samaira

This short trip was worth me getting yelled at by my boss. Oh god, imagine the horror when sam finds out! Your face when you saw the fairy lights was everything 😭🤍

I'm still laughing about that shopkeeper who thought we were sisters, and the fact that you almost bought half the market.

Definitely one of the best impulsive decisions we've made all month. Next time, we're taking Sam's wallet too.😉

You looked adorable, by the way. Don't let it get to your head. 😏

Its Dr. Yalina Jamali now!!!!

HEART IS BURSTING OUT OF MY CHEST

​I used to be the one watching your life through blurry screenshots, but standing here today, seeing you walk across that stage was way better than any book I've ever read. You finally did it, Sam.

and regardless, i'm noticing that there are new fics w/low engagements ( i also do not have time to read them because im busy w my finals, i remember i've told so many people that i'll binge their works after my finals ) but y'all who are active, please ineract !! you cant be complaining that fandom is dying and not interact w/ the content !! if you don't like it fine, but if you made it to the end, even commenting emojis can mean a lot !! in my last post so many people said they aren't leaving and i'm so fucking glad, ofc i miss the ones who left, but there's a lot of us !! if we keep on saying fandom is dying its just gonna discourage a lot of ppl who do want to join. and fandom isnt always fics, its also edits, memes etc etc so interact w them too!!

'The Ultimate Power of the real Sher-E-Baloch!!

Come and get it ladies

🥵😵‍💫🔥❤️‍🔥

WHY IS NOBODY TALKING ABOUT THE WATCH THOUGH???

​baarishein aur ghar ki raah

​I’ve spent so long building walls that I forgot they work both ways—they didn't just keep you out, they locked me in too.

​@burgerbacchasam Keep the door unlocked. I’m bringing the silence(and kachoriyan) with me, but I think it’s time we finally started filling it with the truth.

@burgerbacchasam and you should talk... I'll let you be..

​Samaira stands there, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, clutching her phone like a lifeline. She doesn't move toward him. She doesn't even take off her damp shoes. She just stands in the foyer, her gaze fixed on the floorboards until she finally, slowly, forces her eyes upward.

​When she sees him, the air leaves her lungs in a sharp, jagged hitch.

​He’s taller. His shoulders are broader, set with a tension that wasn't there before he was sent away. The boy who used to hold her when the shouting in the other room got too loud is gone; in his place is a man with tired eyes and a face shaped by a city she doesn't know. He looks like a different person, a different story, a different Merchant.

​A single, hot tear spills over and tracks down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She doesn't move to hug him—the space between them feels like a canyon filled with two years of missed calls and "busy" excuses.

(Her voice is a broken whisper, thick with the tears she’s trying to swallow)

He stops before her, unable to believe the sight in front of him. His little sister, the apple of his eye, his favorite person in the entire world. At last, she was here, finally, in front of him again, just like before. Just like when he was home.

He remembers the first time he held her, she was so small, covered in sticky fluid, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to see her, then and now.

His fingers itched to pull her in a hug, but he didn’t know if she would appreciate it or not.

​"I didn't forget you," she chokes out, her voice barely a thread in the quiet room. "I just... I learned how to live without you. And I hated myself every single moment for being so good at it."

​She leans into the touch just a fraction—not a hug, not yet, but a surrender. She looks up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and blurring again, seeing the brother who held her when she was small through the stranger standing in front of her now.

​"You don't get to say I forgot you when I'm the one who stayed in the rooms that where your scent still lingered. The places that witnessed you, a small boy yourself, giving all the love in your heart, protecting me, loving me, raising me. I know. I know everything you went through, and yet you never stopped. You gave and gave and kept giving until you didn't, you couldn't. And that day along with you, the little girl in me died. I didn't forget. I just ran out of places to put the memories."

​She takes a jagged breath, her hand coming up to hover near his wrist, but she doesn't pull him away.

Immediately, he pulled her into a hug, he needed to feel her warmth against his chest. His little sister, God, it hurt to think how she must have managed without him. The guilt was a jagged knife dragging along his skin, he felt like he could barely breathe.

“I am so sorry.” He blurted out, as he held her close. “I never meant to leave you, and then for a few months, I felt so depressed and so alone. I didn’t call anyone, and when I tried to call, you had already given up on me.”

​"I didn't give up on you, Sam," she gasps, her voice muffled against him. "I just... I couldn't let myself hope. Every time the phone rang, I thought, 'If I answer, if I hear his voice, I’ll beg him to come back.' And I couldn't do that to you. I knew that house was a cage. I knew the air there was poison. Why would I ask you to come back to a hell you finally escaped?"

​She pulls back just enough to look at him, her face a map of years of silent devotion. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn, battered notebook—the edges frayed, the cover stained with dried coffee rings and teardrops.

​"You bought things for me? Sam... I lived for you. I have a whole drawer of letters I never sent because they were too heavy to mail. I didn't want my sadness to be the anchor that dragged you back to that hellhole."

​She opens the diary. It’s a graveyard of scraps. There’s a blurry print-out of a tagged photo from a friend’s story; a receipt from a cafe he mentioned once; a pressed flower from the park near his new apartment that she looked up on Earth Maps just to feel like she was walking beside him.

​"I wrote to you every single night. I cataloged your life like a ghost watching from the attic. I knew when you were happy because your smile changed in the photos. I knew when you were lonely because you’d post those dark cityscapes at 3 AM. I was there, Sam. I was always there, even when I was blocking your number."

​She touches a scrap of paper where she had meticulously noted down his favorite matcha place after Yalina posted it.

​"I wasn't a fighter, Sam. I was pretending to be strong. I stayed in the dark so I could watch you walk in the sun. But God... I missed you. I missed you until it felt like a part of my soul had been amputated."

​She rests her forehead against his, closing her eyes, finally letting the silence be a sanctuary instead of a prison.

Her life wasn't much different to theirs, she also spent her childhood alone, away from her parents not by choice, but because they were always too busy to be there for her. Throwing money at problems was their only solution.

She remembers the day Sam told her about his family, how cruel they had been to him and his sister and it broke her heart.

Atleast her parents didn't run away from her, she had her own moments of happiness with them but what about these two...all they had was eachother...at such an young age.

​"Yalina didi..."

​The word 'didi' feels heavy and precious on her tongue, a title she never thought she’d get to use for anyone. She reaches out a hand, gesturing for Yalina to come closer, her 'unapproachable' walls having completely crumbled to dust.

​"Please... don't stay outside the door. You’re the only reason there's even a door to walk through anymore. I spent two years writing to a ghost, but you... you actually brought the man back."

​She looks between Sam and Yalina, a teary, shaky smile finally breaking through her exhausted expression. For the first time in a decade, the 'part of her that was missing' doesn't feel like a void—it feels like it’s being filled by two people instead of one.

​"I used to think I was a nuisance in people’s stories, Yalina didi. I thought life just hated me... first my parents, then Sam. But then you showed up. You didn't just understand my silence; you heard the screaming behind it and you didn't leave."

​She takes a jagged breath, her other hand reaching out to squeeze Yalina’s, grounding herself in the warmth of the sisterhood she’s yearned for.

Yalina brings her other hand to samaira's face, moving closer to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

​"Family... I'm still not used to that word. I used to think I’d just be alone forever because it was easier than getting my hopes up. I really thought life just had it out for me, honestly."

​She looks at Yalina, her smile a little wobbly but real.

​"Thank you, Yalina didi. I mean it. I spent two years staring at Sam’s ghost, but you’re the one who actually brought him back to reality in my life. And thank you for... well, for not thinking I’m just some weird, moody stranger. I’ve never had a sister before. I think I’m going to be really bad at it at, but I want to try."

​(She looks over at Sam, her eyes still a bit watery.)

He pulls Samaira into his side again, tucking her under her shoulder, pressing featherlight a kiss to her temple, as if she might disappear again.

“You're gonna be an amazing sister." He says with a sniffle. "You’re the best sister I could ever ask for."

She wraps her arms around him again, and all he can do is hold her tight.

“We can stay like this as long as you like, okay?” He reassures. “I'm not going anywhere.”

She finally lets out a proper, tired laugh against Sam’s side. She pulls back just enough to wipe the stray tears with her sleeve, her face still red but looking a lot more like herself.

​"You're going to cook? Honestly, Sam, in every classic story, the hero has a fatal flaw—I'm pretty sure yours is your total lack of kitchen skills. Last I checked, you thought 'dicing' was a photography term."

​She looks over at Yalina and gives a small, mock-serious shrug, her voice sounding steadier now.

​"Yalina didi, I’m serious—if he tries to do anything more complicated than boiling water, we’re ordering pizza. I’ve read enough tragedies to know how a house fire starts.

​baarishein aur ghar ki raah

​I’ve spent so long building walls that I forgot they work both ways—they didn't just keep you out, they locked me in too.

​@burgerbacchasam Keep the door unlocked. I’m bringing the silence(and kachoriyan) with me, but I think it’s time we finally started filling it with the truth.

@burgerbacchasam and you should talk... I'll let you be..

​Samaira stands there, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, clutching her phone like a lifeline. She doesn't move toward him. She doesn't even take off her damp shoes. She just stands in the foyer, her gaze fixed on the floorboards until she finally, slowly, forces her eyes upward.

​When she sees him, the air leaves her lungs in a sharp, jagged hitch.

​He’s taller. His shoulders are broader, set with a tension that wasn't there before he was sent away. The boy who used to hold her when the shouting in the other room got too loud is gone; in his place is a man with tired eyes and a face shaped by a city she doesn't know. He looks like a different person, a different story, a different Merchant.

​A single, hot tear spills over and tracks down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She doesn't move to hug him—the space between them feels like a canyon filled with two years of missed calls and "busy" excuses.

(Her voice is a broken whisper, thick with the tears she’s trying to swallow)

He stops before her, unable to believe the sight in front of him. His little sister, the apple of his eye, his favorite person in the entire world. At last, she was here, finally, in front of him again, just like before. Just like when he was home.

He remembers the first time he held her, she was so small, covered in sticky fluid, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to see her, then and now.

His fingers itched to pull her in a hug, but he didn’t know if she would appreciate it or not.

​"I didn't forget you," she chokes out, her voice barely a thread in the quiet room. "I just... I learned how to live without you. And I hated myself every single moment for being so good at it."

​She leans into the touch just a fraction—not a hug, not yet, but a surrender. She looks up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and blurring again, seeing the brother who held her when she was small through the stranger standing in front of her now.

​"You don't get to say I forgot you when I'm the one who stayed in the rooms that where your scent still lingered. The places that witnessed you, a small boy yourself, giving all the love in your heart, protecting me, loving me, raising me. I know. I know everything you went through, and yet you never stopped. You gave and gave and kept giving until you didn't, you couldn't. And that day along with you, the little girl in me died. I didn't forget. I just ran out of places to put the memories."

​She takes a jagged breath, her hand coming up to hover near his wrist, but she doesn't pull him away.

Immediately, he pulled her into a hug, he needed to feel her warmth against his chest. His little sister, God, it hurt to think how she must have managed without him. The guilt was a jagged knife dragging along his skin, he felt like he could barely breathe.

“I am so sorry.” He blurted out, as he held her close. “I never meant to leave you, and then for a few months, I felt so depressed and so alone. I didn’t call anyone, and when I tried to call, you had already given up on me.”

​"I didn't give up on you, Sam," she gasps, her voice muffled against him. "I just... I couldn't let myself hope. Every time the phone rang, I thought, 'If I answer, if I hear his voice, I’ll beg him to come back.' And I couldn't do that to you. I knew that house was a cage. I knew the air there was poison. Why would I ask you to come back to a hell you finally escaped?"

​She pulls back just enough to look at him, her face a map of years of silent devotion. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn, battered notebook—the edges frayed, the cover stained with dried coffee rings and teardrops.

​"You bought things for me? Sam... I lived for you. I have a whole drawer of letters I never sent because they were too heavy to mail. I didn't want my sadness to be the anchor that dragged you back to that hellhole."

​She opens the diary. It’s a graveyard of scraps. There’s a blurry print-out of a tagged photo from a friend’s story; a receipt from a cafe he mentioned once; a pressed flower from the park near his new apartment that she looked up on Earth Maps just to feel like she was walking beside him.

​"I wrote to you every single night. I cataloged your life like a ghost watching from the attic. I knew when you were happy because your smile changed in the photos. I knew when you were lonely because you’d post those dark cityscapes at 3 AM. I was there, Sam. I was always there, even when I was blocking your number."

​She touches a scrap of paper where she had meticulously noted down his favorite matcha place after Yalina posted it.

​"I wasn't a fighter, Sam. I was pretending to be strong. I stayed in the dark so I could watch you walk in the sun. But God... I missed you. I missed you until it felt like a part of my soul had been amputated."

​She rests her forehead against his, closing her eyes, finally letting the silence be a sanctuary instead of a prison.

Her life wasn't much different to theirs, she also spent her childhood alone, away from her parents not by choice, but because they were always too busy to be there for her. Throwing money at problems was their only solution.

She remembers the day Sam told her about his family, how cruel they had been to him and his sister and it broke her heart.

Atleast her parents didn't run away from her, she had her own moments of happiness with them but what about these two...all they had was eachother...at such an young age.

​"Yalina didi..."

​The word 'didi' feels heavy and precious on her tongue, a title she never thought she’d get to use for anyone. She reaches out a hand, gesturing for Yalina to come closer, her 'unapproachable' walls having completely crumbled to dust.

​"Please... don't stay outside the door. You’re the only reason there's even a door to walk through anymore. I spent two years writing to a ghost, but you... you actually brought the man back."

​She looks between Sam and Yalina, a teary, shaky smile finally breaking through her exhausted expression. For the first time in a decade, the 'part of her that was missing' doesn't feel like a void—it feels like it’s being filled by two people instead of one.

​"I used to think I was a nuisance in people’s stories, Yalina didi. I thought life just hated me... first my parents, then Sam. But then you showed up. You didn't just understand my silence; you heard the screaming behind it and you didn't leave."

​She takes a jagged breath, her other hand reaching out to squeeze Yalina’s, grounding herself in the warmth of the sisterhood she’s yearned for.

Yalina brings her other hand to samaira's face, moving closer to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

​"Family... I'm still not used to that word. I used to think I’d just be alone forever because it was easier than getting my hopes up. I really thought life just had it out for me, honestly."

​She looks at Yalina, her smile a little wobbly but real.

​"Thank you, Yalina didi. I mean it. I spent two years staring at Sam’s ghost, but you’re the one who actually brought him back to reality in my life. And thank you for... well, for not thinking I’m just some weird, moody stranger. I’ve never had a sister before. I think I’m going to be really bad at it at, but I want to try."

​(She looks over at Sam, her eyes still a bit watery.)

​baarishein aur ghar ki raah

​I’ve spent so long building walls that I forgot they work both ways—they didn't just keep you out, they locked me in too.

​@burgerbacchasam Keep the door unlocked. I’m bringing the silence(and kachoriyan) with me, but I think it’s time we finally started filling it with the truth.

@burgerbacchasam and you should talk... I'll let you be..

​Samaira stands there, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, clutching her phone like a lifeline. She doesn't move toward him. She doesn't even take off her damp shoes. She just stands in the foyer, her gaze fixed on the floorboards until she finally, slowly, forces her eyes upward.

​When she sees him, the air leaves her lungs in a sharp, jagged hitch.

​He’s taller. His shoulders are broader, set with a tension that wasn't there before he was sent away. The boy who used to hold her when the shouting in the other room got too loud is gone; in his place is a man with tired eyes and a face shaped by a city she doesn't know. He looks like a different person, a different story, a different Merchant.

​A single, hot tear spills over and tracks down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She doesn't move to hug him—the space between them feels like a canyon filled with two years of missed calls and "busy" excuses.

(Her voice is a broken whisper, thick with the tears she’s trying to swallow)

He stops before her, unable to believe the sight in front of him. His little sister, the apple of his eye, his favorite person in the entire world. At last, she was here, finally, in front of him again, just like before. Just like when he was home.

He remembers the first time he held her, she was so small, covered in sticky fluid, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to see her, then and now.

His fingers itched to pull her in a hug, but he didn’t know if she would appreciate it or not.

​"I didn't forget you," she chokes out, her voice barely a thread in the quiet room. "I just... I learned how to live without you. And I hated myself every single moment for being so good at it."

​She leans into the touch just a fraction—not a hug, not yet, but a surrender. She looks up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and blurring again, seeing the brother who held her when she was small through the stranger standing in front of her now.

​"You don't get to say I forgot you when I'm the one who stayed in the rooms that where your scent still lingered. The places that witnessed you, a small boy yourself, giving all the love in your heart, protecting me, loving me, raising me. I know. I know everything you went through, and yet you never stopped. You gave and gave and kept giving until you didn't, you couldn't. And that day along with you, the little girl in me died. I didn't forget. I just ran out of places to put the memories."

​She takes a jagged breath, her hand coming up to hover near his wrist, but she doesn't pull him away.

Immediately, he pulled her into a hug, he needed to feel her warmth against his chest. His little sister, God, it hurt to think how she must have managed without him. The guilt was a jagged knife dragging along his skin, he felt like he could barely breathe.

“I am so sorry.” He blurted out, as he held her close. “I never meant to leave you, and then for a few months, I felt so depressed and so alone. I didn’t call anyone, and when I tried to call, you had already given up on me.”

​"I didn't give up on you, Sam," she gasps, her voice muffled against him. "I just... I couldn't let myself hope. Every time the phone rang, I thought, 'If I answer, if I hear his voice, I’ll beg him to come back.' And I couldn't do that to you. I knew that house was a cage. I knew the air there was poison. Why would I ask you to come back to a hell you finally escaped?"

​She pulls back just enough to look at him, her face a map of years of silent devotion. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn, battered notebook—the edges frayed, the cover stained with dried coffee rings and teardrops.

​"You bought things for me? Sam... I lived for you. I have a whole drawer of letters I never sent because they were too heavy to mail. I didn't want my sadness to be the anchor that dragged you back to that hellhole."

​She opens the diary. It’s a graveyard of scraps. There’s a blurry print-out of a tagged photo from a friend’s story; a receipt from a cafe he mentioned once; a pressed flower from the park near his new apartment that she looked up on Earth Maps just to feel like she was walking beside him.

​"I wrote to you every single night. I cataloged your life like a ghost watching from the attic. I knew when you were happy because your smile changed in the photos. I knew when you were lonely because you’d post those dark cityscapes at 3 AM. I was there, Sam. I was always there, even when I was blocking your number."

​She touches a scrap of paper where she had meticulously noted down his favorite matcha place after Yalina posted it.

​"I wasn't a fighter, Sam. I was pretending to be strong. I stayed in the dark so I could watch you walk in the sun. But God... I missed you. I missed you until it felt like a part of my soul had been amputated."

​She rests her forehead against his, closing her eyes, finally letting the silence be a sanctuary instead of a prison.

Her life wasn't much different to theirs, she also spent her childhood alone, away from her parents not by choice, but because they were always too busy to be there for her. Throwing money at problems was their only solution.

She remembers the day Sam told her about his family, how cruel they had been to him and his sister and it broke her heart.

Atleast her parents didn't run away from her, she had her own moments of happiness with them but what about these two...all they had was eachother...at such an young age.

​"Yalina didi..."

​The word 'didi' feels heavy and precious on her tongue, a title she never thought she’d get to use for anyone. She reaches out a hand, gesturing for Yalina to come closer, her 'unapproachable' walls having completely crumbled to dust.

​"Please... don't stay outside the door. You’re the only reason there's even a door to walk through anymore. I spent two years writing to a ghost, but you... you actually brought the man back."

​She looks between Sam and Yalina, a teary, shaky smile finally breaking through her exhausted expression. For the first time in a decade, the 'part of her that was missing' doesn't feel like a void—it feels like it’s being filled by two people instead of one.

​"I used to think I was a nuisance in people’s stories, Yalina didi. I thought life just hated me... first my parents, then Sam. But then you showed up. You didn't just understand my silence; you heard the screaming behind it and you didn't leave."

​She takes a jagged breath, her other hand reaching out to squeeze Yalina’s, grounding herself in the warmth of the sisterhood she’s yearned for.

​baarishein aur ghar ki raah

​I’ve spent so long building walls that I forgot they work both ways—they didn't just keep you out, they locked me in too.

​@burgerbacchasam Keep the door unlocked. I’m bringing the silence(and kachoriyan) with me, but I think it’s time we finally started filling it with the truth.

@burgerbacchasam and you should talk... I'll let you be..

​Samaira stands there, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, clutching her phone like a lifeline. She doesn't move toward him. She doesn't even take off her damp shoes. She just stands in the foyer, her gaze fixed on the floorboards until she finally, slowly, forces her eyes upward.

​When she sees him, the air leaves her lungs in a sharp, jagged hitch.

​He’s taller. His shoulders are broader, set with a tension that wasn't there before he was sent away. The boy who used to hold her when the shouting in the other room got too loud is gone; in his place is a man with tired eyes and a face shaped by a city she doesn't know. He looks like a different person, a different story, a different Merchant.

​A single, hot tear spills over and tracks down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She doesn't move to hug him—the space between them feels like a canyon filled with two years of missed calls and "busy" excuses.

(Her voice is a broken whisper, thick with the tears she’s trying to swallow)

He stops before her, unable to believe the sight in front of him. His little sister, the apple of his eye, his favorite person in the entire world. At last, she was here, finally, in front of him again, just like before. Just like when he was home.

He remembers the first time he held her, she was so small, covered in sticky fluid, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to see her, then and now.

His fingers itched to pull her in a hug, but he didn’t know if she would appreciate it or not.

​"I didn't forget you," she chokes out, her voice barely a thread in the quiet room. "I just... I learned how to live without you. And I hated myself every single moment for being so good at it."

​She leans into the touch just a fraction—not a hug, not yet, but a surrender. She looks up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and blurring again, seeing the brother who held her when she was small through the stranger standing in front of her now.

​"You don't get to say I forgot you when I'm the one who stayed in the rooms that where your scent still lingered. The places that witnessed you, a small boy yourself, giving all the love in your heart, protecting me, loving me, raising me. I know. I know everything you went through, and yet you never stopped. You gave and gave and kept giving until you didn't, you couldn't. And that day along with you, the little girl in me died. I didn't forget. I just ran out of places to put the memories."

​She takes a jagged breath, her hand coming up to hover near his wrist, but she doesn't pull him away.

Immediately, he pulled her into a hug, he needed to feel her warmth against his chest. His little sister, God, it hurt to think how she must have managed without him. The guilt was a jagged knife dragging along his skin, he felt like he could barely breathe.

“I am so sorry.” He blurted out, as he held her close. “I never meant to leave you, and then for a few months, I felt so depressed and so alone. I didn’t call anyone, and when I tried to call, you had already given up on me.”

​"I didn't give up on you, Sam," she gasps, her voice muffled against him. "I just... I couldn't let myself hope. Every time the phone rang, I thought, 'If I answer, if I hear his voice, I’ll beg him to come back.' And I couldn't do that to you. I knew that house was a cage. I knew the air there was poison. Why would I ask you to come back to a hell you finally escaped?"

​She pulls back just enough to look at him, her face a map of years of silent devotion. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn, battered notebook—the edges frayed, the cover stained with dried coffee rings and teardrops.

​"You bought things for me? Sam... I lived for you. I have a whole drawer of letters I never sent because they were too heavy to mail. I didn't want my sadness to be the anchor that dragged you back to that hellhole."

​She opens the diary. It’s a graveyard of scraps. There’s a blurry print-out of a tagged photo from a friend’s story; a receipt from a cafe he mentioned once; a pressed flower from the park near his new apartment that she looked up on Earth Maps just to feel like she was walking beside him.

​"I wrote to you every single night. I cataloged your life like a ghost watching from the attic. I knew when you were happy because your smile changed in the photos. I knew when you were lonely because you’d post those dark cityscapes at 3 AM. I was there, Sam. I was always there, even when I was blocking your number."

​She touches a scrap of paper where she had meticulously noted down his favorite matcha place after Yalina posted it.

​"I wasn't a fighter, Sam. I was pretending to be strong. I stayed in the dark so I could watch you walk in the sun. But God... I missed you. I missed you until it felt like a part of my soul had been amputated."

​She rests her forehead against his, closing her eyes, finally letting the silence be a sanctuary instead of a prison.

​baarishein aur ghar ki raah

​I’ve spent so long building walls that I forgot they work both ways—they didn't just keep you out, they locked me in too.

​@burgerbacchasam Keep the door unlocked. I’m bringing the silence(and kachoriyan) with me, but I think it’s time we finally started filling it with the truth.

@burgerbacchasam and you should talk... I'll let you be..

​Samaira stands there, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, clutching her phone like a lifeline. She doesn't move toward him. She doesn't even take off her damp shoes. She just stands in the foyer, her gaze fixed on the floorboards until she finally, slowly, forces her eyes upward.

​When she sees him, the air leaves her lungs in a sharp, jagged hitch.

​He’s taller. His shoulders are broader, set with a tension that wasn't there before he was sent away. The boy who used to hold her when the shouting in the other room got too loud is gone; in his place is a man with tired eyes and a face shaped by a city she doesn't know. He looks like a different person, a different story, a different Merchant.

​A single, hot tear spills over and tracks down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She doesn't move to hug him—the space between them feels like a canyon filled with two years of missed calls and "busy" excuses.

(Her voice is a broken whisper, thick with the tears she’s trying to swallow)

He stops before her, unable to believe the sight in front of him. His little sister, the apple of his eye, his favorite person in the entire world. At last, she was here, finally, in front of him again, just like before. Just like when he was home.

He remembers the first time he held her, she was so small, covered in sticky fluid, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to see her, then and now.

His fingers itched to pull her in a hug, but he didn’t know if she would appreciate it or not.

​"I didn't forget you," she chokes out, her voice barely a thread in the quiet room. "I just... I learned how to live without you. And I hated myself every single moment for being so good at it."

​She leans into the touch just a fraction—not a hug, not yet, but a surrender. She looks up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and blurring again, seeing the brother who held her when she was small through the stranger standing in front of her now.

​"You don't get to say I forgot you when I'm the one who stayed in the rooms that where your scent still lingered. The places that witnessed you, a small boy yourself, giving all the love in your heart, protecting me, loving me, raising me. I know. I know everything you went through, and yet you never stopped. You gave and gave and kept giving until you didn't, you couldn't. And that day along with you, the little girl in me died. I didn't forget. I just ran out of places to put the memories."

​She takes a jagged breath, her hand coming up to hover near his wrist, but she doesn't pull him away.

​baarishein aur ghar ki raah

​I’ve spent so long building walls that I forgot they work both ways—they didn't just keep you out, they locked me in too.

​@burgerbacchasam Keep the door unlocked. I’m bringing the silence(and kachoriyan) with me, but I think it’s time we finally started filling it with the truth.

@burgerbacchasam and you should talk... I'll let you be..

​Samaira stands there, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, clutching her phone like a lifeline. She doesn't move toward him. She doesn't even take off her damp shoes. She just stands in the foyer, her gaze fixed on the floorboards until she finally, slowly, forces her eyes upward.

​When she sees him, the air leaves her lungs in a sharp, jagged hitch.

​He’s taller. His shoulders are broader, set with a tension that wasn't there before he was sent away. The boy who used to hold her when the shouting in the other room got too loud is gone; in his place is a man with tired eyes and a face shaped by a city she doesn't know. He looks like a different person, a different story, a different Merchant.

​A single, hot tear spills over and tracks down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She doesn't move to hug him—the space between them feels like a canyon filled with two years of missed calls and "busy" excuses.

(Her voice is a broken whisper, thick with the tears she’s trying to swallow)

Solo date!

Solo dates are the only ones that don't end in a misunderstanding. I hope you enjoy the freedom 😌

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@burgerbacchasam "Busy with work"? That’s a funny way of saying you’re a professional at disappearing when people actually need you. 🙄 Some things never change, do they? You’re lucky Yalina di has more patience than I do, because I’ve seen this script before and the ending is exhausting. Do better👊🏻, or I will take her away. And yes, that IS a threat!

​Maybe you didn’t "vanish" on me, but you sure made it easy for me to feel like I didn’t have a brother anymore. Don’t act like a martyr for checking in when it’s convenient for you.

​Whether you were forced or not, the result was the same for me: I was alone.