Fragments Of Crystals

The sun had not yet fully risen over the sprawling city of Mumbai, but already the sky was transitioning, shifting from the deep purple of night to the soft blue of the approaching morning. The rooftops below stretched as far as the eye could see, a maze of buildings and narrow streets. Somewhere below, the faint sound of honking cars and the murmur of early risers waking up started to break the silence, but up on the rooftop of the Kumar residence, there was nothing but stillness.

Aarav stood there, his figure silhouetted against the pale light of dawn. His feet were planted firmly on the concrete floor of the rooftop, his body slightly hunched over, elbows resting against the cold steel railing. He stood at the edge, gazing out over the city. The scene was nothing new to him, yet there was something about this particular moment—the cool wind ruffling his dark hair, the almost surreal quiet of the early morning—that made it feel different, more intense.

Aarav's appearance seemed to reflect the solitude he had built for himself over the years. His hair, a chaotic mess of dark, spiked tufts, framed his face. It was as though each strand had its own life, refusing to settle or be tamed. His skin was pale, contrasting sharply with the darkness of the world around him. His almond-shaped eyes, striking and intense, shone a vivid blue—an unusual shade, rare enough to be noticed, but cold enough to make anyone hesitate before looking too long into them. His gaze was piercing, even when it was directed elsewhere. When people looked at Aarav, they often felt like they were being seen—really seen—by someone who had a way of staring into the core of things.

His clothes mirrored his mood: all black, as if he had made a deliberate choice to blend into the shadows of the world. A loose black hoodie hung from his frame, the sleeves pushed up, revealing toned arms. His black jeans, well-fitted but not tight, completed the look. The simple, monochromatic outfit made him seem both distant and somehow effortlessly cool. But the truth was, his clothes weren't a statement. They were just what he wore, the same uniform he had worn for years, a way to shield himself from the world, to disappear into the quiet of his thoughts.

Aarav's eyes remained fixed on the horizon as he lost himself in the thoughts swirling around his mind. Despite the apparent peace of the moment, his mind was anything but still. His thoughts were a constant whirl, a mix of frustration, confusion, and longing. At 17, he had already surpassed many people in intelligence, but there was an emptiness inside him—a void that he couldn't seem to fill. He had been gifted with an extraordinary mind, but the more he understood about the world, the less he seemed to connect with it. His genius had made him an outsider, and no matter how hard he tried to blend in, it was always there—the disconnection, the difference that separated him from everyone else.

He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the cool breeze brush against his face, the quiet moments offering him a rare sense of peace. He was alone here. Alone, just the way he liked it.

But it wasn't long before the peace was interrupted.

The soft click of the door to the rooftop opening behind him reached Aarav's ears, followed by the faint sound of footsteps. Aarav didn't need to look to know who it was. He had recognized the steps, the rhythm, the way they moved. It was Anna. She was the only one who ever dared to intrude on his solitary moments without making him feel cornered.

He didn't turn around, not at first. He didn't have to. He could feel her presence, the way she entered the space with a quiet certainty, never imposing but always present. Anna had a way of moving through the world, through spaces, as if she understood them better than anyone else. She wasn't loud, she didn't demand attention, but when she was there, it felt like the world had subtly shifted to make room for her.

"Up early again?" Her voice was soft, gentle, but there was a warmth in it that made Aarav's rigid posture soften, even if just for a moment.

Aarav didn't respond right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, his eyes still trained on the distant skyline. The faint light of the city's waking hours reflected in his eyes, but his face remained a mask of quiet indifference. He didn't need to speak. His silence was a language in itself, one that Anna understood all too well.

After a moment, he muttered, "I always am."

His voice was quiet, almost too quiet, but Anna caught the slight edge to it. She knew that his responses were rarely more than simple acknowledgments—sometimes, even less than that. She didn't mind. She wasn't here for the answers. She was here for him, for whatever small pieces of truth he might offer, no matter how guarded he was.

"I see," Anna replied, her gaze softening. She stepped closer to him, but not too close. She knew better than to push. Aarav had always been someone who kept the world at arm's length, and even though she had known him for years, she had never been able to change that. She could only exist within the space he allowed her, and for some reason, she didn't mind.

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft whisper of the wind and the faint hum of the city far below. Aarav felt Anna's presence beside him, but she wasn't overwhelming him. She wasn't trying to draw him out. She simply existed next to him, a quiet force of nature, as if her mere being was enough to settle the storm in his chest, even for a little while.

Anna's eyes, a soft shade of hazel, flicked toward him. She had always admired the way Aarav could appear so distant, so aloof, and yet there was an undeniable depth in his gaze. Even when he wasn't speaking, his eyes told stories—stories he never shared with anyone. His silence was a language all its own, a puzzle that only Anna seemed to understand. She didn't ask him to explain himself. She didn't expect him to open up the way most people did. Instead, she allowed him to be exactly who he was, even if that meant silence.

"You know," Anna began, her voice a little softer this time, "you don't have to do everything alone."

Aarav turned slightly, but only enough to catch the edge of her face in his peripheral vision. She wasn't looking at him directly yet, but he could feel the sincerity in her words.

"I'm not alone," he replied, though the words felt almost foreign as they left his mouth. It was true, in some ways—he had his family, he had Anna. But in another sense, it felt like the loneliest place in the world. "I just prefer it this way."

Anna smiled faintly, a knowing expression in her eyes. She had seen this before—the way he pushed people away, the way he hid himself in his thoughts. She had come to understand that Aarav didn't like to be seen, didn't like to be vulnerable. But she also knew that his silence wasn't an invitation for her to leave. It was simply him, struggling in his own way to make sense of the world around him.

"You know," she said again, taking another step closer to him, "there's no need to keep everything locked away. Not with me."

Aarav's lips parted slightly as if he were about to respond, but then he closed them again, the words dying on his tongue. His thoughts were a mess, and his feelings even more so. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he didn't know how to put into words. But even as he stood there, unable to speak, Anna seemed to understand him in ways no one else ever had.

"I don't need to be understood," Aarav said finally, his voice low. He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. "I just need space. To think. To breathe."

Anna regarded him thoughtfully. She didn't take offense to his words. She didn't even feel hurt by the coldness in his tone. She understood that he wasn't rejecting her. He was rejecting the world, rejecting the expectations placed upon him. And she wasn't about to leave him to bear that weight alone, even if all she could offer was quiet company.

"You're allowed to be more than your thoughts, Aarav," she said, her voice steady, soft, but firm. "You're allowed to be everything you are, without the pressure of perfection."

Aarav turned toward her then, his eyes catching hers, and for the briefest moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crack just a little. It wasn't much, but it was something. He didn't speak, but he didn't look away either. For the first time, it felt like there was a kind of understanding between them, an unspoken agreement that he didn't have to hide from her. Not today.

Aarav stood still, his gaze still locked with Anna's, but there was something different in his expression now. The usual coldness that often defined his face seemed to soften, just for a moment. It was as though, for the first time, he didn't feel like he had to hold himself so tightly together, like he didn't have to maintain his usual walls.

His lips parted slightly, almost as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he let out a long, slow breath, his chest rising and falling with the quiet effort of processing his thoughts. He glanced away, breaking eye contact, and stared out once more at the early morning horizon.

Anna didn't push him to speak. She knew better than anyone that Aarav's silence wasn't something to fear, but rather something to respect. He needed his space, and sometimes, the best way to communicate with him was to allow him to sit with his own thoughts. But she couldn't leave it like this, not after everything they had been through together. She couldn't simply let him retreat back into himself without trying to reach him in some way, even if it was only through a few words.

"You know, you're allowed to be vulnerable," Anna said softly, stepping closer again, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to ground him with the warmth of her words. "I don't want you to feel like you have to be perfect all the time, Aarav."

Aarav stiffened at the mention of perfection. The word was like a sting, hitting too close to home. He clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white from the tension. It wasn't just about the world's expectations of him; it was his own expectations, the pressure he placed on himself to never falter, to always be more than anyone could imagine.

"I don't—" Aarav began, but the words trailed off. He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. He turned back toward Anna, his jaw tightening. "I don't know how to be anything else. I've never known how."

Anna's eyes softened with understanding. She could see the struggle in his expression, the way the weight of his own genius seemed to suffocate him at times. She knew better than anyone that being exceptional came with its own unique burdens. Aarav's mind, sharp and brilliant as it was, was also a prison at times—a place where he held himself to standards that no one could ever live up to.

"You don't have to carry it all alone," she said again, her voice lower now, filled with an emotion that wasn't just concern but something deeper—something almost like affection. "You're not alone, Aarav. Not with me."

The words hung in the air, a simple but powerful declaration. Anna didn't expect him to respond immediately. She didn't even expect him to fully absorb the words. But she wanted him to hear them, even if only in passing. The truth was, Anna had been a quiet but constant presence in Aarav's life for years. She had seen him through his silence, through his walls, and through all the struggles that he never voiced. And she had never once pushed him to be anything other than who he was.

Aarav's eyes flicked to her once more, but this time, he didn't look away. There was a flicker of something in his gaze—a crack in the wall he had built, the smallest hint that maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to shut her out. But it was fleeting, like a brief moment of clarity before the fog of his own thoughts overtook it.

"I'm not like everyone else," he finally said, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were confessing a truth he had never said out loud before. "I don't... I can't just... be normal. I don't fit in with anyone."

Anna felt a pang in her chest at the vulnerability in his voice. She stepped closer, just enough to close the physical gap between them without forcing him to retreat. She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder—tentatively at first, but then with more assurance as she saw no sign of resistance from him.

"You don't have to fit in," she said, her voice soft and steady. "You're not meant to. But you don't have to carry that weight alone either."

Aarav's eyes flicked down to her hand on his shoulder, and for a brief moment, he tensed, as if unsure of how to react. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts—questions, doubts, fears—all clashing together. But there was something about Anna's presence, her unwavering support, that made him hesitate. He wasn't used to being touched like this, not in such a simple, unassuming way. It wasn't a demand, it wasn't a comfort, but it was real. It grounded him.

"Why do you care?" Aarav asked, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the question that had been gnawing at him for as long as he could remember. Why did she care when he was so determined to push everyone away? Why did Anna keep showing up, day after day, when it would have been so much easier to walk away, to let him remain as unreachable as he wanted to be?

Anna looked at him, her gaze steady and kind. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in her response. She had been asked this question before, and she would answer it again, for as long as Aarav needed to hear it.

"Because you're not just someone I have to care for, Aarav," she said softly, the sincerity in her voice ringing true. "You're someone I want to care for. You're my family."

Aarav's breath caught in his throat, the weight of her words settling over him. Family. The word hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, it was almost too much to bear. He had always known that Anna was more than just his stepmother; she had been a constant in his life, someone who had always seen him for who he was, even when he couldn't understand himself.

But still, he couldn't bring himself to fully accept it—not yet. The walls he had built around himself were not easily torn down, no matter how much he wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of his isolation.

"You're... not like anyone else," he said, his voice thick with something Anna couldn't quite place. "Why do you keep... why do you stay?"

Anna didn't say anything at first. She simply stood there, watching him, allowing him the time he needed to process his emotions. There was no rush, no urgency. Aarav's journey was his own, and she would be there for every step of it, no matter how long it took.

"I stay because you matter," she said quietly. "And that's enough for me."

Aarav closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in deeper than he cared to admit. He didn't know what to say, didn't know how to respond. His mind felt like a storm, but something in Anna's voice, in the steady comfort of her presence, seemed to calm the chaos inside him.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to do this alone.

Aarav remained still, his heart hammering in his chest, but for once, he didn't feel the overwhelming rush of panic that typically followed any vulnerable moment. Anna's words hung in the air like a soft anchor, keeping him grounded. He had spent his whole life trying to understand everything—trying to control everything, his emotions, his actions, his future. But Anna, without pushing him, had given him a brief glimpse of a possibility he didn't know how to reach. A reality where he didn't have to be perfect, where it was okay to be broken, or confused, or not know the right answers.

He exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling, and finally turned to face her completely. There was something in his gaze now, something almost... softer, though still guarded.

"Do you... ever wish I could just... be normal?" Aarav asked, his voice quieter, almost to the point of being uncertain. It was the kind of question he had never dared to ask before, because in his mind, it always sounded like an admission of weakness. But right now, with Anna here, standing beside him—calm, steady, and unflinching—he felt it might not be such a terrible thing to ask. Maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that didn't want to be a genius all the time. He didn't want to be the outlier, the one who had to hide his feelings behind perfection.

Anna took a step closer to him, her eyes full of understanding. She had seen the cracks in him that he so desperately tried to hide, and she knew better than anyone how heavy the expectations could weigh on him. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she let the silence between them stretch, a comforting one, before she finally spoke.

"Normal?" she repeated softly, as though savoring the word. "What does 'normal' even mean, Aarav? For someone like you, there's no such thing as 'normal.' You're exceptional, and that's not something you should ever apologize for."

Aarav's brow furrowed slightly at her words. He had always been told that being exceptional was something to be proud of, but sometimes, he felt it was more of a burden. A curse. People expected things from him, and worse, they compared him to others, constantly holding him to standards that were impossible to meet. No one could truly understand him. He didn't belong anywhere, not even in his own skin.

"I don't know how to be anything else," Aarav muttered, almost to himself, his voice barely audible against the rising hum of the morning.

Anna watched him carefully, her expression a mixture of empathy and compassion. She placed her hand gently on his arm, a soft touch that was meant to offer comfort but not push too hard. She understood that Aarav wasn't ready to change overnight—that this wasn't a problem that could be solved in one conversation. But she hoped that, bit by bit, he would learn to let go of the idea that he had to carry the world alone.

"You don't have to be anything other than what you are," Anna said with unwavering certainty. "You don't have to be perfect, Aarav. You just have to be yourself, and that's more than enough for me."

Aarav's eyes flickered to hers, and for a brief moment, he felt something like relief. It was as if the walls inside him had cracked, just a little, allowing a sliver of light through. But it didn't last long. His insecurities rushed back, faster than he could process them. He wasn't good at accepting kindness, at letting people in. It was easier to shut down than to acknowledge the warmth Anna was offering.

He pulled his arm away gently, taking a small step back, his body language shifting back to the usual cold distance he kept so carefully constructed. His eyes became harder, his face a little more guarded.

"I don't know if I can ever be what you want me to be," Aarav said flatly, his voice colder than before. "I don't know if I can let anyone in."

Anna didn't flinch. She had heard his words before. She had seen him pull away countless times, only to slowly inch back to her in his own time. She had never tried to force him to change, never tried to rush him. Instead, she simply offered him the space he needed, and right now, he needed distance.

"Maybe I don't want you to be anything different," she replied softly, her voice steady. "Maybe I'm not asking you to change, Aarav. I just want you to know that you don't have to face everything on your own. Not anymore."

Aarav's eyes flickered toward the ground for a moment, his jaw tightening. It was as if he was fighting against something deep inside himself—something that told him to trust her, to let go of his guard, and just let someone in. He wanted to. He longed to. But every instinct in him screamed to stay locked away in his fortress of solitude.

"I don't know if I can," he said, his voice barely a whisper now, betraying the hesitation he couldn't hide.

Anna smiled softly, a small but genuine smile that reached her eyes. She stepped back just a fraction, giving him the space he needed, but there was something reassuring in the way she looked at him. She wasn't angry or disappointed. She simply understood.

"You don't have to know right now," she said with a soft laugh, a note of warmth in her voice. "I'm not going anywhere, Aarav. You're not alone. And that's enough for now."

Aarav said nothing. He stood there, looking at her, unsure of what to make of her words. He wasn't ready to open up fully, but something inside him—something small, almost imperceptible—shifted. The idea that he didn't have to carry everything on his own, that he wasn't expected to be perfect, that he could just be Aarav for once, was a thought that lingered in his mind.

But for now, he remained silent, his expression unreadable as he gazed out at the horizon again. Anna didn't push him. She simply stood with him, letting him process in his own time.

They stood together on the rooftop, the early morning light casting long shadows across the city below. The hum of the city was quiet here, far removed from the noise of the world. It was just the two of them, sharing a space that felt, for the first time in a long time, safe.

Aarav's heart still raced, but it wasn't from fear anymore. It was from something else—something like hope, though he wasn't ready to acknowledge it yet.

Anna waited. And for the first time, Aarav didn't feel the need to pull away. Not just yet.