For a moment, neither of us moved.
The cold air of the West Wing pressed against my skin, but the coldness in Riyan's voice was sharper, cutting me where it hurt most.
"This marriage was supposed to last a year…
But after this, I don't know if it will last another day."
My throat tightened painfully.
"Riyan…" My voice trembled. "Please—just tell me what I did. What happened to your brother?"
His jaw clenched.
I had seen him angry.
I had seen him distant.
I had seen him cruel.
But this—
this was different.
This was a man bleeding inside.
"You don't get to ask about him," he said, each word slow and controlled. "Not you."
"I'm already living his punishment," I whispered. "Don't I deserve to know why?"
He took a step closer.
Shadows spilled across his face, making him look older, more haunted.
"You want the truth?" he asked softly.
"Fine."
My breath caught.
"But you will hear only what I choose to tell."
I nodded quickly.
He looked past me—toward the dark hallway of the West Wing—before exhaling shakily.
"My brother's name was Arjun."
Arjun.
A name I had never heard…
yet it hit me like a forgotten echo buried under years of silence.
Riyan's voice softened, almost against his will.
"He was… different from me. Better."
A faint, broken smile flickered.
"He had this stupid habit of trusting people too easily. Of believing the best even when it wasn't there."
A pause.
"He worshipped kindness. And he thought he found it in someone."
My chest tightened.
"Found it in… who?" I asked quietly.
"In a girl," Riyan said. "A girl he liked. Someone he met near his college campus. Someone who made him believe the world wasn't as cruel as I told him it was."
The words twisted my stomach.
I already knew what was coming.
I didn't want to know.
But I needed to.
"That girl…"
His eyes locked onto mine.
"…was you."
My legs almost gave out.
"No," I whispered. "Riyan, I didn't— I don't remember—"
"You don't remember," he repeated bitterly. "Convenient."
"It's NOT convenient," I cried. "I didn't know I even met him—"
"But he knew you," Riyan cut in sharply. "He waited outside your college for weeks just to see you for five minutes."
Tears stung my eyes.
"And then," Riyan continued, his voice turning colder, "one day, you told him something. Something that broke him."
My entire being froze.
"What… did I tell him?" My voice cracked.
His eyes darkened with something between grief and rage.
"He never told me the details," Riyan whispered. "He just said… that the person he trusted destroyed him with a lie."
A lie.
My stomach twisted violently.
I shook my head, taking a step back.
"No. No, I wouldn't lie to someone I don't even remember."
"You don't remember because you hit your head!" he snapped. "Because you forgot that month! Because you forgot him!"
The hallway rang with his words.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"I'm sorry," I said, tears falling freely now. "If I said something—if I hurt him—Riyan, I swear I didn't mean to. I didn't know. I didn't even remember he existed—"
"That," Riyan whispered harshly, "is exactly what I can't forgive."
His breath trembled—just once—before he hid the pain behind a familiar mask.
"He died, Aarvi."
The world stopped.
I stared at him, numb, frozen, unable to breathe.
"He…"
My voice was barely audible.
"He died… because of me?"
"I didn't say you killed him," Riyan said, closing his eyes briefly. "But you were the last person he spoke to. He came home… broken. Silent. Then everything spiraled."
Silence filled the corridor.
Riyan looked away.
"He never told us what you said. He protected you until the very end."
I covered my mouth as a sob rose in my throat.
"I didn't know him," I choked. "I didn't know what I said. Riyan, I swear—I swear I didn't want this. I never wanted to hurt anyone—"
He opened his eyes slowly, painfully.
"And still," he said quietly, "you were the last piece of his life."
I sank against the wall, shaking violently.
Riyan watched me—not with satisfaction, not with cruelty, but with the unbearable expression of someone who wished the truth was different.
"Arjun's death destroyed my family," he whispered. "And you were the last chapter of his story. You want to know why this house hates you? Why I hate you?"
A tear slipped down his cheek.
His first tear.
"Because you lived," he said, voice breaking, "and he didn't."
I covered my mouth as a cry escaped me.
"But hate isn't enough anymore," he continued quietly. "Now that you've opened this door…"
He glanced at the West Wing.
"…you will see the part of the story no one should see."
A cold shiver crawled up my spine.
"Riyan… what's in there?"
He stepped back, just one step, but it felt like a door closing.
"My brother's room," he whispered. "Untouched. Frozen. Locked away from the world."
My heart dropped.
"And the last thing he ever wrote," Riyan finished, "was about you."
The hallway spun.
Tears blurred my vision as I whispered,
"What… what did he write?"
Riyan's eyes flickered with grief so raw it hurt to witness.
He opened his mouth to answer—
But suddenly, a loud crash echoed from deep inside the West Wing.
We both turned sharply.
Riyan's face went pale.
"This wing is supposed to be empty," he muttered. "No one is allowed inside."
A chill raced through me.
Someone was in the forbidden part of the house.
Someone who wasn't supposed to be there.
Riyan cursed under his breath and stepped past me.
"Go back to your room," he ordered.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "Not anymore."
He paused.
We stood inches apart, breathless, afraid of the same truth.
And for the first time, his voice softened—not with anger, but with something fragile:
"Aarvi… some truths break people. Are you sure you want this one?"
I swallowed hard.
"Yes."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Then—
"Stay behind me."
And together, we stepped into the darkness of the West Wing.