It had been one of those lazy monsoon afternoons when the rain poured endlessly, drumming against the windows. Vani had insisted on playing outside, her tiny feet splashing through puddles as she twirled in circles, arms spread wide.
"Vani, you'll catch a cold!" Rudransh had scolded, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, but she had only grinned mischievously.
Aayan had laughed, shaking his head. "Let her be, bhaiya. She's having fun."
She had spun toward Kabir, her wet braids sticking to her face, her eyes twinkling. "Bhaiya, dance with me!" she had demanded, tugging on his hand.
"I don't dance," Kabir had scoffed, but the next thing he knew, she was dragging him into the rain, their feet splashing against the wet ground.
Veer had joined in, spinning her around as she shrieked in delight, her laughter echoing through the air.
For that one moment, there had been nothing but joy. No worries. No distance. Just a little girl with her brothers, dancing in the rain, as if the world belonged to them alone.
Flashback Over
The car moved steadily along the open road, its tires humming against the asphalt. The early morning sky stretched endlessly above them, the soft glow of dawn casting long shadows across the highway. The wind outside was cool, crisp, whispering against the windows. But inside, the air was heavy, thick with something none of them dared to name.
It had been eight years.
Eight long years since they had last seen her.
Since they had last spoken her name without hesitation.
Since they had last held their little sister close, felt the warmth of her small hands, heard her voice call them 'bhaiya' with unshakable trust.
Vani.
She had once been their shadow, their constant companion, their responsibility. She had once run after them with boundless energy, demanding attention, stealing their food, braiding their hair for fun, and giggling when they groaned in protest. She had once belonged to them.
And then—she was gone.
Now, after all these years, they were about to see her again.
But was she even the same Vani?
Or had time stolen her from them, just as it had stolen them from her?
---
The last time they saw her, she had been standing at the gate, gripping the hem of her dress, her big, teary eyes searching their faces for a promise they never made.
Aayan had turned away first. Kabir had swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. Veer had clutched his bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. And Rudransh—the eldest, the strongest—had simply stood there, his heart hammering against his ribs, knowing that walking away was the hardest thing they had ever done.
But they had done it anyway.
And she had watched them leave.
---
Rudransh sat in the front seat beside Ranvijay, his fingers gripping his knee so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was the eldest, the one who had always carried the weight of their family, the one who had always led them through every storm. But this? This was something even he wasn't prepared for.
Because this wasn't just about seeing their little sister after years of separation.
This was about facing the truth.
The truth that they had left her behind.
The truth that they hadn't been there when she needed them most.
The truth that she had suffered alone.
And that truth burned like fire inside him.
---
Aayan sat in the middle row, his leg bouncing restlessly, his fingers tangled in his hair. His mind raced with memories—memories of her laughter, of the way she would tug on his sleeve whenever she wanted something, of the way she would chase after him with tiny, hurried steps, never wanting to be left behind.
"She must be tall now," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "She was just a tiny thing when we last saw her… barely reached my waist."
Kabir, seated beside him, let out a quiet chuckle, though it lacked any real amusement. "I used to carry her on my back." His voice was soft, almost wistful. "She used to say I was her personal horse."
"She called you a horse?" Veer smirked from the driver's seat. "That sounds about right."
Aayan almost smiled. Almost.
Because beneath their forced humor, beneath the teasing, beneath the memories that once brought warmth—there was only cold, empty silence.
"She must be seventeen now," Veer murmured, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. "A young lady."
A young lady.
The words felt foreign.
She had always been their baby sister. Their little Vani.
But time didn't care about their feelings.
It had moved on.
And so had she.
---
Rudransh's voice broke the silence. "Do you think she remembers us the way we remember her?"
No one answered.
Because the truth was—they didn't know.
Would she still like chocolates?
Did she still talk too fast when she got excited?
Did she still hate math?
Did she ever cry for them?
Or worse… had she learned to live without them?
Kabir: "And do you remember how she used to give us all those teasing nicknames?" His voice was soft, touched with nostalgia. A wistful smile played on his lips, but his eyes held something deeper—something almost aching.
Kabir (after a pause, almost a whisper): "Will she still call us that?"
For a moment, silence settled between them. Some faces lit up with bittersweet smiles, lost in memories of a time when her laughter filled their days. Others looked away, weighed down by the quiet fear that maybe, just maybe, things had changed too much.
Ranvijay (exhaling deeply, attempting a small smile): "Agar bhool gayi toh yaad dila denge... par kya woh firse waise hi bulane mein comfortable feel karegi?"
The weight of his words settled over them. No one had an answer.
The thought was unbearable.
Kabir swallowed hard. "She used to make me braid her hair," he whispered. "Do you think she still wears it in braids?"
"I used to buy her bangles," Aayan murmured, his gaze distant. "She loved them. Always made sure they matched her dresses."
"She would always cling to me the most," Rudransh finally admitted. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed something deep. "I thought she would never let go."
Veer scoffed lightly, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah, well… none of us thought we'd let go."
But they had.
Not by choice.
Yet, here they were—strangers to the sister they once swore to protect.
And worst of all, she had suffered in their absence.
---
Aayan clenched his fists. His stomach twisted painfully.
"And now… after what she did to herself…"
Silence.
No one spoke.
Because there was nothing left to say.
Not just that they had been apart.
Not just that they had missed her childhood.
Not just that they didn't know her anymore.
But the fact that she had hurt.
That she had been in pain.
That she had suffered.
Alone.
And they weren't there to stop it.
Ranvijay exhaled deeply, his grip tightening on the wheel.
Each of them was drowning in guilt. In fear.
Would she blame them?
Would she cry the moment she saw them?
Or would she simply look at them… and feel nothing at all?
The car slowed down as they neared their destination.
The airport.
They could finally meet their princess after years.
Eight years.
Eight years of silence.
Eight years of distance.
And in just a few minutes, they would know—
Would she run into their arms?
Or would she walk past them like strangers?
Back then, the rain had only soaked their clothes. Now, it had seeped into their bones, leaving them cold in ways they never imagined.