The silence in the house wasn't just quiet—it was punishment.
Since the night of the accident, nothing felt the same. The air was heavy. The walls didn't echo anymore. And Mira… Mira didn't even recognize herself.
Her parents hadn't looked her in the eyes since they left the hospital.
They didn't need to. Their silence did all the screaming.
"You're always the one going out," her mother snapped on the second day, voice sharp and cold. "Always dragging Maya along with you."
Her father's voice came slower but hit harder. "Why couldn't you have just let her stay home that night?"
Mira didn't answer. She couldn't. What could she say? That Maya had chosen to come? That she had insisted? It didn't matter. The blame was already written in every glance, every word, every slammed door.
And she didn't fight it. Because deep down, she believed it too.
She was the reason Maya was gone.
The house was too quiet now. The scent of lavender lotion still lingered faintly in Maya's room. Her bed was untouched. Her notebooks still open on the desk. Mira avoided stepping inside unless she had to.
She started sleeping on the porch some nights, staring at the stars, hoping for some kind of answer. Or maybe just a voice in the wind. Something—anything—that told her Maya forgave her.
Sometimes, she cried so hard she couldn't breathe. But never loud enough for anyone to hear. She didn't want their pity. She didn't deserve it.
Even school felt like a punishment.
She wore her uniform perfectly, her hair tied up neatly like Maya used to do it. Walked the halls quietly, never looking anyone in the eye. Some students glanced at her in confusion, whispering under their breath.
"Is that Mira or…?"
"Wait, is she the one who died, or the one that survived?"
It happened more than once. Teachers paused when taking roll. Her friends hesitated before approaching. Everything about her was off. Distant. Cold. Even her voice had changed—if she spoke at all.
She had become a ghost in her own life.
Jay tried to talk to her one afternoon near the lockers. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, eyes heavy with regret.
"Mira… can we talk?"
She didn't respond. Just kept walking.
He followed her. "I didn't mean for things to turn out like this. I never wanted to come between you two."
She stopped in her tracks.
"You didn't," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I did."
He stepped closer. "That's not true. You can't blame yourself—"
"Yes, I can." Her voice cracked. "If I hadn't begged her to come with me. If I hadn't argued. If I hadn't—if I hadn't been so stubborn. She would still be here."
Jay's face fell. He didn't know what to say.
She turned, eyes welling up. "And now you're here. What? You want to comfort me? Date me? After everything? That's why she felt alone."
"That's not what this is," he said quickly. "I just… I'm sorry."
She walked away before he could finish.
Back at home, things finally broke.
It was late. Mira had crept out to the porch again, curled up on the steps in the cold. She was staring at nothing, her arms wrapped around her knees, her sister's necklace cold against her chest.
She didn't even hear the door open behind her.
"Mira…" It was her mother's voice, softer this time.
Mira didn't look up.
Her father joined a moment later. "We were wrong," he said. "We shouldn't have said those things to you."
She blinked, staring straight ahead.
Her mother knelt beside her. "We're hurting. All of us. But that doesn't mean we get to lose you too."
Her father's voice broke. "You're the only one we have left now."
Tears spilled down Mira's cheeks before she could stop them.
"I would've taken her place," she said, trembling. "I should've been the one."
And then, for the first time since the accident, they reached out.
Her mother wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. Her father joined moments later. And for the first time, they wept together. No more blaming. No more silence.
Just pain. And love. And grief.
That night, Mira lay on Maya's bed for the first time. She stared at the ceiling, fingers lightly touching the silver necklace around her neck.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
The room stayed still.
But she could feel it.
The beginning of something she couldn't name yet.
And even though she didn't know it—Maya was already on her way back.