SAANVI'S POV

I glance down from the window.

Colours fly in the air below. People laugh without hesitation, chasing each other through the courtyard, drenched in pinks and greens and joy. It’s Holi. Everyone’s soaked in celebration.

I step back into my room, the laughter outside fading behind the glass. My reflection greets me in the vanity off-white saree draped with care, a deep square neckline brushing against my collarbones, thin straps framing bare shoulders. My lips wear a soft pink tint.

I walk toward the nightstand, open the drawer, and pull out the photo frame. My thumb moves over the glass slowly. Her eyes are smiling at me in the picture, like they always do.

“Happy Holi, Mumma.” I press a kiss to her photo, trying to anchor myself before the ache takes over completely.

Just as I placed it on the table, I heard a knock. I turn and there he's, Rudra, stands at the door, dressed in white.

“What do you want?” I ask, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

He steps inside. His eyes fall on the frame beside me.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs, still staring at the frame.

I step forward, instantly placing myself between him and my mother’s photo.

“Don’t even think about eyeing my mumma. My dad would’ve punched you out of existence for that stare if he saw you looking at her like that.”

He chuckles under his breath, head tilting slightly as he shakes it. “Relax. You’re more than enough to hold my attention. I wasn’t ogling, I was admiring the face that made yours.

I cross my arms. "Save the flattery."

“Oh, by the way,” he continues, “I should probably start calling your mother mom too, right? After all, she’s my mother-in-law.”

I let out a dry laugh, scoffing. “Please. If she were alive, she wouldn’t have accepted you even as a distant relative, let alone a son-in-law.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not? What exactly is wrong with me?”

Something hits me. A memory.

“One day you’ll find your prince. Handsome like the ones in fairytales. He’ll love you gently, protect you like his whole world rests in your hands, and take you to his kingdom on a white horse just like in those cartoons you watch.”

And then there’s... him.

Six-foot-two, leaning against the wall, arms folded, biceps flexing beneath rolled-up sleeves. And those hands…strong enough to break, hold, choke. Barely-there stubble lining his jaw. Sepia eyes locked on me, a tiny mole near the corner adding to that annoyingly effortless charm, those sepia eyes don't look at you, they look through you. A teasing part of his chest peeks through the slightly opened buttons, enough to reveal the tattoo, my lipstick mark with “Wife’s claim” inked.

And let’s not forget he forced me into this marriage. Manipulated every corner of my life until I had no choice left but his.

This man is a walking, talking red flag. Dangerous in charm. Lethal in intent.

Rudra didn’t arrive on a white horse. He stormed in, tore up the fairytale, and made himself the ending.

Definitely not prince charming material.

"My mumma dreamt of having a prince for me," I say holding his gaze. "And you, Rudra… you’re a beast. And beasts don’t get princesses."

He doesn’t react the way I expect. No smirk. No dramatic sigh. Just the barest lift of his shoulders as he tilts his head, eyes still locked on mine.

“I won’t argue that,” he says with ease. “Beasts don’t get princesses.”

But then his eyes lift and lock onto mine. “They get beauty.”

The way he says it, grounded, low, like he’s stating a fact, makes something twist in my chest. Not because I believe him. But because he believes himself.

I scoff, trying to bite back the heat rising in my cheeks. “You’re not getting that either.”

His eyes flicker to the plate of colours on the bed. "It’s Holi. May I...?" he gestures. "Just a little colour?"

"You don’t get that privilege,"

“It’s our first Holi.”

“And the last,” I reply, almost too calmly. “We’re getting divorced.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’ve made my decision. This marriage was a mistake. We’re too different, Rudra. I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Don’t test me today, Pearl,” he says, stepping forward, “Not when I’m this close to crossing lines I promised myself I wouldn’t.”

“I’m not doing this,” I whisper, stepping back instinctively. “Just—why are you walking toward me?”

He doesn’t answer. His steps are slow. Intentional. Controlled. When he stops, there’s barely any space between us.

His voice turns soft. “What were you saying again? Hmm? Pearl?” The nickname drips with sarcasm.

“You’re not getting any divorce, Pearl. Fit that into that over-functioning brain of yours.”  His hand reaches up to brush a loose strand from my face and fingers graze my cheek.

I slap them away. “Don’t touch me.”

“So I can’t touch you. Can’t look at you. Can’t celebrate with you. That’s a long list of rules, don’t you think?”

“Now you’re catching on.”

“Tell me,” he says, “Is this sudden urge to run... because I’m finally starting to matter?”

I don’t answer, because I don’t have one. Not one that won’t expose me.

Something is happening to me lately. In his presence. Around his voice. His scent. The way he looks at me. And it’s not just when he’s here. It’s worse when he’s not. Even the thought of him has started to live in my mind like an echo I can’t silence.

And maybe that’s the real reason I want out. Maybe the divorce isn’t about the fights, or the silence, or the distance.

Maybe it’s because I’m afraid. Afraid that if I stay... I’ll start feeling everything I promised myself I never would. Especially for him.

I scoff. “I’m not that easy to affect.”

He just turns and heads for the door.

I breathe out, shoulders dropping, he’s finally done, I turn around, trying to calm the thudding in my chest.

But then sound of the lock slides through the room.

The fuck?! Did he just lock me inside?!

I whip around. And there he is. Still in the room. It would’ve honestly been better being locked in alone. With a ghost. Or a lizard. But not with him.

“What the hell was that?” I snap, trying to sound sharp, but I can hear my own voice shake.

He turns, “Just making sure no one comes in, while I test what I’m apparently not allowed to do with my wife.”

My mouth goes dry. Why is he talking like that? Why is he looking at me like that? Why the fuck is he walking to me like that? Maa! Og! Help!

Grabbing the colour plate off the bed, he reaches for my wrist, and walks us both to the vanity.

I stare at the mirror, confused, unsure what game he’s playing now.

“You know I didn’t let anyone put colour on me today,” He places the colour tray down on the nearby table, reaches for the red, closing his fingers around. “Because I wanted it to be you,” he finishes, holding the red in his palm.

“You called me red, your red, chaotic, dangerous, intense... but still yours.” He steps closer, the red powder in his palm catching the light like embers. “So today, I’ll colour you in what you said I am.”

I freeze. He read that? My eyes flick up to his, and before I can say a word, he nods.

“I read it,” he murmurs. “Every word.”

He walks over and takes my hand. His fingers interlace with mine, the red colour smearing across both our palms. Gently, he lifts our joined hands to his cheek, pressing my palm against his skin. His eyes don’t leave mine.

The heat of his face against my hand steals my breath. He turns his face, lets my fingers colour the other cheek too sliding down to his neck.

I pull my hand back before I lose my head. “That’s enough.” I mutter and try to move past him.

But his fingers curl around my wrist, halting me again.

“Now it’s my turn,” he says and leans in, too close for comfort.

“You’re supposed to apply colours with your hands—why are you—” The words slip away as his cheek brushes against mine.

My breath catches. His skin warm, the colour soft, and for a moment everything else fades. My hands press instinctively against his chest as I close my eyes. Then the other side of my face feels him.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, not really expecting an answer.

He turns me toward the mirror before I realise what’s happening. I blink, and there we are, my face streaked with red, his figure steady behind me.

“Look at yourself,” he says softly near my ear.

My skin tingles beneath his touch. He dips his hands into the colour again and brings them to my bare shoulders, trailing down slowly. My breath shudders. He feels it. I know he does.

“Rudra…” I rasp, unsure whether I want him to stop or not.

He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me gently into him. I feel his heartbeat against my back. His other hand lifts and brushes lightly across my collarbone, so light it almost doesn't feel real. My eyes close on their own.

Every part of me is aware of him. The way his touch lingers without pressure. The way he doesn’t rush. Then his palm slides to my waist, skin against skin, and I gasp quietly. His fingers graze near my belly, slow and careful. My body stiffens.

I grip his hand instead, grounding myself because I’m shaking.

I feel his breath on my shoulder. He shifts my hair to one side, fingers brushing the curve of my spine. Then he lifts his hand, cradling my jaw gently. His thumb caresses my skin.

“Open your eyes.”

When I do, my reflection stares back marked red across my cheeks, my collarbone, shoulders, waist. Painted completely by him.

And he’s still behind me, looking only at me.

“In the end, I’m the only one allowed to touch you, colour you, and see you like this.”

A chill runs down my back. I can’t stand this closeness.

“And not by force, Pearl,” he adds, “By your choice. By your permission. But the fact is... whether you allow it or try to deny it, it should be me.”

“I didn’t give you permission now either,” I murmur, “but you still touched me.”

“You’re not someone who stays silent. You’re fierce. A woman who knows how to hold her ground. If you truly didn’t want me to, you would’ve pushed me away. You would've slapped me, kicked me, dragged me out of the room without a second thought. Just like you did that day in the hospital… second time we met. I touched your hand, and you put me right in my place.”

I feel a twist in my chest. Because he’s right I remember that moment vividly. How fast I reacted. How instinctively I snapped.

“I’m not saying this to justify anything,” he says, voice softer now. “I just... I felt your stillness. I saw your eyes. You didn’t stop me, not because you couldn’t. But because somewhere… a part of you didn’t want to.”

I step away needing to get away before my mind unravels completely. I turn toward the door and start walking, but I freeze mid-step because I felt a soft pull. My fingers instinctively clutch the edge of my saree, now tugged backward.

And I turn to see him holding the loose end of my saree. He rolls the loose end of my saree around his palm as he steps close.

I feel the fabric tug softly against my skin, pulling it back toward him. My hand instinctively rises to my chest, trying to hold the drape in place. I turn away quickly, trying to steady my breath.

“Happy Holi, Pearl,” he says behind me, voice just above a whisper.

Then a kiss lands softly near the base of my neck.

I almost broke right there.

But then he lets go. The saree slips from his hand, and without waiting I rush to the door, fumble with the latch, and step out because if I stay, I’ll forget why I ever wanted to leave.

---------------

“Saanvi!”

I pause, still wiping the red gulal off my arms, when I hear Maa’s voice. I glance around and spot her to my left, waving me over. She’s surrounded by a few women, all dressed in vibrant colours, clearly mid-conversation.

I make my way to her, brushing my hair behind my ear as I approach.

She greets me with a warm smile. “Happy Holi, beta—” Her smile falters. Her brows pinch slightly. “Goodness, looks like you played quite the Holi with red. You’re covered.”

My breath catches for a moment. My mind flashes back, his hands, the mirror, the way my skin still burns in the places he touched.

I force a neutral expression.

She waves it off and turns toward the group. “Come on, say hello to my daughter you all.” She grins, making them all chuckle.

“Happy Holi, Saanvi,” Meera aunty says with a soft smile. There’s something regal about her, graceful posture, a calm, effortless elegance. She's really a queen.

“Happy Holi to you too, Aunty,” I return, smiling back.

“Happy Holi, darling,” Snigdha aunty adds with a smirk. Her presence is sharper, a little intimidating, like she could disarm someone with a single glare. I nod politely and greet her back.

“Happy Holi, Saanvi,” Preesha aunty says next, her voice almost too quiet for the noise around us. She offers a small, shy smile, her body language closed off, but there’s a softness in her eyes that makes me curious. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that she forcefully married her husband.

“Happy Holi, aunty.” I reply, matching her gentle tone.

I glance between the four of them. “You all are best friends?”

They exchange amused looks before Meera aunty answers. “Of course. Soul sisters, though all thanks to our husbands.”

I tilt my head, puzzled. “How so?”

“Well,” Meera begins, but it’s Preesha aunty who cuts in, quiet but surprisingly animated.

“It’s because of them we met. So technically, we’re all tied together by romantic disasters,” she says, lips twitching.

Snigdha aunty groans playfully. “Oh no, here we go again.”

“Let her speak,” Meera aunty laughs.

Preesha aunty cheeks turn pink, but she continues, “Adrika and Abhiraj? Total sunshine and grump situation Adrika being the sunshine, obviously. Snigdha and Lorenzo? Classic enemies-to-lovers, though we’re still not convinced the ‘lovers’ part has kicked in yet.”

Snigdha aunty rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it.

“And Meera and Veer had a forced marriage,” Preesha aunty continues, “but honestly, he’s so whipped for Meera, so it's okay.”

Meera aunty shrugs, unbothered. “It’s true.”

I blink at her, eyebrows slightly raised. “Wait… are you a reader?”

Her face flushes as she nods slowly.

A small grin pulls at my lips. “Me too.”

Her expression lights up like a switch flipped. “Really?”

I nod. “Looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

She laughs, a little more freely now.

“Oh, hi ladies.”

I spot Lorenzo uncle behind Snigdha aunty. He’s leaning in, arms halfway around her like he’s about to back hug her.

But in a blink, he’s slammed against the nearby table, a sharp gasp escaping him as her hand locks around his throat.

My eyes widen, frozen in place. What the—?

“When will you start reciprocating like a normal human being?” Uncle asks, unfazed. He sounds more tired than surprised, like this isn’t the first time.

Judging by the others’ lack of reaction, it probably isn’t.

Snigdha Aunty lets him go without a word, sipping juice like she didn’t just choke a grown man in front of an audience.

“I swear,” he mutters, rubbing his throat as he straightens, glaring at her, “Sometimes I feel like slamming my head into a wall… or slamming you against it, just because of how damn impossible you are.”

She lifts her glass, takes a slow sip, then glances at him with that calm, dangerous smile. “Mm… you do know I’m into rough play, right? But I get it... that’s usually how you start, then beg me not to stop.”

My jaw nearly drops. Did she just—?

Nope. Can’t react. I lock my expression, reminding myself to not give away that I understood that, there are elders present here. Everyone else closes their eyes like this is routine, and Meera aunty lightly slaps Snigdha aunty's arm.

“Stop it,” she mutters under her breath.

Snigdha aunty just smirks.

“Come on, let’s sit,” Maa says quickly, trying to cut the tension with an awkward laugh.

I follow, still trying to mentally catch up. They move like this is all normal, like chaos and casual death threats are part of their tradition.

They all settle into the outdoor seating area of the courtyard, cushions, woven chairs, and a low oval table in the center piled with snacks and sweets. It looks like a perfect family gathering.

“Sit here, Saanvi,” Meera aunty says, patting the space beside her. I sit quietly, and she starts a casual conversation with me. There’s a quiet intelligence in her words. I can’t explain it, but there’s something calming in her presence. I like her.

But she suddenly pauses, glancing forward.

I follow her gaze and spot Abhimaan and Avyaan walking toward us. They don’t say anything, just take their seats silently.

“Where’s that Kabir boy?” Snigdha aunty asks, looking around.

“Right here.” I flinch as a hand flicks against my forehead.

“Ow—what the hell?” I hiss, rubbing my skin as I turn and find Kabir grinning.

“Kabir! Behave!” Preesha aunty snaps at him.

“Chill, Mom.” He shrugs and slides into the space beside me.

“So, where’s your husband, Doctor?” he asks, wiggling his brows at me.

Instantly, I feel all eyes turn toward me. The attention is suffocating.

“I—I don’t know,” I mutter.

“Exactly,” Snigdha aunty says, leaning back lazily. “It’s not like she carries Rudra around in her pocket.”

“There he is,” Nishkarsh uncle announces, nodding behind me.

I glance over my shoulder and see Rudra approaching, phone in hand. He ends the call as he joins the gathering.

“Finally, the man of the hour,” Lorenzo uncle says, standing to hug him. Rudra smiles and returns the gesture.

“A player always waits for another player,” Snigdha comments, sipping her juice without a blink.

Rudra chuckles softly. “Come on, aunty. That’s harsh.”

She grins and opens her arms. He walks over and hugs her, and she rubs his back fondly.

Then he turns to me. His eyes drop to Kabir sitting beside me.

“Get up,” he says calmly.

Kabir raises a brow. “There’s plenty of space, sit somewhere else.”

“Kabir,” Rudra warns.

Rolling his eyes, Kabir finally stands, muttering something under his breath. Rudra takes the spot beside me without a word, settling in as his arm stretches behind me across the backrest. I pretend not to notice the way his fingers graze my shoulder.

Maa smiles, settling into the conversation. “It’s been so long since we all met like this.”

Everyone nods, slipping into light talk. But then Veer uncle turns to me with a warm chuckle. “Saanvi, do you always stay this quiet?”

I offer a polite smile, not knowing what to say.

“She’s not used to big crowds,” Meera aunty says gently, coming to my defense. “It’s all new for her. Don’t put her on the spot, Veer. You’ll just make her more uncomfortable.”

She looks at me, a kind softness in her voice. She’s right. I appreciate it.

Veer uncle lifts his hands in apology. “Ah—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry,” he says kindly.

I nod, offering a small smile back. But before the moment can pass, a low mocking chuckle escapes from across the table. I glance up and saw Abhimaan.

Veer uncle notices. “Something funny?”

He shrugs. “You and your wife, Mr. Suryawanshi.”

“Mind your words,” Veer uncle says,

Abhimaan lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. “With you and your wife? Never. Especially not her.” His gaze slides to Meera aunty.

I glance at her. She’s sitting beside me, silent, but her fist clenches tightly on her lap.

“The other woman,” he says under his breath, but loud enough. “The one who knew exactly how to wreck a home and still chose to.” My eyes snap to him in disbelief. Did he just say that about his own—

“Abhimaan.” Og voice cuts in warning.

“Apologize to her,” Veer uncle says, standing up now, slowly. “She’s your mother.”

I look back at Meera aunty. She hasn’t spoken a word. Her eyes brim, her jaw tight. She stares at the floor like if she meets anyone’s gaze, she’ll shatter.

“No. She’s not my mother. She’s your wife. My mother was the woman you discarded. For her.”

what?

Suddenly, Rudra stands. Avyaan and Kabir rise with him, wordless but ready.

“Abhimaan. Enough,” Rudra warns,

Abhimaan meets his eyes, “Why? Let’s not keep pretending. Should I not remind everyone who the king and his not-so-royal queen really are?” His gaze cuts sharply toward Veer uncle and Meera aunty. “They love the applause, the image, the illusion… but behind that perfect mask is the man who walked out on his wife, and the woman who stepped right into the space she left behind. The ‘power couple’ of Rajasthan? More like the mess behind closed doors. The man who cheated—” he glances at Meera aunty, “—and the woman who never cared if she was the reason.”

“Abhimaan, that’s enough!” Nishkarsh uncle snaps,

Kabir glares across the space at his father. “She was your sister. You watched it all happen and never said a word.”

Abhimaan turns and walks off without another word. Rudra, Kabir, and Avyaan follow him.

Og walks up and places a hand on Veer uncle’s shoulder, murmuring something I can’t hear. Lorenzo uncle stands nearby too.

Meera aunty wipes her tears and quietly leaves. Maa follows her. So does Preesha aunty.

Only Snigdha aunty stays seated, sipping her juice, unbothered. She meets my eyes and shrugs. “Don’t mind them. This happens every few months.”

I look away, trying to process what I just witnessed.

Abhimaan isn’t Meera aunty’s son. Veer uncle left his first wife. And married Meera aunty. And yet Maa and Papa support them. No matter how complicated the past was, cheating is still betrayal. Why are they all pretending like it didn’t happen?

And Abhimaan... I always thought he was the mature one in Rudra’s group. Calm, collected and the rational one. The one who never raised his voice unless it mattered.

When Rudra once casually mentioned that Abhimaan had temper issues, I didn’t believe him. I laughed it off. Told him he was probably exaggerating. I mean, out of the three, Abhimaan looked like the one who always kept things under control the one who would talk with that slow, precise calm even in chaos.

But today... I saw it.

✦✦✦✦

N E X T   D A Y

I stand in front of the door, take a slow breath, and ring the bell.

It clicks open a few seconds later, revealing Vikram bhai. His brows pull together in mild surprise, but a small smile follows.

“You?”

“Not happy to see me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles under his breath and steps aside, shaking his head. “Come in.”

I walk in, the familiar scent of home catching me off guard. The door shuts softly behind us.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask, sinking into the couch.

“Out. Something urgent came up,” he replies, settling down beside me.

I nod, glancing around the living room that looks the same, yet somehow different.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks casually.

I open my mouth to answer, and he cuts in before I can speak. “Except cheesecake. You can’t keep surviving on that.”

I sigh. “Fine. Just coffee then.”

“Sure,” he says, and was about to call house help.

“You make it.”

He turns halfway, eyeing me. “We literally have house help for that.”

“I know. But it’s been years since I had your coffee,” I say, a soft smile playing on my lips.

He leans his head back with a groan standing up and mutters, “Witch,” under his breath.

I stomp lightly on his foot as he walks past. He hisses and glares, but doesn’t argue further.

As he disappears into the kitchen, I rise quietly, my steps drawing me toward Dad’s room. I pause outside the door for a second, then slowly push it open and step in, gently closing it behind me.

The room is still the same. My eyes fall on the nightstand, on the frame of Mumma’s photo with Dad. I walk over, brushing my fingers against the glass.

Something catches my eye, a drawer slightly ajar. I pull it open and find a small diary nestled inside.

Flipping it open, I find photos, some of Mumma, some of Bhai and me as kids. A soft smile touches my lips until I flip further.

My smile fades.

Pictures of my graduation, events, university ceremonies in New York. He wasn’t even there… how does he have these?

Tiny notes are scribbled beneath each one. My precious.

Shutting the diary carefully, I place it back, then turn to the shelf. I scan through some files, I slide my fingertips across the files, one after another, until I stop. It's a hospital file, Dad's.

I pull it out and open it, flipping through the pages with shaky fingers.

My heart freezes. The words blur. My eyes sting.

“Saanvi!”

I turn to see Vikram bhai standing at the door. He rushes in and snatches the file from my hands.

“What the hell is your problem?” he snaps, his voice a mix of panic and anger.

I stare at him, my eyes glassy. “D…Dad—” My voice trembles. “Dad has coronary artery disease.”

He looks away, swallowing hard, his eyes darting around the room like he’s searching for a way out.

“Since when?” I ask, stepping closer. My tears slip free. I grip his hand. “Bhai, please… tell me what’s going on. Something’s not right. I can feel it. I know I was angry. I hated you all for abandoning me. But now… it doesn’t feel like the truth. It feels like something was hidden from me. And Dad—” I falter mid-sentence, as a sudden realization claws into me. I lift my eyes to his, cold clarity slowly flooding in.

“Bhai… why was Mumma’s case closed?”

He stiffens, visibly. His face drops for a second, like I just stepped on something he tried to bury deep. He looks like he’s standing at the edge of something too heavy to say.

“Dad isn’t the villain here, Saanvi,” he says, voice quieter now. “He... tried. He really did.”

He pauses, then takes a long breath, one that seems to rattle from somewhere deep inside him.

“He didn’t want to send you away,” he murmurs. “But he had to. He was forced to. It wasn’t safe for you here. He just... wanted to protect you.”

I shake my head slightly, confused. “What are you talking about? Protect me from who? Just say it. I don’t understand.”

He wipes the sweat from his forehead, visibly uncomfortable.

“Eighteen years ago...” he begins slowly, “a month after Mom passed away... when Dad was admitted to the hospital it wasn’t just a check-up. It was a heart attack.”

I feel the ground shift beneath me. That day... I remember. I came from school and was taken to the hospital. Everyone told me he was just unwell.

“There was a reason behind that heart attack,”

“What reason?”

He looks straight at me. “That day, when you were on your way home from school, your car was—”

“Vikram!”

Both our heads snap toward the door.

Dad stands there. Rigid. His jaw locked, eyes smoldering with a quiet fury. Before I can speak, he strides forward, four precise steps and his palm lands across Bhai’s face with a sharp crack.

I flinch, my hand flies to my mouth. “Dad!”

He doesn’t even glance at me.

His finger rises, cold and commanding, as he points at Bhai. “I warned you once. Do not test me again. Don’t open that mouth unless I say so.”

Bhai doesn’t speak. He doesn't lift his head. Just take a breath, nod slightly, and walk out without another word.

“And you, what the hell were you thinking, coming here alone?”

“Why can’t I?” My voice trembles, but I don’t let it break. “I’m not a child. I don’t need security to visit—”

“It’s not about that, Saanvi!” he snaps, voice finally cracking. His frustration spills over, raw and messy. “You want the truth? There’s your answer. You. Are. Not. Safe. That’s why Rudra’s glued to you. That’s why I keep telling you not to go anywhere alone. But you keep testing limits, like this is some game.”

His chest heaves. One hand moves instinctively to the spot near his heart pressing hard.

“Dad—” I move toward him quickly, reaching his side. “Sit down. Breathe.”

He lowers onto the edge of the bed, face pale, lips tight. For a moment, I think he’s calming down, until he mutters under his breath, “Rudra’s on his way.”

I kneel beside him. “Tell me the truth,” I whisper. “That day, eighteen years ago, what really happened? You were hospitalised out of nowhere. After that, everything changed. You distanced yourself. You sent me away like I never existed. Why?”

He doesn’t speak. Just looks at me.

“Please, Dad.” My voice drops. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You knew something. Something that’s still not over. That’s why I was kept away, isn’t it?”

“Some truths... do more damage than lies,” he says. “I made choices you never deserved. I know that. But they weren’t mistakes. They were necessities.” His eyes glass over, not from emotion “I was trying to keep you breathing, Saanvi. That was the only thing I cared about.” The weight of those words lands deep in my chest.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he adds. “But if I ever meant anything to you, please. Don’t go anywhere alone. Not again. I just want you to be safe. I can't lose you too.”

I stare at him, and for the first time, I see more than guilt in his eyes. I see fear. Real, quiet fear. A lump rises in my throat. I blink hard and nod silently.

“I won’t,” I promised brushing my fingers over his knuckles.

I stand and step out of the room, walking slowly down the hallway. My hands still tremble.

Something is terribly wrong.

In the living room, I see Rudra and Bhai standing near the entrance, mid-conversation.

I quickly wipe the corner of my eye, pretending. Rudra’s gaze shifts to me almost instantly.

“Let’s go,”

I nod, then glance at Bhai. “You go ahead. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Rudra gives me a brief look, then walks out without a word.

I stay there for a second before turning to Bhai.

“Bhai...” My voice comes out softer than I expect, unsure, maybe even hesitant.

He pauses and looks at me.

“I’m sorry,”

He shakes his head, “You don’t need to be. None of this is your fault.”

I take a slow breath, unsure what else to say. “Take care,”

He nods once and turns but something keeps me from letting him go just yet.

“Bhai.”

He stops. I glance past him at the shelf lined with medals, the football trophy at the center, and the old school photo of him, younger, proud, free.

“Did I… cause you to stop playing?” I ask, “The football… did I make you let it go?”

He follows my gaze. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then he turns back to me, a small smile tugging at his lips. Not forced just quiet.

“No, Saanvi,” he says. “Life changed. I changed. The business needed me. That’s all.”

I nod slowly, forcing a smile. But deep down I know.

I’m the reason.

I turn around.

“Oye chamchi. (minion)”

I freeze. Slowly, I turn back. He’s standing there with that same old crooked smile, arms open wide.

My lips tremble. That word. That one silly word.

Oye chamchi.

He used to call me that every time Dad yelled at him because of something I did.

My eyes blur as the memory stings. I start walking to him. Then I can’t hold it anymore. I break into a run and crash into his arms. He holds me tight.

“I missed you,” I murmur into his chest.

“I missed you too,” he whispers, running a hand through my hair gently.

“Liar,” I mumble, pulling back and punching him in the chest. He hisses.

“You didn’t talk to me when I came back to New York. You were so cold,” I sniff, wiping my nose.

He scoffs and smacks the back of my head lightly. I glare.

“Did you see your face back then? You looked like you’d kill me if I said hi. I was terrified. Seriously, full horror vibes,” he scrunches his nose and pinches mine. “And what the hell, you still have a runny nose. Is that how you do surgery? Eww, Doctor Saanvi.”

I swat his hand away, sniffling. “Shut up, Bhai!”

“Okay, okay.” He lifts his hands in surrender, then lowers them awkwardly. “So… everything alright now between us?”

I narrow my eyes. “No.”

His shoulders drop. “Right.”

“But…” I add, voice softening, “For Falak bhabhi’s sake, yes. Tell her everything’s okay. I want her to feel secure. I want her to be happy.”

He gives me a small smile, but it fades just as quickly. His eyes narrow. “Oh wait reminding me of Falak, what the hell were you feeding her, huh? You witch!” He smacks my head again.

“Bhai!” I squeak.

“I heard you were giving her tips on how to divorce me?” he accuses.

I gulp. “That was just a test, I swear. I knew she wouldn’t do it. She loves you.”

He shakes his head, half amused, half exasperated. “You're lucky she does.”

He ruffles my hair, pulling me, “Go. Your husband’s waiting.”

I chuckle and nod, turning to leave, but just as I take a step he ruffles my hair again, harder this time, messing it up completely.

“Ugh! Bhai!” I groan, glaring at his retreating back as he strolls off to his room like he’s done nothing.

“Kutta, (Dog)” I mutter under my breath, but there's a smile tugging at my lips.

I step out, trying to fix my hair as I walk toward the car.

Rudra’s standing there, leaning casually against the door. He sees me and without a word, opens the passenger side.

I slide in. He circles around, gets in, buckles his seatbelt, and starts the engine. I’m still fiddling with my hair, already annoyed.

He glances at me, frowning. “Who did that?”

“What?”

“Your hair.” His eyes narrow. “It looks like you got into a fight with a blender.”

I sigh. “No one.”

“No, seriously. Just tell me. I’ll go... rearrange their face.”

I turn to him, deadpan. “My brother.”

His lips press into a thin line. For a second, he doesn't speak. Then his hand lifts, resting lightly against his own jaw.

I frown. “What are you doing?”

He shakes his head, putting the car in gear. “That’s between you two. Sibling territory. I’m not getting in the middle of it.”

I huff, turning my face toward the window, still fixing my hair.

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