Aarav didn’t pick up the notebook.
He couldn’t.
It lay on the floor like something alive.
Like it might change if he looked at it too long.
“You asked me to stay.”
The words echoed again.
Not loud.
Not threatening.
Certain.
“No…” Aarav whispered, shaking his head slowly.
“I wouldn’t do that… not without a reason.”
Silence.
And then—
“Exactly.”
Aarav froze.
Because for the first time…
The voice didn’t sound like an intruder.
It sounded like an answer.
“What reason…?” Aarav asked, his voice trembling now.
The room didn’t respond.
But his mind did.
A faint pressure.
A pull.
Like something deep inside him was being… unlocked.
“Stop…” he muttered.
“I don’t want to—”
“You do.”
His head began to ache.
Not sharp.
Not sudden.
Heavy.
As if something was pushing from inside.
Aarav pressed his hands to his temples.
“No… I’m not ready…”
“You were never supposed to be.”
The room blurred slightly.
Edges softened.
Sounds faded.
And then—
A memory surfaced.
Not like before.
Not faint.
Clear.
Too clear.
A small room.
Dim light.
A single window.
Closed.
A younger Aarav sat in the corner.
Knees pulled close.
Eyes red.
Crying.
Aarav staggered back in the present.
“No…” he whispered.
But the memory didn’t stop.
It deepened.
Voices.
Loud.
Angry.
Not his.
His parents.
Arguing.
Words overlapping.
Sharp.
Heavy.
“You never listen—”
“This is your fault—”
“Don’t bring him into this—”
Aarav felt his chest tighten.
“I remember this…” he said slowly.
But it didn’t feel like remembering.
It felt like reliving.
The younger Aarav covered his ears.
Shut his eyes tight.
“Stop…” he whispered.
The voices didn’t stop.
They got louder.
Closer.
The room felt smaller.
Darker.
“I don’t want to hear this…” the child said, trembling.
Aarav’s breathing matched his.
“I don’t want this…”
And then—
Silence.
Sudden.
Absolute.
Aarav blinked.
The voices were gone.
The tension… gone.
The child lowered his hands slowly.
Confused.
Relieved.
And then—
He smiled.
Aarav’s heart skipped.
“No…”
Because that smile—
He knew it.
The same one.
The child turned slightly.
As if looking at someone.
But there was no one there.
Still…
He spoke.
“You made it stop.”
Aarav felt something inside him collapse.
“No… no… no…”
The memory continued.
The child nodded slowly.
Listening.
“Will you stay?” he asked softly.
A pause.
Then the child smiled again.
Wider this time.
Comforted.
“Okay… don’t go.”
Aarav staggered backward in the present.
His legs gave out.
He fell to the floor.
“No…” he whispered, shaking his head violently.
“I didn’t… I didn’t—”
But he had.
Not intentionally.
Not knowingly.
But he had needed something.
Silence.
Relief.
Escape.
And his mind had given it to him.
Created it.
A presence that could…
Take control.
Mute the world.
And stay.
“You weren’t real…” Aarav said, his voice breaking.
“You were just… something I made…”
The answer came immediately.
“At first.”
Aarav’s eyes widened.
“What do you mean… ‘at first’?”
The air felt heavier now.
Like the truth had been waiting for this moment.
“You needed me to survive.”
A pause.
“But you didn’t stop needing me.”
Aarav’s breathing became uneven.
“I grew up…” he said quickly.
“I don’t need that anymore—”
“You forgot.”
Silence.
The words hit harder than anything else.
Not accusation.
Not anger.
Just truth.
“You forgot what I was for.”**
Aarav stared ahead, his mind racing.
The memory.
The notebook.
The lost time.
It all connected.
“You take over when I can’t handle things…” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“And I… forget…”
“Yes.”
Aarav swallowed hard.
“So all these years…”
His voice faltered.
“You’ve been living parts of my life for me.”
A quiet pause.
Then—
“No.”
Aarav froze.
His chest tightened.
“What…?”
The answer came softly.
Almost gently.
“We’ve been living it together.”
The room fell silent.
But something had changed.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Understanding.
Aarav looked down at his hands.
“They’re mine…” he whispered.
“And mine.”
He clenched his fists.
“No…”
But the resistance felt weaker now.
Because part of him knew.
This wasn’t a stranger.
This wasn’t something external.
This was something he had created.
Nurtured.
Relied on.
For years.
And now—
It wasn’t leaving.
Because it had never left.
Aarav closed his eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked finally.
Silence.
Then—
“The same thing you did.”
A pause.
“To stay.”
Aarav opened his eyes slowly.
The room felt different again.
Not hostile.
Not safe.
Shared.
And for the first time—
He didn’t feel like he was fighting something.
He felt like he was facing it.