The silence after the voice recording wasn't peaceful. It buzzed...just like the room itself had static built into its walls.
Arwa stared at the screen, its glow painting soft shadows under her eyes. She hadn't moved since the last word had faded. Not even a twitch...Like she was frozen mid-thought, mid-breath, mid-life.
Zayaan didn't ask if she was okay. She hated that question. He'd learned that early...in the kind of way you learn things when you're paying attention to someone you care about.
Instead, he waited.
And when she finally spoke... her voice sounded like it had crawled up from the bottom of a well.
"I knew that voice," she said. "But not just because it's mine."
She looked at him.
"It's like hearing yourself say something you never remember saying… but somehow, you know exactly what version of you meant it."
He nodded once. "Split memory."
Arwa's head tilted slightly. "You think there were… versions of me?"
"I think whoever erased you didn't do it in one clean sweep. I think they fractured you instead. Left pieces behind on purpose or by accident. Either way, some part of you fought back."
She closed her eyes, jaw flexing, but not out of frustration.
Out of control.
Because it felt like control was slipping — like these memories weren't just resurfacing… they were rewriting the present.
"That audio," she said, voice tighter now. "I didn't just hear it. I remembered being in that room. I remembered—"
She cut herself off.
Zayaan leaned forward. Not pushing, just anchoring.
"Say it."
Arwa opened her eyes.
"I remembered… pain. But not from what they did. From what I asked them to do. Like I chose it."
He didn't answer right away. Let the words settle.
"You think you agreed to be erased?"
Arwa's voice barely made it past her lips. "No… I think I begged for it."
The air felt colder suddenly. Or maybe just thinner.
Zayaan rubbed a hand over his face, then looked at her. Carefully.
"You said before… 'they never meant for me to remember.' What if they didn't mean for you to survive at all?"
Arwa didn't blink.
"That's what I'm starting to believe."
She stood, suddenly needing motion. The stillness was pressing down too hard.
"There's another voice on that file. Not in the foreground, but underneath. Like a whisper. You heard it too, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"I'll isolate it."
"No," she said quickly. "Not yet."
He watched her closely. "Why?"
Arwa turned toward him slowly, her expression unreadable, but something in her eyes had shifted again — that flicker of the girl who once knew things she shouldn't have, the girl who had been dangerous before she was broken.
"Because I already know who it is."
She didn't say the name.
Not yet.
But it rang in her chest like an echo, louder than anything the file had held.
And Zayaan saw it in her face — that edge of grief tangled with fury. Whoever it was… they hadn't just been part of her past.
They'd been close.
Too close.