The house was silent.

Not the peaceful kind of silence — but the kind that sits on your chest like a weight, making it hard to breathe.

Zoya had been back in Bokaro for four days.

Four long days without the sun, without laughter, without freedom.

They’d taken everything — her phone, her books, her clothes from Mumbai.

Even the pendant Aarfa had given her was yanked off and thrown into the trash.

"You're not going back to that filthy place," her mother said, pouring tea without looking her in the eye.

Her elder brother?

Didn’t even speak.

He just watched. Like a warden.

Like she was a prisoner.

And Zoya?

She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry.

She wrote.

On scraps of paper. On the inside of old books.

Letters she’d never send.

To Aarfa. To Mumbai.

To him.

> “Do you still think of me, Akif?”

“Do you still sit in our library corner?”

“Are the lights still warm in our room?”

---

In Mumbai, Akif had become a ghost of himself.

He showed up to class, but never stayed.

He sat in the library, but never read.

He kept checking his phone — for a message that would never come.

Ayaan and Aarfa tried everything — jokes, food, even BTS memes.

But he was cold.

Until one night, he sat beside Aarfa and finally said,

“I need to get her back.”

Aarfa nodded, eyes teary. “I know.”

He pulled out a notebook.

And on the first page, he wrote:

> “Operation Zoya.”

He wasn’t going to rush in blind.

He’d plan.

He’d prepare.

And when the time came, he would bring her home.

Not just to Mumbai — but to him.

---

Zoya sat on the rooftop that night, wrapped in her old shawl.

The stars looked dimmer in Bokaro.

Or maybe she just couldn’t see properly through the tears.

Her younger cousin, who adored her, quietly slipped a phone into her hand.

“I charged it for you,” he whispered. “It has no SIM, but… maybe you can write.”

Zoya clutched it like a lifeline.

She opened Notes.

And started typing:

> To Akif, if you’re still out there.

I miss the sound of your voice — the way it always came slow and deep like thunder that never wanted to hurt me.

I miss the way you never told me what to do, but always made me want to do better.

I miss me. The me I found around you.

She saved it.

Locked it.

Held it to her chest.

---

Akif stared at his wall.

It had pictures now.

Of Zoya laughing.

Of her singing at the bonfire.

Of the chai cup she always stole from Aarfa.

Her last message.

> “Yes. Can’t sleep.”

He still hadn’t slept.

---

Meanwhile in Bokaro, her brother made plans.

“We’ll get her married,” he told her father.

“She’ll forget everything once she’s someone else’s wife.”

Zoya overheard it.

And something in her snapped.

She looked into the mirror that night and whispered to herself:

> “This time also I’m not waiting for someone to save me.”

“This time again, I’m saving myself.”

---

Don't worry don't worry. This trauma will go just in 'some' chapters! Will not burn more.