When they broke the surface of the lake, the world had changed.
The rain wasn't angry anymore. It fell softly, like an apology whispered across time. The storm clouds were still there, but quiet — not threatening, just heavy with the past they'd finally acknowledged.
Ruhan was the first to speak, though the words caught in his throat. "You're real," he said to Aarya, voice trembling.
Aarya smiled, brushing hair out of her face, soaked but radiant. "You never stopped believing I was, even when you told yourself you did."
Dev laughed — a low, shaking sound, part joy, part disbelief. "We're all going to get grounded, you know. If this was still 2012."
Samaya rolled her eyes, shivering beside him. "If this was 2012, I'd still be scared of frogs and homework deadlines."
They all laughed. Even Aarya.
But beneath the laughter was something deeper — a silence that hummed with understanding. They had all carried a version of that night inside them. Alone. Quietly. And now, finally, it wasn't just theirs anymore.
They returned to the shore barefoot, leaving a trail of wet footprints in the mud. Ruhan paused by the red guitar case and bent to touch it.
"You remembered," he whispered to it.
Aarya glanced down, eyes soft. "I played it once. After the storm. Alone. I thought if I played the right chords, someone would come find me."
Ruhan looked up. "I heard you. In a dream."
"No," she said gently. "It wasn't a dream. You just weren't listening clearly yet."
That night, they didn't go home.
They stayed in the lighthouse.
Dev found dry matches. Samaya lit a small fire in a metal bucket. Aarya passed out the remnants of old snacks — some stale biscuits from her backpack, and a half-eaten chocolate bar that had somehow survived the water.
They sat in a circle, backs against the stone walls, eyes on the flickering flame.
And they talked.
Really talked.
Not about the event, not just about the memory — but about who they'd become since.
Samaya spoke about her fear of becoming someone who always left first.
Dev admitted he had convinced himself he didn't matter enough to be missed.
Aarya said she forgave them a long time ago, but couldn't forgive herself for letting go.
Ruhan said nothing at first. Then he murmured, "I spent years forgetting. Because remembering made my chest hurt. And I thought pain was weakness."
He looked around. "But now I know — remembering was the only way to bring you all back."
The wind outside slowed.
And for the first time in a long, long while —
the bell in the lighthouse was silent.
Not because it had nothing to say.
But because it had finally been heard.
Ruhan leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Samaya fell asleep first, mouth slightly open.
Dev curled up, guitar case at his feet.
Aarya watched them one by one, then whispered into the shadows:
"We're whole again."
And somewhere far away,
the rain began to fall in rhythm with their breathing —
not as grief,
but as a lullaby.