiled as he wiped the stray tears that had slipped free from her laughter, tears that glimmered against her cheeks like dew. Bending slightly, he pressed another kiss to her forehead.

She looked up at him then, eyes still sparkling, her smile stretching wide and genuine, the kind that made the entire room feel lighter.

Arnav’s own lips curved before he even realized it. That smile, hers, had always done that to him. Without thinking, he reached out and gently tucked back the loose strand of hair that had fallen across her face when he’d been spinning her.

“Aise hi hamesha muskurati raha kar,” he murmured softly, voice tender, almost reverent, and then kissed her forehead again, slower this time, as if sealing a promise he didn’t want to break.

Avyuktha nestled closer in response, resting her head on his shoulder. Her fingers curled lightly into his shirt, and she stayed there, breathing in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, soaking in his warmth as if she could store it for the days when everything felt cold again.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The world outside faded, it was just her breath syncing with his, the faint hum of silence holding them together.

But then… Arnav’s eyes darkened. A thought he’d buried deep, the kind that still clawed at his insides, began to surface. Some truths needed to be said, no matter how much they burned on their way out.

He tightened his hold on her slightly, his thumb tracing small circles on her back.

“Avu…” he began quietly, his voice low, careful, the kind that made even the air around them still. “Tujhe pata hai…” he paused, swallowing hard, his throat tightening around the next words. “…jab Mumma ki death hui thi…”

His sentence trailed off for a second. He looked ahead blankly, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the walls of the room, somewhere in that old, aching memory that still refused to heal.

He held her a little closer against his chest, the pressure of his palm trembling slightly.

“Tab mujhe bhi aise hi thoughts aate the…” he whispered, his breath brushing the top of her head. “Ki main bahut bura hoon… isliye Mumma chhod ke chali gayi.”

The silence that followed was heavy, not empty, but full of everything he’d never said aloud before.

Avyuktha froze for a moment, then slowly broke the hug, shifting in his lap. Her little hands pressed against his chest as she turned to face him, her big, glassy eyes searching his face with quiet disbelief.

She didn’t say anything yet, just looked at him, really looked, as though trying to understand how someone who held her world together could ever think something so cruel about himself.

And Arnav…
He sat still, watching her, a faint tremor in his lips...part confession, part regret, part something softer, waiting to be forgiven.

He continued, his voice growing heavier with every word, though his touch on her remained gentle, steady fingers moving slowly through her hair, as if the rhythm could anchor him to the present while he drifted through the past.

“Maan aur Chutki bahut chhote the…” he murmured, his tone trembling, carrying both pride and exhaustion. “Isliye… isliye mujhe… achanak se ek din bada hona pada…”

Avyuktha stayed quiet, listening, really listening, the rise and fall of his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. The words struck a chord deep inside her, a mirror she hadn’t expected. She knew what that felt like, that strange, painful growing-up that happens not with time, but with loss. She, too, had grown up in a day. For Aarush.

Arnav’s lips curved faintly, a small, sad smile tugging at them as he went on, his voice softening. “Din bhar unke peeche-peeche rehta tha… school, homework, khana… sab kuch dekhta tha,” he said, almost as if he were reliving it.

Then, after a pause, his eyes flickered downward, the smile fading. “Lekin jaise hi akela hota tha…” he exhaled shakily, “phir wahi thoughts aate the.”

He looked away for a second, blinking hard, the words catching somewhere deep in his throat. “Main khud ko sambhal nahi paa raha tha… achanak se, sabke hone ke baad bhi… Maa ke jaane se main ekdam akela ho gaya tha.”

His eyes shimmered, unshed tears turning his vision blurry and when Avyuktha looked up, her own eyes had begun to mirror his pain. That same familiar ache, the hollow, heavy kind that sits quietly in the chest and pretends to sleep until someone speaks it aloud, filled the space between them.

Arnav inhaled deeply, trying to steady his voice, but it cracked anyway. He cleared his throat softly, his hand still running through her hair, gentler now, as if apologizing for the memories that had slipped free.

And then, with a faint, trembling breath, he continued…

Arnav’s voice came out trembling, each word fragile, like it had been held back for years and was finally breaking free.

“Bahut akela ho gaya tha mai…” he murmured, breath quivering as though even speaking hurt. His eyes glistened faintly in the soft light, shadows pooling beneath them like the ghosts of sleepless nights. “Maa mere liye meri puri duniya thi… aur achanak se ek din sab khatam ho gaya…”

The words hung in the air...heavy, unsteady, trembling just like him.

He looked down at her then, and the sight of her hit him hard, her eyes filled with tears but still refusing to fall, like they were trying to stay strong for him. The same way he once tried to stay strong for everyone else.

“Tujhe pata hai…” he continued, voice barely above a whisper now, “I started neglecting myself… na sota tha, na khaata tha, na baat karta tha kisi se…” His lips twitched in a bitter half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Bas sab se door… sab kuch se door.”

He swallowed hard, his hand absently brushing through her hair, grounding himself in her warmth even as his words pulled him back into the cold past.

“Phir ek din…” his throat tightened, the sentence breaking mid-air before he forced it out again, softer, shakier “My body collapsed… ek hafte tak main bed pe pada raha… bahut tez bukhaar…”

His voice cracked, the memory searing its way through. “Do din tak toh hosh bhi nahi tha mujhe… ki kya hua hai, ya mere aas-paas kya chal raha hai…”

The silence that followed was thick, not empty, but alive with the ache of everything he’d just unearthed. His eyes stayed down, lashes wet, while her fingers unconsciously curled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat stumble beneath her palm.

He took a shallow breath, voice thickening again as if every word had to be dragged through a lump lodged in his throat.

“Tujhe pata hai…” he began quietly, eyes unfocused for a moment, “jab mai bed rest pe tha na… tab maine pehli baar dekha, samjha… ki mumma ke jaane ke baad mere aas-paas kya ho raha tha…”

His chest rose and fell unevenly, a shaky sniff breaking through before he continued, “Jis umar mein bacche padhai se bhaagte hain… din bhar masti karte hain… uss umar mein Maan aur Chutki school se aake turant homework kar lete the.....Bina kisi tantrum ke khaana kha lete the, chup-chaap baithe rehte the… sirf isliye, taaki mujhe burden na lage.”

He paused, blinking rapidly, trying to clear the blur from his eyes. When he looked at her again, his gaze was raw, stripped bare.

“Darr dekha maine unki aankhon mein, Avu…” his voice cracked open completely now, trembling on the edges of a sob. “Waisa hi darr… jaisa maine uss din Aaru ki aankhon mein dekha tha…”

He swallowed hard, the memory of that hospital room flashing before him, cold and terrifying. “The day you had that allergic attack.”

Avyuktha didn’t say anything, couldn’t. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Her heart twisted painfully, the edges of her composure burning away as she listened to him, every word hitting too close to home.

Because she’d seen that same fear too.
She’d seen it in Aarush, the way he tried to act brave, mature, steady, only so she wouldn’t break.
Just so she could smile.
Just so she could breathe.

And now, hearing Arnav speak, she realised how much of herself she saw in him and how much of Aarush lived in Maan and Chutki.

Phir tujhe pata hai…” he said after a long pause, a faint, broken smile curling on his lips, the kind that hides more pain than it shows.

“I was so stupid…” a weak laugh escaped him, trembling halfway into a sigh. “I started to believe that I was a bad omen… ki jo bhi mere aas paas rahta hai, voh dukhi ho jaata hai.”

The smile stayed, but his eyes, they betrayed him. Wet, glistening, filled with a kind of ache that had no language.
“Kitna bewakoof tha mai…” he whispered, shaking his head as if mocking his younger self.

“I started to maintain distance from everyone… Mannu hamesha poochta tha, ‘Why are you doing this, Arni?’
Samjhata tha, samjhata rehta tha…”

He exhaled a shudder, and then lifted his hand, pressing it lightly against his chest.
“Lekin ye jo stupid dil hai na…” he murmured, a tear finally slipping down his cheek, “Yeh manane ko ready hi nahi tha…”

His lips quivered into a half-smile again, fragile and tender. “Maan aur Chutki…” he whispered, eyes softening at their names, “They used to act happy around me… sirf isliye taaki mai bhi unke saath muskurau…”

His voice broke on the next words, barely holding together. “They were scared… bahut darr gaye the… ki kahin mai bhi unhe chhod na du…”

The room fell silent again, a silence so full it seemed to pulse between them. Avyuktha’s eyes shimmered, heart tightening painfully, because every word he said wasn’t just his truth, it was hers too.

“I failed to understand one thing…” he whispered, voice low, rough...almost breaking under its own weight.

He looked at her then, really looked, as if his eyes could pass down a truth he’d learned too late, as if by saying it out loud, he could stop her from making the same mistake he once did.

His thumb brushed her cheek, slow and trembling, wiping a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“I failed to understand one thing, Avu…” his tone grew softer, heavier with regret. “Ki jo chala gaya… usse toh vapas nahi laa sakte…”

He paused, eyes glistening...a faint, sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips as though it hurt to exist.

“Lekin jo hai…” he continued, his voice breaking into a whisper that still carried the strength of everything he’d endured, “Uske saath toh dobara jeena seekh sakte hai…”

The words settled between them like a quiet promise...aching, true, and warm.
And for a moment, Avyuktha could see it....the boy who once lost everything learning to live again, and now trying to teach her how to do the same before it was too late.

He let out a soft, shaky breath, eyes clouded with the weight of what was coming next.

“Lekin…” he said quietly, voice dipping low, “I failed to realise that....And one day…” he hesitated, lips parting as though the memory itself burned, “…I did a very stupid thing.”

He fell silent for a moment, gaze lost somewhere between guilt and faint disbelief...as if even after all these years, he couldn’t quite forgive himself for it.

Then he whispered again, almost under his breath, “A very… very stupid thing.”

Avyuktha frowned gently, her voice breaking the fragile stillness. “Phir?”

Arnav looked at her...a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips, eyes glassy but tender. The heaviness in his expression shifted slightly, softening with a touch of fondness.

“Phir…” he exhaled, and the corner of his mouth lifted into the ghost of a smile, “Tere Bhai aaye…”

A small, breathy laugh escaped him, barely there but real. “Aur unhone mujhe khoob maara…” he said, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “He drilled sense into me, literally.”

Avyuktha blinked at him, her brows knitting together in innocent disbelief. Her voice came out small, almost hesitant.

“Aapko… maara?” she asked softly, eyes widening just a little.

Arnav looked at her and for the first time since the memories began, there wasn’t pain in his expression. No fear. No sadness. Just a quiet, peaceful smile… the kind that comes when someone remembers the exact moment life turned back toward the light.

He nodded slowly, eyes glistening, voice dipped in warmth.
“Bahut maara…” he said, a faint laugh slipping through the words.

It wasn’t a laugh of mockery, it was gratitude.
That day hadn’t broken him. It had rebuilt him.
And the peace on his face said everything that being punished by Mannu had saved his life more than any comfort ever could.

Arnav continued smiling at her and said softly, “Tujhe pata hai… usne marne ke baad punishment bhi di thi mujhe.” He pouted slightly, and Avyuktha’s eyes widened. She wanted to chuckle at the sight, he looked so utterly adorable, like a small boy complaining to his sister about how he’d been punished

He looked so… achingly small and human, like a child lost inside a man’s body. She wanted to chuckle at how cute he was, yet the ache in his expression made her chest tighten.

He leaned closer, and in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Tujhe janana hai usne mujhe kya punishment di?”

Avyuktha nodded, heart hammering in her chest, as though afraid she might miss a word of what he was about to tell her.

“Usne mujhse bola ki jab kabhi bhi… if I am having some emotions that are too heavy for me, whether it be happy or sad… He told me to come to him and hug him tightly.”

He brushed a stray hair from her face, lingering just a second too long, and continued, “Tujhe baat karni hai toh kar… nahi karni tab bhi koi baat nahi… But you have to come and hug me. If you fail to do that, I'll drill sense into you again.”

He mimicked Abhimanyu just slightly, enough to bring a fragile smile to his own lips, but the sorrow in his eyes never left. Then, with deliberate slowness, he cupped Avyuktha’s face, staring deep into her eyes as though trying to etch the weight of his truth into her soul.

“Avu… uss din Mannu ne mujhse ye baat boli thi… Aaj mai tujhse bolta hoon, baccha,” he said, voice trembling, as if unburdening himself of a secret too heavy to hold any longer.

He paused, swallowing hard. “Kabhi bhi… kabhi bhi, baccha… agar aise thoughts aaye… come to me, baccha. If you want to talk to me, then talk. If you can’t talk, then also just come… and hug me. But please, baccha… don’t suffer alone. I can’t see you like that, Avu… I love you. I love you so much that seeing you suffering makes my heart bleed, baccha…”

And then, finally, a single tear slid down his cheek, free from all restraint. Avyuktha’s hands flew to his face, pressing against his cheeks, wiping it away with her tiny fingers as she pressed herself against him. “I love you too, Bhaiya… I love you,” she whispered, trembling, her own tears soaking his shirt.

Arnav tightened the hug around her, holding her as though he could shield her from every fear she had ever carried. He kissed the top of her head, and they stayed that way, letting the silence between them become a sanctuary, a small, private world where nothing could hurt them. Slowly, they separated just enough for Arnav to wipe her tears and then his own.

Arnav’s arms closed around her instantly, almost fearfully, as though even a fraction of distance might break her again. He buried his face in her hair, his lips brushing the top of her head, a silent promise, a wordless prayer and breathed her name against her temple like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

They stayed that way, unmoving, clinging to each other as though the world outside didn’t exist.

For that one moment, they weren’t two broken beings. They were whole, two lost souls who had finally found heaven in each other’s arms.

And then, a sudden knock on the door snapped the world back into motion.
Both of them froze. Their hearts stumbled, breaths caught. Slowly, they pulled apart, hastily wiping each other’s tears just as the door creaked open.

∆∆∆

Aureus University Cafeteria, Lunchtime

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual chatter...laughter, clinking plates, and the low hum of music playing from someone’s phone. Aureus University was sprawling...a campus that held everything from business to medicine under one roof.

At one end, the students from Business Studies filled their corner with gossip and mock debates, while on the other side, the med students...loud, sleep-deprived, but united in their misery...occupied their usual table.

That’s where Maan sat, second-year MBBS student, half eaten sandwich in one hand, his stethoscope lazily hanging around his neck as his friends joked about an upcoming anatomy viva. He laughed occasionally, eyes occasionally drifting toward the other side of the room, toward the familiar figure sitting with her own group.

Anvi.

She was in her usual spot, surrounded by her friends from Business Studies. Her laughter rang out every now and then light, unguarded but today it was interrupted by Apoorva’s persistent tone.

“Anvi, mai koi bahana nahi sunungi,” Apoorva said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Tujhe aaj aana hi hoga! Tune last party bhi ditch kar di thi.”

Anvi groaned, shaking her head. “Yaar, bhaiya nahi mannege… It’s at a pub, he won’t allow.”

Apoorva frowned, crossing her arms. “Yaar ye kya natak hai tera? Ask your dad for permission, na! Why do you need your bhaiya’s permission for everything?”

Anvi stiffened, her smile fading.

But Apoorva continued, unaware she was crossing a line. “Tere bhaiya bahot jyada strict hai, yaar. Humlog ke parents toh allow karte hai. He just doesn’t trust you, Anvi. Honestly—he’s overbearing.”

That did it.

Anvi’s voice was calm, too calm. “Dekh, Apoorva… mere bhaiya ke baare mein dhang se baat kar.”

Apoorva rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay…” she muttered, clearly not meaning it.

But before the tension could settle, Prateeksha, another girl from their class, smirked and added fuel to the fire.
“Apoorva, leave her,” she said mockingly. “She’s a princess, remember? She needs her bhaiya’s royal permission… aur uske saath royal guards bhi aayenge, to protect the fragile little bhaiya’s princess.”

A few students chuckled under their breath.

Anvi froze. The laughter around her felt sharp, cruel. Something inside her snapped.
Before she knew it, she was on her feet, her eyes blazing.

“Bakwass band kar, Prateeksha! Samjhi?” she hissed, grabbing the girl’s arm.

Prateeksha jerked her hand free and shoved Anvi back. “Nahi karungi! Bol, kya kar legi?”

That was it.

Anvi didn’t think, she reacted. Her fist connected straight with Prateeksha’s face. The cafeteria went silent for a second and then chaos erupted.

Gasps. Shouts. Students crowding around. Someone yelled for a teacher.

Prateeksha, stunned for a heartbeat, swung back and punched Anvi in return. The fight broke out fully now, chairs scraped, trays clattered, and the air was thick with shocked cries.

Across the cafeteria, Maan froze mid laugh when he heard the noise, his gaze snapping to the commotion. His heart skipped when he saw her, Anvi, in the middle of that chaos, fists raised, eyes wild with fury.

“Shit Anvi!”

He didn’t think twice. He dashed across the room, pushing past students, his friends trailing behind. Just as Anvi raised her hand to hit again, Maan’s voice cut through the noise.

“STOP IT!”

It was loud, sharp, enough to make both girls freeze.

Before anyone could move, Maan caught Anvi’s wrist mid-air, his grip firm but controlled. She looked up at him, eyes still burning but his expression was unreadable, a mix of anger, shock, and that fierce protectiveness only he could have.

Without another word, he dragged her out of the circle of onlookers, ignoring the whispers, ignoring the teachers rushing in from the corridor.

His voice, low but trembling with controlled anger, followed her out of the cafeteria,
“Anvi, what the hell were you thinking?”

The moment they stepped out of the cafeteria, Maan finally let go of her wrist, not harshly, but firmly enough to make her stop. His voice came sharp, layered with disbelief and anger. “Kya hua tha, Anvi?!”

His tone wasn’t loud but it had that controlled edge that could slice through any excuse.

Anvi didn’t respond, her chest heaving, eyes still blazing from the fight. Maan ran a hand through his hair in frustration, exhaling a shaky breath as he looked at her properly now.

“Kahi lagi hai?” he asked, voice softening a little as his eyes darted over her face. His gaze stopped at her jaw, the faint red mark already darkening and then at her hand, where her knuckles were bruised.

“Damn it, Anvi…” he muttered under his breath, gently taking her hand and turning it over. The bruise was small, but angry looking. “Itni zor se maara tha kya?”

She didn’t reply, just stood there, still breathing hard, jaw clenched, fury radiating from her in waves.

Maan sighed heavily, shaking his head in disbelief. “Tu pagal ho gayi hai kya? College mein, sabke beech....” he stopped mid sentence, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself.

But Anvi said nothing. She just stood there, her silence louder than anything she could’ve spoken.

He looked at her again, the trembling in her fingers, the raw emotion in her eyes and his frustration gave way to a quiet helplessness. “Bas ek baar toh bol de kya hua tha…” he said quietly, voice now low, almost pleading.

Anvi didn’t answer. She just stood there, fists still clenched, eyes fixed on the floor, breathing uneven.
Maan exhaled slowly, his anger ebbing into something quieter. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at her again, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the unspoken storm in her eyes.

“Classes hain teri?” he finally asked, voice calmer now.

She shook her head silently. A lie, she did have classes, but right now, she couldn’t care less.

Maan studied her for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Chal, ghar chalte hain,” he said at last, his tone firm but gentle. “Meri bhi class cancel ho gayi hai.”

Anvi looked up at him for the first time, her eyes still glistening with anger and exhaustion but she didn’t argue. She just gave a small nod.

Without another word, he turned toward the parking lot, and she followed quietly beside him.
Neither spoke during the walk, the air between them heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and unspent anger.

The cafeteria noise faded behind them, replaced by the hum of the city outside the gates, two siblings walking side by side, both silent for entirely different reasons.

___________________________________________

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