Jaanvi was lying motionless in the hospital bed, her breathing slow, lashes still damp from the tears she had shed before the world slipped away from her. The dim beeping of the monitor faded into the background of her unconsciousness, replaced by the soft hum of a ceiling fan and the faint aroma of buttered popcorn.
She opened her eyes only, she wasn't in the hospital anymore.
She was back in her old flat. The walls were painted in the warm beige she had always hated but never changed. The curtains, thin and floral, fluttered slightly from the draft seeping through the half-open balcony door. The couch they were sitting on was sagging in the middle from years of use, covered with a blanket and ... it felt like home.
And beside her just as he always did sat Aarav.
Her Aarav. Her little brother. Wearing his grey hoodie and black pajama pants, hair sticking up like he had just rolled out of bed. His knee kept bouncing, an old nervous habit, but his eyes were glued to the flickering TV screen in front of them. A giant bowl of popcorn rested between them, the buttery kernels glistening under the dim yellow light of the table lamp.
The movie on the screen was one of those low-budget horror films they always made fun of. The kind with absurd jump scares and over-the-top background music. Aarav had insisted on watching it, swearing he wouldn't get scared.
She knew better.
On the screen, the camera panned down a dark hallway. The sound of slow, dragging footsteps echoed ominously. Jaanvi could feel Aarav's muscles tensing beside her. His hand slid closer to the popcorn bowl, not because he was hungry, but because he needed something to hold onto.
"Didi, I'm telling you, the ghost is standing behind her right now," Aarav whispered, leaning closer, his voice dripping with fake suspense.
Jaanvi rolled her eyes. "And I'm telling you, you're a bigger drama queen than the ghost."
And then
A grotesque ghost with hollow eyes and sharp teeth leapt toward the camera.
"AAAAAHHHHHH!" Aarav shrieked at the top of his lungs.
The sound was so loud, so high-pitched, that the popcorn bowl went flying straight into Jaanvi's face. Kernels bounced off her hair, her lap, her sweater, raining down like buttery confetti. For a moment, she just sat there in shock, her mouth half-open, a piece of popcorn dangling from her hair.
Aarav froze, his eyes wide in horror not because of the ghost, but because of what he had just done.
And then... it started.
A small chuckle from Aarav. A suppressed giggle from her. And within seconds, they both broke into uncontrollable laughter. The kind that left you gasping for air, clutching your stomach, wiping away tears that weren't from sadness. Aarav was laughing so hard he was bent over, face buried in a pillow, his voice cracking as he tried and failed to apologize.
"Di....Di, your face...oh my god....you look like a popcorn monster!" he managed between laughs.
She threw a piece of popcorn at him. "Shut up!"
But she was laughing too, her heart light, her chest warm, the world outside that little flat forgotten. In that moment, there was no pain, no loneliness, no cruel reality only the two of them, and the sound of their laughter filling the room.
She tried to glare at him, brushing popcorn off her hair.
But her lips trembled... and then she laughed too.
They both laughed until their stomachs hurt, until tears pricked their eyes.
She wanted to stay there forever.
But then
The laughter began to fade. The colors of the flat started to drain, as if someone was slowly turning down the saturation of life itself. Aarav's smile flickered, his form becoming blurry around the edges. The warmth slipped away, replaced by a creeping cold.
Jaanvi's chest tightened. "Aarav...?"
He didn't answer.
The bowl of popcorn fell through her lap and vanished before hitting the floor. The couch dissolved into nothingness. The walls collapsed into darkness. And all that was left... was him. Standing a few steps away now, looking at her with that same cheeky smile, but his eyes his eyes were wet.
He lifted his hand in a little wave. "Bye, Di."
Her breath hitched. "No! No, you can't go! Please, Aarav, stay with me "
Her voice cracked, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She reached for him, but her fingers grasped only empty air. He was already fading, the darkness swallowing him whole.
And then, she was falling.
Falling back into the cold, the beeping, the hospital smell of antiseptic.
Her eyes shot open with a scream. "AARAV!"
Her chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, tears blurring her vision.
She was sitting upright before she even realized it, her fingers clawing at the bedsheet as if trying to pull herself back into that dream.
But it wasn't Aarav's face in front of her.
It was Yuvaan.
He was sitting right beside her bed, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes those fierce, cold eyes she was so used to now trembling with something she'd never seen before.
"Jaanvi..." he said, low and steady, like speaking too loudly might shatter her.
Her gaze darted around wildly.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn to block the late afternoon sun.
The faint scent of hospital antiseptic still clung to her, even though this was their home.
On the couch near the wall, Lavanya sat, her fingers knotted in her dupatta, tears tracking silently down her cheeks. Beside her, Tara's head was bowed, her hands clenched tightly together as if in prayer.
By the doorway, Rajveer and Avyansh stood side by side, both men looking like they'd been carved from stone, but their eyes dark, tense, unblinking were fixed on her, heavy with something unspoken.
It hit her all at once.
The stillness in the room.
The pity in their eyes.
The absence so loud it drowned out the sound of her own heartbeat.
"No..." Her voice was a broken whisper.
She looked at Yuvaan, searching his face for a denial, a lie, anything
But his eyes stayed on hers, steady, unflinching, because he knew there was nothing he could say to make it untrue.
Her chest caved in.
Her lips trembled.
And then the sob tore out of her throat raw, jagged, the kind that rips you apart from the inside.
She clutched at Yuvaan's shirt, shaking her head violently. "No... no, no, NO! He's not he can't Aarav can't be "
Yuvaan's arms came around her, pulling her into his chest, his jaw tightening as though her pain was cutting into him like knives.
She hit his chest weakly with her fists, not to hurt, but because she couldn't contain the storm inside her.
"I promised him! I told him I'd always protect him! I raised him I " Her words dissolved into sobs, her voice breaking until it was almost just air.
Lavanya's sobs escaped then, muffled behind her hand.
Tara turned away, pressing her palm to her mouth, tears slipping free despite her biting her lip hard.
Rajveer's gaze darkened even more, and Avyansh's hand curled into a tight fist, his knuckles pale.
But Jaanvi didn't see any of them.
She saw only the empty space in her arms where Aarav should have been.
She clung to Yuvaan like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely, her body trembling violently as the truth pressed down on her like a mountain.
Somewhere far away, she thought she heard Lavanya whisper, "Bas, Jaanvi... bas..."
But there was no "bas."
There was no stopping this kind of pain.
Because in that moment, she knew
She hadn't just lost her brother.
She had lost a piece of herself she would never get back.
Later the Day
The day had lost all its colors.
The sun was out, but its light was dull as if even it could not bear to shine on this day.
The shamshan ghat lay by the riverbank, quiet except for the crackling of dry wood, the whispers of the wind, and the heavy chanting of the pandit. The air smelled of incense, sandalwood, and the faint, bitter scent of burning ghee.
Everyone was dressed in white. White kurtas, white sarees, white dupattas as if they were all ghosts themselves, stripped of life, here only to send away the body that once held a soul.
Jaanvi stood like a statue.
Her eyes... red, swollen, but still dry now. No more tears left to fall, yet pain still pouring out from every pore. Her gaze was fixed, locked, unblinking, on the wooden chita in front of her.
Aarav lay there.
Covered in a white sheet, a small garland of marigolds around his neck. He looked... still. Too still. His lips no longer curved into the teasing smile that once made her roll her eyes, his hands no longer restless with mischief. He had been reduced to silence, to stillness, to a body without laughter.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to shake him awake, to tell him this was not funny, that he had scared her enough.
But he didn't move.
He never would.
Lavanya and Tara stood a little behind her, both holding the edge of their sarees tightly, as if holding themselves together. Rajveer and Avyansh were close by too, faces pale, their usually sharp, intimidating eyes softened by an unspoken grief. Yuvaan... he stood beside her, not saying a word, his jaw clenched so tight the vein in his temple pulsed.
The pandit's voice rose over the wind.
"Om Namo Narayan... Om Namo Narayan..."
Each chant felt like a hammer to her chest, reminding her of what was about to happen that the body on that chita would soon turn to ash, that the Aarav she knew would only remain in memories.
Beyond the immediate family, a group of people had gathered her family.
Her father, Kabir Oberoi, the middle brother of the Oberoi household, stood straight, but his eyes were rimmed red. Beside him, Aarohi Oberoi, his second wife, kept her lips pressed tight, her face unreadable but her grip on her dupatta white-knuckled.
Nithin Oberoi, the eldest brother, stood a few steps away, his hand resting heavily on the shoulder of his son, Kartik Oberoi, who stared at the ground, his eyes avoiding the chita.
Dinesh Oberoi, the youngest brother, stood with his wife, minakshi Oberoi. She had one arm wrapped around their son Naksh, feel the heavy silence.
Maya Oberoi, Aarohi and Kabir's daughter, stood at the very back, her mascara streaked from crying, her gaze flicking between Jaanvi and the burning wood being prepared.
The river beside the ghat moved lazily, its water dull and murky under the clouded sky. A few birds sat on the far bank, silent, as if even nature had paused to mourn.
Jaanvi's breath came shallow. She didn't blink. She didn't move. She just stared. Her mind screamed in denial No... this isn't Aarav. Aarav can't be this quiet. Aarav can't be this cold.
Her knees felt weak, but she forced herself to stand. The pandit's chants blurred in her ears. She caught only fragments: "Antim yatra... shanti path... atma ko moksha..."
( Guys I don't know about the mantras, sorry if it's wrong, i just wrote it with the knowledge i have)
She remembered his laugh the one that came after a terrible joke, the one that made his shoulders shake. She remembered him stealing her popcorn, teasing her about being scared in horror movies. She remembered him standing beside her when no one else did.
And now she had to watch him leave. Forever.
The dry wood around the chita crackled as someone poured ghee over it. The smell hit her nose sharply, making her chest tighten even more.
When the eldest male of the family stepped forward to light the pyre, the realization hit like a punch.
This was it.
Her lips trembled. A soft sound escaped her throat, something between a sob and a plea. Her vision blurred for a second, but she refused to close her eyes. She had to see him... she had to hold on to this last image, even if it tore her apart.
Lavanya's hand touched her shoulder gently, but Jaanvi didn't move. Tara's quiet sniffles echoed behind her. Yuvaan's hand twitched by his side, as if fighting the urge to reach for hers, but he didn't.
The fire caught quickly, dancing up the wood, licking at the white cloth. The heat reached her face, but she didn't step back. The scent of sandalwood smoke rose into the air, mixing with the sharp bite of burning.
She felt something inside her break quietly, completely.
Her Aarav... was no more.
The chants grew louder, the flames higher, the smoke thicker. Somewhere behind her, a woman wailed, and another one tried to calm her. The sound mingled with the crackle of fire until it all became one heavy, unbearable noise.
Jaanvi's eyes burned, but no tears fell. Her grief had moved past crying; it had become something deeper, heavier a hollow ache in her chest that nothing could fill.
The sky above turned darker, as if the day itself wanted to end early.
And Jaanvi stood there, staring at the flames, feeling the last pieces of her heart turn to ash with him.
The sharp crackle of the burning wood filled the silence around the shamsan ghat, its heat licking the air with an unforgiving rage. The smoke rose in thick grey curls, carrying with it the scent of sandalwood and finality a scent that clung to the skin, to the soul, to the memory. The chants of the pandit blurred into a distant hum, words that once had meaning now sounding like hollow echoes in Jaanvi's ears.
Her legs gave way before she even realised it. One moment she was standing, clutching the edge of her dupatta like a lifeline, and the next she was on her knees, the cold stone beneath her biting into her skin. Her palms hit the ground for support, but her gaze never left the pyre in front of her.
Aarav's body lifeless, still, wrapped in the shroud rested on the chita as though he was only asleep, as though he would wake up and tease her for crying. But the flames were already beginning to reach out, curling their fingers toward him, and the truth was crueler than any nightmare.
Yuvaan's arms came around her almost instantly, his grip firm, grounding, as if he feared she would collapse completely and never get up again. His jaw was tight, his eyes rimmed red, but he said nothing because what words could fix this? What words could touch the storm inside her?
Jaanvi's eyes were open, but they were not alive. They were glassy, emptied of everything but the image in front of her. It wasn't that she didn't want to cry it was that her tears had already abandoned her. They had burned themselves out in the endless hours since she had heard the news, leaving behind nothing but a hollow, aching desert inside her.
She tried to blink, to push away the smoke that stung her eyes, but the sting was nothing compared to the searing in her chest. Her lips parted, maybe to whisper his name, maybe to scream, maybe to beg the heavens for mercy but no sound came out. Only a dry, broken breath.
Her fingers clawed at the edge of her saree, trembling violently. She felt the vibration of the pandit's voice in the air, the muffled weeping of people behind her, the shifting footsteps of relatives she hadn't seen in years but none of it reached her heart. All she could see was Aarav, wrapped and still, about to be taken from her in a way that even God couldn't undo.
Yuuvan's hand tightened on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing small, shaky circles, as though trying to remind her she wasn't alone in this moment. But in her world right now, she was. Completely. Utterly. Alone.
She leaned forward slightly, the pull in her body magnetic, almost as if some part of her believed that if she got close enough, she could reach through the flames and bring him back. Her breath hitched once, twice as her vision swam, not from tears but from the dizziness of grief that ate at her strength.
Her mind whispered memories his laugh, his stupid jokes, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled, the way he'd nudge her shoulder when she was too serious. Each memory was a dagger, sliding in quietly but cutting deep. And still, her gaze refused to move.
The flames crackled louder now, growing bolder, hungrier. And Jaanvi... she sat there on her knees, unmoving, staring into them as though they could swallow her whole too and maybe she wished they would.
The crowd at the shamshan ghat had begun to thin, the air heavy with the mingled scent of burnt wood, incense, and ash. A few stray embers floated lazily through the smoky air, carried by the breeze before vanishing into nothingness much like Aarav himself.
Jaanvi sat on a worn cement bench under the shade of an old peepal tree, her saree's white folds spilling around her like a shroud of her own. Her hands lay in her lap, fingers intertwined tightly, the knuckles pale from the force of her grip. Her eyes... they were fixed somewhere far away, as if she had left her body behind, leaving only a hollow shell in its place.
The distant hum of the Ganga flowing behind the ghat was the only sound she could hear clearly, everything else reduced to muffled noise. Even her own breathing felt foreign, mechanical.
She didn't notice him at first her father, Kabir Oberoi.
His footsteps were hesitant, not the confident stride of a man used to control. Today, his head was slightly bowed, his eyes flickering between the ground and his daughter. His white kurta clung awkwardly to him, damp with sweat not from heat, but from something heavier... guilt.
When he stopped before her, there was a long pause. A silence so thick, even the breeze dared not interrupt.
"Jaanvi..." His voice was low, rough, as if it had rusted from years of disuse toward her.
She didn't look up. Didn't move. Her gaze stayed locked on the ground, where a few wilted marigold petals lay scattered.
"I-" He swallowed hard, the words sticking in his throat. "I am... sorry."
That word sorry hit her ears like an insult. Her lips twitched, but not into a smile. It was something colder, sharper. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to him. And in them... there was no relief, no forgiveness. Only a storm, barely contained.
"Sorry?" Her voice was hoarse, cracked from hours of crying. "You're sorry?"
Kabir flinched, his hands fidgeting by his sides. "I know I... should have "
"You should have?" She cut him off, her tone trembling, not from weakness but from the rage and pain tangled in her chest. "When I begged you... begged you on my knees, Papa... for money for Aarav's treatment, you looked me in the eye and told me you couldn't help." Her voice rose slightly, the tremor in it breaking into shards. "Do you know what that felt like? To hear that from your own father?"
He closed his eyes briefly, as though the memory was a wound reopening.
"You had the money," she continued, her words sharper now, each one like glass. "You had it. But you didn't give it not because you couldn't, but because you didn't want to. Because in your heart, I stopped being your daughter the day Maa died."
Kabir's shoulders sagged under the weight of her truth.
"I sold everything I had," she whispered, her voice cracking, "my jewellery, the little land Maa had left for me. I worked day and night, skipped meals so Aarav could get even one more injection, one more scan... all because I thought if I fought hard enough, if I loved him enough, I could keep him alive."
Her hands were trembling now, but she didn't wipe the tears that finally began to fall again. They slid down her cheeks in silent rebellion against her earlier emptiness.
"But love isn't enough, is it?" she choked. "Because today... he's gone. And when I look at him, lying there in flames, all I can think is..maybe if you had helped me, Papa... maybe if you had stood beside me like a real father, he would still be here."
Kabir's lips trembled, his eyes glistening with the tears he had no right to shed. "Jaanvi, I..."
"No." Her voice was firm, cutting through the heaviness between them. "Don't you dare cry. You don't get to cry. You weren't there for his birthdays, for his surgeries, for the nights he was in so much pain that I had to sing to him until he fell asleep. You weren't there when I held his hand through the worst days. And you weren't there when the doctor told me there was nothing more they could do."
Kabir's head dropped, his chest heaving with silent regret.
Jaanvi's gaze hardened, but her voice softened not with affection, but with the exhaustion of carrying this grief alone. "You want to be sorry now, Papa? Then be sorry for every second you chose your pride over your children. Be sorry for every time you made me feel like I was unworthy of your love. And be sorry that the only reason you came here today... is because there's nothing left for you to do for him."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Kabir stood there, his face etched with shame, but she had already looked away. Her eyes returned to the river, to the place where smoke from the pyre was now blending with the horizon taking Aarav with it.
And just like that, whatever bridge had been left between father and daughter... turned to ash too.
The Raghuvanshi mansion had never been so quiet.
The grand chandelier above the living room cast a dim, golden light, but even that glow seemed to carry the weight of mourning. Outside, the wind rustled softly against the tall glass windows, but no one in the room moved, no one spoke loudly.
Jaanvi sat on the large cream sofa, a soft woolen shawl wrapped loosely around her shoulders. Her saree, still white from the rituals, draped heavily over her, as if the very fabric had absorbed the grief clinging to her body.
In her hands, she clutched a slightly worn family photo frame. The glass was cool under her fingers, the wood chipped at one corner. Her thumb kept brushing over one spot over Aarav's smiling face in the picture again and again, as if touching it could somehow make him real again. Her hair had come loose from its bun, a few strands falling over her pale, tired face, sticking to the dampness on her cheeks.
Rajveer sat on the opposite sofa, elbows on his knees, his eyes flicking between Jaanvi and the floor, clearly wishing he could take away even an ounce of her pain. Yuvaan leaned against the wall, arms folded, but his usual sternness was gone; instead, his eyes followed every tiny tremor in Jaanvi's hands, every blink that threatened more tears. Avyansh sat in a chair nearby, his jaw tense, silently watching.
Lavanya and Tara were on the other couch, both with expressions that carried helplessness. Tara's hands were twisted together in her lap, while Lavanya's gaze kept flickering toward Jaanvi, as though trying to find the right moment to speak... but there never was one.
Nitya sat beside Jaanvi, her hand lightly resting on Jaanvi's back in silent comfort. Every now and then, her fingers would move in slow circles, but even that small motion seemed to shatter Jaanvi more-because it was the kind of gentle comfort Aarav used to give her when she was sad.
The sound of small footsteps broke the stillness.
Veer, dressed in his soft night clothes, padded into the room. His little feet made the faintest sound on the marble floor. He paused when he saw everyone's faces he was too young to understand the full weight of death, but even he could feel that something was terribly wrong.
He walked over to the sofa where Jaanvi sat, his little brows furrowed in concern. "Chachi..." he said softly. His voice was so innocent, so untouched by the cruelty of the world. He tilted his head up at her, watching the tear sliding down her cheek.
Then, with all the seriousness his small heart could muster, he reached up with his tiny hands and gently wiped her tears away. "Chachi... don't cry. You don't look good."
The words hit Jaanvi like a punch to the chest.
Her breath caught, and her vision blurred instantly not from new tears, but from the flood of memory those exact words carried. Because Aarav... Aarav used to say the same thing to her, in that exact tone, with that same little frown, whenever he caught her crying.
The photo frame slipped from her lap onto the sofa, and she reached for Veer in one desperate motion, pulling him into her arms.
The sob that tore from her throat was raw, unfiltered, the kind that comes from the deepest part of a person's soul. She hugged Veer tightly, almost crushing him against her, as though holding him could stop time, could rewind life to when Aarav was still there, still smiling, still calling her "Didi" in that loving, teasing way.
Veer's little hands patted her back, confused but trying to comfort her in the only way he knew. ", Chachi," he whispered, though he didn't really know why she was so broken.
Jaanvi's tears fell into his hair, her shoulders shaking. "He... he used to say that, Veer," she choked out. " my Aarav... he always said that when I cried. Always. And now " Her voice cracked, and she buried her face deeper into Veer's soft hair. "Now he'll never say it again."
The room stayed silent, the adults frozen in their places, every one of them feeling the sharp ache of her grief. Yuvaan looked away, his jaw tightening as if holding back his own emotions. Lavanya pressed her lips together, and Tara's eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Rajveer's hand tightened into a fist against his knee. Avyansh shifted uncomfortably, but his gaze stayed on Jaanvi, the weight of her pain pulling at everyone present.
Nitya's hand stayed on her back, steady and warm, grounding her through the storm.
Jaanvi didn't let go of Veer for a long time. Her tears slowed eventually, but the hollow, aching emptiness in her chest didn't. She held onto him not because he was Aarav she knew no one could replace her little brother but because for a few fragile seconds, his warmth reminded her that Aarav's love, his comfort, wasn't completely gone. It lived on in her heart... and maybe, just maybe, in the small moments life still offered her.
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Hopefully you all will like it and sorry for the mistakes
And please fulfill the vote target yaar , i put my everything in writing this and when I asked for few votes you guy's don't even gave that huh
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