CHAPTER XLV
"The Call That Felt Like Home"
Outside, the storm had not slowed.
The wind howled through the narrow streets, rattling windows and tugging at every loose shutter as if the world itself was trying to shake off the weight of the night. Inside Hannah's warm apartment, everything was calm — the soft hum of a heater, the muffled ticking of a wall clock, and the gentle clinking of plates in the kitchen.
But the storm wasn't just outside.
A quiet one still lingered inside me — gentler than before, but still present, still whispering.
I sat curled up on the edge of the bed Hannah's mother had so kindly offered me, wrapped in a blanket that smelled of lavender and comfort, my damp hair now towel-dried, my body warmer… safer.
But my heart still felt like a fragile thing — like glass just barely holding together.
That's when my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with a name that made my chest tighten: Mom.
For a second, I considered letting it ring.
What would I even say? Where would I begin?
But something in me — maybe the same part that still needed to feel loved — reached out, and I answered.
> "Hello?" I said softly, my voice still rough from crying.
There was a pause — just long enough to carry a mother's worry through the line — and then her voice came, filled with tension, fear, and that particular sharpness only mothers have when love disguises itself as anger.
> "Sam? Where are you?! Why aren't you in the hostel?"
I took a breath. Not defensive. Not afraid. Just… tired.
> "I went to see Mon," I said, simply.
The line went quiet again, and I could almost hear the thousand thoughts racing through her mind.
> "Mon?" she repeated, more gently now. "So… did you meet her?"
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of that one question.
Did I meet her?
Yes. But not the way I had hoped.
Not the way I had imagined on all those sleepless nights.
Still, I answered:
> "Yes, Mom. I did."
Another silence.
But it wasn't the same as before. This one felt thoughtful — like she knew there was more to the story, but she wasn't going to push.
Instead, she asked the next thing a mother always does:
> "When are you coming back?"
I looked at the closed window, the rain streaking down the glass like the tears I'd already shed. My voice was steady, though my heart wasn't.
> "Tomorrow. I'll be back at the hostel tomorrow."
There was a soft sigh of relief on the other end — one that made something in my chest unclench.
> "Sam… wherever you go, at least tell me. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"
I nodded instinctively, even though she couldn't see me.
> "I know, Mom. I'm sorry."
I really was.
Sorry for not calling. Sorry for shutting down. Sorry for carrying the weight of this alone when all she ever asked was to share it with me.
> "I'll be more careful next time," I added, my voice quieter now. "I promise."
There was a moment of stillness, and then I heard her voice — softer, calmer, almost like a whisper meant to wrap around me.
> "I just want you to be safe, Sam. That's all. You're my daughter — and even when you don't tell me everything, I still feel it. I know something's hurting you."
That cracked something open in me again.
Because she did know.
Mothers always do.
Even when we hide our pain behind laughter. Even when we turn off our phones. Even when we lie and say, "I'm fine."
They still know.
> "I'm okay," I whispered — not because it was true, but because it was what I needed her to believe right now.
> "I'll see you soon."
There was love in her goodbye. Warm. Unconditional.
> "I love you, Sam."
> "I love you too, Mom."
And just like that, the call ended. But the feeling remained.
For the first time in what felt like ages…
I didn't feel lost. I didn't feel invisible.
That one voice — steady and familiar — had reached through the chaos and reminded me of who I still was.
A daughter.
Still loved. Still needed. Still someone's entire world.
Even when mine felt like it had fallen apart.
"Lightning Outside, Storm Within"
The rain hadn't stopped.
Outside, the storm was still raging — loud, wild, angry — as if the sky itself was trying to mirror the wreckage inside me.
Thunder cracked like broken promises, and lightning tore across the dark clouds, its flash illuminating the window for a brief second before plunging the world back into shadows.
I was lying in bed, curled beneath the warm blanket Hannah's mother had given me, finally starting to drift into sleep. My eyes were heavy, my mind exhausted. I had cried enough. Thought enough. Broken enough. All I wanted now was to escape — even if just for a few hours of sleep.
But just as I was slipping away, my phone lit up again — vibrating urgently in the quiet room.
My heart skipped a beat.
For a moment, I hesitated, afraid it might be another ghost from the past calling to hurt me all over again.
But then I saw the name:
Mahi.
I answered immediately.
> "Hello?" I said, my voice groggy, barely a whisper above the rain.
But on the other side, her voice came in like a storm of its own — panicked, breathless, shaken.
> "Sam! Where the hell are you?
Do you even know how worried we've been?!"
I sat up straight, the blanket falling off my shoulders as her words hit me like a slap.
> "Aarvi didn't bring her phone. My battery died. And you — you just vanished, Sam!
We had no idea where you were. You came here to meet Mon, right?
But Mon said… you never even came!"
I blinked. The air left my lungs.
> "What…?" I whispered.
> "Yeah," Mahi continued, still frantic.
"We tried calling from another number, but her phone's in the repair shop.
There was no one at her place. No one to help.
No one who had seen you.
We waited, searched the streets, checked back at the garden—nothing.
Sam… where did you go?"
I felt the blood drain from my face.
> "Mahi…" I said slowly.
"There was no one at Mon's house.
The door was locked. I didn't knock.
But… I saw her.
She was in the backyard… with Ashwin."
There was a long silence on the other end.
Then, in a stunned voice, Mahi said,
> "That's not possible."
> "What do you mean?" I asked, confusion and a creeping coldness wrapping around my heart.
> "Mon was out running errands earlier," Mahi explained.
"She said she came back, and the house was quiet — empty.
She has no idea you were even here.
She never saw you.
Ashwin hasn't even been in town lately…"
I froze. Completely.
> "You mean… there was no one at her house?" I asked again, voice trembling.
> "No," Mahi confirmed softly now.
"She's alone."
And just like that… the pieces fell into place.
The memory of that garden.
The image of Mon with Ashwin.
Her soft laugh.
The way they stood so close.
Had my mind tricked me?
Had grief, heartbreak, and fear shown me something that wasn't even real?
Or worse…
Had Mon invited him over just because she didn't want to be alone?
> Was Ashwin telling the truth all along?
Suddenly, the ache in my chest returned — sharper, deeper, darker.
Because if Mon had truly called Ashwin over when she knew I was coming…
> Then that wasn't a misunderstanding.
> That was a choice.
And choices speak louder than silence.
My hands clenched around the phone, and without another word — without even realizing it — I ended the call.
Disconnected.
Just like that.
I stared at the ceiling, my breath catching in my throat as the storm outside roared louder, as if trying to drown the thoughts racing in my head.
> Did she really betray me?
Was Ashwin right? Was I the fool the whole time?
Did Mon lie to me — again — even after knowing how much it cost me to come here?
Pain twisted inside me, deeper than anything I had felt so far.
Because betrayal from a stranger is survivable.
But betrayal from the one you loved most?
It changes you.
And in that moment, I knew something inside me had shifted.
> I could forgive mistakes.
I could forgive silence.
But this?
This was different.
This was a wound I would carry far longer than I wanted to admit.
> "She lied," I whispered to myself,
my voice breaking in the darkness.
> "She chose someone else… again.
And this time, I won't forgive her."
The tears didn't fall this time.
They had dried up, replaced by something colder.
A wall.
One I hadn't built before.
But one I knew I'd never take down again — at least not for her.
Outside, the lightning flashed again — wild, electric, furious.
But inside?
I was done crying.
To be continued…