Later that evening, while suitcases clicked shut ahead of the trip home to Punjab, Shwetha slipped inside with her mother’s cell phone clutched in hand.

  "What are you doing with Amma's phone?" Dhanya hissed.

  "It's for you," Shwetha said, her eyes dancing. "Akhil is on the line. He says someone needs to talk to you."

  Dhanya grabbed the phone, pulse racing. Hello? she said

  "Hi, Dhanya. It’s Akhil. Someone here has been very 'disturbed' since he saw you in the garden today. He didn't get a chance to spend time with you."

  A shape shifted on the other end of the line. Out poured a tone heavier, slower, less sure-footed than George had been.

  "Hello? Do you remember me?"

  Dhanya paused, her breath catching. "I’m sorry... I don’t recognize the voice."

  "It’s Franklin."

  Her breath caught. That quiet boy in the corner came back to her - the one hanging out with others, never needing attention.

  "Hi... how are you?" she stammered.

  Franklin spoke softly, almost stumbling. "I only meant… I needed to hear you talk." A pause stretched between them, thick and uneasy. Chasing someone down? That wasn’t his way - never had been, unlike how his brother moved through life. Then came the question: How was school back in Punjab? His words faded, hanging low, caught on the rhythm of her reply.

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  Then, Akhil grabbed the phone back, laughing loudly. "Listen, Dhanya! Franklin has been a mess since he saw you. He was too shy to talk to you in person, so I had to make this happen. Don't forget us when you go back to the North, okay?"

  Dhanya set the phone down, eyes fixed on its screen. Her gaze shifted to Shwetha - cheeks warming at memories of that drive with Akhil.

  One summer, Dhanya crossed paths with someone powerful in Punjab, then a schemer in George - now, Franklin’s soft attention lingered like music after the song ended. Staring through glass at falling rain in Kerala, her thoughts stretched beyond ninth grade and Vikram’s shadow. What stayed with her was not conflict, but distance carrying fragments of a voice hoping only to catch hers again.