To Forget and Be Forgotten

Seren watched Kavitha hesitate at the door and felt something tight loosen in her chest.

The girl had just spilled pieces of herself she probably hadn’t shared with anyone. And instead of running, she was still here.

Seren made a decision before she could talk herself out of it.

“If you are free today,” she said quietly, “why don’t you walk home with me?”

Kavitha blinked, clearly surprised. For a second Seren thought she might refuse. But then the young woman gave a small nod.

“I’d like that.”

They left the college grounds together as the evening light turned soft and golden. The streets were still busy with students and cyclists, but the noise felt distant. Seren kept a respectable distance between them - close enough to talk, far enough that no one would look twice.

For the first few minutes they walked in silence.

Then Kavitha spoke.

“Can I… talk more about the matter?”

Seren glanced at her. “Of course.”

Kavitha took a breath, as if gathering courage.

“After college, I don’t usually go straight home. I go to the outskirts - a small settlement where many Dalit families live. I teach basic literacy there. Reading, writing, simple arithmetic. A few trusted friends help when they can, but most days it’s just me.”

She looked down at the road as they walked.

“I started doing it after my brother died. I kept thinking… if the world had treated him like a person instead of machinery, maybe he wouldn’t have broken. And then I realized how many people are treated the same way - invisible, disposable. So I decided that if I couldn’t fix everything, I could at least give a few people the tools to speak for themselves.”

Her voice grew quieter.

“My parents don’t know. They think I stay back for extra studies. If they found out I was teaching Dalits… I don’t know what they would do.”

Seren listened without interrupting, her hands clasped behind her back. Every word Kavitha spoke carried the sharp edge of someone who had been quietly furious for years.

When Kavitha finished, she let out a shaky laugh.

“I have a few trusted friends, but they weren’t there yesterday when I needed to talk. So… thank you, Professor. For addressing me even when you didn’t have to.”

Seren was quiet for a long moment.

“You don’t need to thank me,” she said finally. “Sometimes people just need someone willing to listen. I’ve… been in positions where no one was.”

Kavitha glanced at her curiously, but didn’t push.

They continued walking. The streets grew narrower as they moved away from the main college area. Seren found herself studying the young woman beside her - the determined set of her shoulders, the way she held her head high despite carrying so much.

She’s so much like you already, Seren thought. And she has no idea.

The thought brought both warmth and a familiar ache. She had promised herself she wouldn’t get close again. And yet here she was, walking beside the girl she had searched fifteen years to find, letting the conversation pull her in deeper.

“You’re doing something important,” Seren said after a while. “Dangerous, maybe. But important. Don’t let anyone make you feel ashamed of that.”

Kavitha gave her a small, grateful smile.

They reached the quiet street where Kavitha’s house stood. The sun had almost set, painting the walls in soft orange light.

Kavitha stopped at the gate.

“This is me,” she said softly.

Seren nodded. She made no move to come closer.

“Thank you again,” Kavitha said. “For today. For everything.”

She lifted her hand in a small wave.

Seren returned it.

“Be safe”

Kavitha lingered for half a second longer, then turned and walked through the gate.

Seren stood there until the door closed behind her. Only then did she let out a long, slow breath.

She turned and began walking back the way they had come, the evening shadows stretching long behind her.

Kavitha.

The name felt heavier every time she thought it.

And despite every warning screaming in the back of her mind, Seren knew she wasn’t going to stop.