Chapter 3: Echoes That Refuse to Fade
1373 Words
The silence didn’t leave him.
That was the first thing Aarav noticed.
The door had closed.
The studio had returned to its usual state—machines humming softly, wires tangled like veins beneath dim light, Kabir muttering to himself while adjusting files.
Everything was as it should be.
And yet—
Something had shifted.
Aarav sat still, his fingers resting on the console, unmoving.
Listening.
The noise had returned, yes.
Kabir’s low, steady focus vibrated like a soft bassline.
The faint irritation from a missed call flickered like static.
Even the distant world outside seeped back in—blurred, chaotic, alive.
But beneath all that—
There was a gap.
A strange, almost imperceptible absence.
Like a note missing from a melody.
Aarav frowned slightly.
That shouldn’t be possible.
“Oi.”
Kabir’s voice cut in, casual but sharp.
“You planning to sleep there?”
Aarav blinked, snapping out of it.
“No.”
“Then move,” Kabir said, nudging a chair with his foot. “I need to export these tracks.”
Aarav stood up slowly, stepping aside, but his mind wasn’t in the room anymore.
It was still—
There.
At the doorway.
At the moment Reyansh had walked out like he was taking something with him.
“Don’t overthink him,” Kabir added, almost absentmindedly.
Aarav stilled.
Kabir didn’t look up from the screen.
“He’s like that with everyone.”
“Like what?” Aarav asked quietly.
Kabir shrugged.
“Closed off. Detached. Whatever you want to call it.
That wasn’t enough.
Aarav leaned slightly against the wall, arms loosely crossed.
“You’ve worked with him before?”
“Once,” Kabir replied. “A few months back.”
A pause.
Then, almost as an afterthought—
“Didn’t go great.”
Aarav’s gaze sharpened.
“Why?”
Kabir hesitated.
Not long.
But enough.
“Because he doesn’t stay,” he said finally.
That wasn’t an answer.
Aarav’s voice is softened, quieter now.
“What does that mean?”
Kabir sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“It means… he shows up, does his thing, and disappears.”
“Everyone does that,” Aarav said.
Kabir shook his head.
“No. Not like him.
Something in his tone made Aarav pay attention.
“He doesn’t connect,” Kabir continued. “Not with the music, not with people… not with anything.”
That didn’t make sense.
Aarav’s thoughts flickered back to the recording.
To the way Reyansh had sung.
Raw. Intense. Almost too real.
“That’s not true,” Aarav said quietly.
Kabir glanced at him, eyebrow raised.
“Oh?”
“He feels it,” Aarav insisted, though his voice lacked certainty. “You can hear it in his voice.”
Kabir let out a short laugh.
“Yeah. That’s the weird part.”
Aarav didn’t like the way he said that.
“What do you mean?”
Kabir leaned back in his chair, studying the ceiling for a moment.
“His music is full of emotion,” he said slowly. “But he isn’t.”
Aarav’s chest tightened.
The words settled uncomfortably in his mind.
Because that was exactly what he had felt.
Seen.
He swallowed.
“People fake things.”
Kabir shook his head again.
“No. Not like that.”
A pause.
Then—
“I’ve seen people pretend. I’ve worked with people who cry on cues, who pour their ‘souls’ into songs they don’t even understand.”
His gaze shifted, meeting Aarav’s.
“This isn’t that.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Then what is it?” Aarav asked.
Kabir didn’t answer immediately.
When he did—
His voice was quieter.
“I don’t know.”
That was worse.
Aarav looked away, his thoughts spiraling slowly.
Because for the first time—
He wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand Reyansh.
And that made it harder to ignore.
“Just don’t get involved,” Kabir added after a moment, his tone returning to something lighter, dismissive. “Guys like him… they’re in trouble.”
Aarav didn’t respond.
Not because he disagreed.
But because—
He already knew.
— The night air was cooler than expected.
Aarav stepped out of the studio, pulling his hoodie slightly tighter around himself.
The street is quieter now.
Not silent.
Never silent.
But calmer.
The city had softened.
Streetlights flickered lazily.
A few shops remained open, their lights warm and inviting.
Somewhere nearby, the faint sound of a radio played an old Bollywood song—soft, nostalgic.
Aarav exhaled slowly.
The noise was manageable now.
He started walking.
No destination in mind.
Just movement.
His thoughts wouldn’t settle.
Reyansh.
The name lingered like an unfinished sentence.
Empty.
Detached.
Doesn’t connect.
And yet—
Aarav stopped.
Because he felt it.
Not sound.
Presence.
Subtle.
Familiar.
Wrong.
His head turned instinctively.
Across the street—
Near a closed tea stall—
Reyansh stood.
Leaning casually against the metal shutter.
Alone.
For a second, Aarav thought he was imagining it.
But no—
It was him.
The same stillness.
The same is quiet.
The same—
Silence.
Aarav’s heartbeat quickened.
He shouldn’t go there.
He knew that.
Kabir’s words echoed faintly in his mind.
Don’t get involved.
But his feet—
Moved anyway.
Crossing the street felt longer than it should have.
Each step is heavier.
Until he was close enough to see him clearly.
Reyansh didn’t look up immediately.
He was staring at something in his hand.
A lighter.
Flick.
The flame sparked briefly.
Flick.
Again.
Aarav frowned.
There was no cigarette.
No reason for it.
Just—
Repetition.
“Why do you do that?”
The question slipped out before he could stop himself.
Reyansh’s hand stilled.
Then slowly—
He looked up.
Recognition flickered across his face.
“You again.”
His voice was calm.
Unbothered.
Aarav hesitated.
Then—
“You left something,” he said, though he didn’t know why.
Reyansh’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Did I?”
Aarav shook his head.
“No.”
A pause.
Then—
“Maybe I did.”
Reyansh studied him for a moment.
“You’re strange,” he said.
Aarav almost smiled.
“So are you.”
Silence settled between them.
But this time—
It didn’t feel empty.
It felt…
Closer.
Reyansh looked back at the lighter in his hand.
Flick.
The flame danced again.
Aarav’s eyes followed the movement.
“Bad habit?” he asked.
Reyansh shook his head slightly.
“No.”
Another flick.
“It helps.”
“With what?”
A pause.
Then—
“Remembering.”
Aarav’s breath caught.
That was the first crack.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But real.
“Remembering what?” he asked softly.
Reyansh didn’t answer.
The flame flickered again.
Then died.
His jaw tightened.
And for the briefest moment—
Aarav heard something.
Not sound.
But pressure.
Like something trying to break through.
Something buried too deep.
Reyansh exhaled slowly, slipping the lighter into his pocket.
“Does it matter?”
Aarav didn’t look away.
“Yes.”
Reyansh’s eyes met his again.
This time—
There was something different in them.
Not emotion.
Not fully.
But—
Weight.
“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he said quietly.
Aarav held his gaze.
“And you shouldn’t avoid the ones you need to face.”
The words hung between them.
Sharp.
Unintended.
For a second—
It felt like something might snap.
But then—
Reyansh laughed.
Soft.
Dry.
“Careful,” he said. “You sound like you understand me.”
Aarav didn’t respond.
Because he didn’t.
Not yet.
But he wanted to.
And that was the problem.
Reyansh pushed himself off the shutter, straightening slightly.
“You should go home,” he said.
Aarav frowned.
“Why?”
Reyansh’s expression didn’t change.
“Because you’re standing too close to something you don’t understand.”
A beat.
“And things like that…”
His voice dropped slightly.
“They don’t end well.”
Aarav’s chest tightened.
But he didn’t move.
Not yet.
Because for the first time—
The silence between them felt like it was hiding something.
Not emptiness.
But truth.
And Aarav—
Wasn’t ready to walk away from it.
- Writer
