RUDRA'S POV

“I don’t know what’s happening. I thought she was okay now.” I look up across the clinic. Mr. Rao stands near the window, staring at the blue sky through the blinds.

“When she’s awake, she smiles, she gets angry, she shows emotions but at night, she says 'I’m sorry, Mumma.' Sometimes she cries in her sleep. Her sleep paralysis… it hasn’t gone away. She wakes up breathing hard, staring across the room like she’s seeing someone. I’ve seen it happen so many nights.” I close my eyes, trying not to picture it again. “Please… do something. She’s in pain, really in pain. She’s fighting, and I…” My voice catches and I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I can’t watch her suffer. I’ll do anything. I’ll pay whatever amount you want, just stop this. You’re her therapist. There has to be something.”

He removes his glasses, slowly wiping the lenses while walking to his chair and sits. “Before she wakes up and looks around the room,” he says, pausing for a moment, “it’s because she sees her mother there.”

My brows pull together. “What?”

He puts the glasses back on, adjusting them. “Sleep paralysis often involves hallucinations. Her brain is in a state where the body is still paralyzed, but her consciousness is partially active. Hallucinations in this state can feel incredibly real. That’s what she’s experiencing.”

“You mean… she hallucinates?”

“Yes, in her sleep. Her brain is trying to process unresolved emotions. She projects her mother, literally creates a mental image that she experiences as real. Sometimes she talks to her mother in these dreams, usually about guilt, self blame and regret. That’s why she apologizes. When she wakes, she searches for her mother, because her brain still expects her presence. But it’s not real. It’s a memory, a projection.”

I swallow hard. “And… how can I help her? How do I… cure her?”

He takes a breath. “Rudra, she needs to move on.”

“Move on? From her mother?” I ask, confused.

“Yes. Let me explain. She’s battled depression, drug dependency, a chronic heart condition, and sleep paralysis and she’s still managing all of that. Her daily emotions may seem stable now, but deep inside, she carries guilt over her mother’s death. That guilt is holding her back from emotional recovery. As long as it stays unresolved, her brain will replay these scenarios every night. That’s why she apologizes, cries, and wakes up scared.”

I rub my face, exhale shakily. “But… how can she move on from her mother? She loves her. She’s devoted to her memory. It feels cruel to ask her to… forget her.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Try to understand Rudra, she loves her mother so much that she’s losing herself in that love.”

It hurts so much watching her like this. Every night when I hold her, I find myself wishing I could just take it all away, every memory, every piece of pain that still keeps her trapped in the past. I wish I could fight it for her, bargain with it, tear it out of her mind if I had to. But I can’t. And that helplessness eats at me.

“Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting.” He says. “It means separating the memory from the unresolved guilt. Right now, her love for her mother is tied to blame and self punishment. She hasn’t allowed herself to grieve and process the loss fully. Her brain keeps replaying that trauma because it can’t resolve it emotionally. That’s why she’s stuck. Emotional healing isn’t about erasing the past, it’s about helping her differentiate between the memory of her mother and her own life now. She needs to release the guilt, not the love.”

I feel the weight of it pressing on my chest. “So… what do I do? How do I make her stop choosing her mother over herself?”

“You can’t force it. You can only help her realize that holding onto this guilt isn’t loyalty, it’s suffering. She has to reach the point where she wants to separate herself from the pain. And believe me no amount of medication can undo that, because this isn’t a chemical imbalance. It’s emotional conditioning.”

I nod slowly, trying to absorb it all. The thought of her suffering, of her guilt keeping her trapped, makes my chest ache. I just don’t want to lose her.

“I would have suggested therapy, but given her state and everything that’s happening around you both, it might not be ideal right now. What you can do is stay consistent. Be a safe space for her. When people live in chronic guilt, they subconsciously expect abandonment, so stability matters more than advice. She has to decide she wants to stay in this life. You can only help her see that.”

He picks up a paper from his desk, hesitating before adding, “I spoke to Dr. Meera this morning. Her recent test reports show some irregularities in her heart rhythm. It’s not severe yet, but it’s drifting slightly off balance. Make sure she doesn’t overstrain herself or skip her medication.”

My stomach sinks.

“Don’t panic,” he adds after a pause, “trust time. God’s been unfair to her, yes, but sometimes life compensates in quiet ways. Maybe this time, He won’t take more from her.”

I just nod, unable to speak, and stand up.

Stepping out of the clinic, I sit on the empty bench in the hallway and stare out at the blue sky through the glass window. Tears blur my vision before I even realise they’re there.

I do not understand why God made her life this hard, why her miseries just won’t stop. I’m scared even to imagine her drifting away from me. It feels like there’s no path left that leads to healing.

“How’s she?”

I turn and see her father standing there, dressed in his usual suit, his brows drawn together in quiet worry. I quickly wipe the tear that escapes down my cheek.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” I say, trying to sound casual, not wanting to worry him. He has a heart condition too, the last thing he needs is another reason to stress.

He looks at me for a long moment, then exhales and walks closer before sitting beside me. “She isn’t okay,” he says softly. “Right?”

I stare at my intertwined fingers. My throat tightens as the tears threaten again. “Mr. Rao said she hallucinates,” I tell him. “She… sees Mrs. Malhotra in her dreams.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps his eyes on the window ahead.

“He also said she needs to move on from her mother,” I continue, leaning back against the seat. “But I don’t know how to help her do that. She loves her mother so much. She’d choose her even if she isn’t here.”

He finally looks at me. “Everything is changing, Rudra. Somehow you’re making that possible. My precious wants to live now. I realised it when you were in a coma.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

He takes a quiet breath. “I never thought she cared this much about you. When the doctors told me your condition was worsening, I wanted her to go back to New York. Yashwant was still searching for her, and I was terrified he would find her. But she refused to leave. She yelled that if your heart stopped, hers would stop with yours.”

My eyes widen. “She said that?”

He nods slowly. “She wasn’t scared of Yashwant. All she could think about was you. And that’s when I realised how much she—” He stops mid sentence, pressing his lips together.

“How much what?” I ask.

He shakes his head with a small smile. “She should be the one to tell you that.”

I stare at him, still confused but trying to piece together what he’s hinting at.

“Just know this,” he says after a moment. “You matter to her more than you think. She wants to live, Rudra. You just have to make her see how beautiful it can be, to live with someone who truly cherishes you. Maybe then she’ll stop choosing…” He pauses, swallows, and forces a small smile. “Suhana.”

The same words Mr. Rao said echo in my head. I nod after a few seconds, trying to keep my thoughts straight. “How are you here, by the way?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Yesterday, I heard you had an appointment here. I just wanted to know how my precious is doing.”

I nod again and let out a tense sigh, staring back at the sky outside.

“Tensed?” he asks, and I give a small nod, not trusting myself to speak.

He exhales slowly. “You know, we both share one similarity and one difference.”

I turn my head toward him, curiously. “What is it?”

He looks out at the blue sky through the glass, his lips curls into a small smile. “We both have amber eyes to look into.”

A small, almost reflexive smile comes to my own lips. “And the difference?”

“Your amber eyes can look back at you.” He finally looks at me. “Mine… stopped a long time ago.”

The smile slips from my face.

He looks away again. “I hope your amber eyes look at you all your life,” he says softly.

His phone buzzes on his lap, breaking the silence. He glances at the screen and then looks at me one last time. “Take care of her,” he says, standing up slowly. “She’s choosing to live again because of you. Don’t let her drift back into the dark. Remind her there’s still light, your light.”

He gives me a smile before turning and walking down the hallway.

My eyes drift to the floor where something has fallen beside the seat he left. It’s his wallet, slightly open. I pick it up.

Inside is an old photograph, faded, worn at the corners. A beautiful woman with long black hair smiling her amber eyes almost identical to my Pearl's.

Mrs. Malhotra.

I look at his disappearing figure, then down at the photograph again.

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

“Your wallet.” I stop in the parking area and hold it out. He pauses, glances at me, then at the leather in my hand.

He closes his car door and walks back, I hand it over. He opens it, runs a thumb over the photo, breathes out, and closes it again with a small smile. “Thank you,” he turns to leave.

“You loved her a lot, didn’t you?” I blurt.

He stops, looking at me again, and shakes his head. “I love her a lot.”

My chest tightens. I see him, what he gave up, what he carried, and a hard, cold part of me aches for the life he should have had. He lost his wife, his partner, and kept living anyway, not for himself but for the children. That kind of endurance is its own kind of violence. It makes me shiver because I can’t imagine losing my Pearl, the thought is a raw, unbearable fissure.

“I promise,” I say before I can stop myself. “I promise you, Yashwant and his men will pay. They will suffer more than what they did to Mrs. Malhotra.”

He blinks, and for a second his eyes mist over. He swallows and wipes at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.

“I’ll drag Yashwant into hell if I have to. I’ll make him beg for death.” The words are vicious and hot in my mouth, I feel my teeth grit. If that bastard hadn’t let his ego ruin everything, if he hadn’t been so pathetic and violent, my Pearl and her family might still be whole.

He nods once and wipes his face again, then walks away.

• At Cartel •

I step into the meeting room and immediately spot the team already gathered, Silas at the head of the table talking to Avyaan, Kabir half buried in his phone, Abhimaan beside kabir and Vijay leaning back in his chair.

“Still alive?” Vijay asks.

I slide into the chair beside Avyaan and shrug. “Yeah. Who would’ve disrespected an on duty officer if I’d gone down?”

“Moron,” he mutters.

“Enough,” Silas cuts in glaring at both of us before scanning the room. “Listen carefully. We need solid, indisputable evidence against Yashwant, trafficking, narcotics, and all his other illegal operations. And most importantly,” he pauses and looks directly at me, “Saanvi’s mother deserves justice. That’s non negotiable.”

“We’re going to need legal support,” Kabir says, finally setting his phone down.

Silas turns to Abhimaan. “We’ll need a prosecutor.”

Abhimaan exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second before leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, Meera bua ji can handle that,” Kabir says, almost immediately.

Avyaan glances at me, then back at Kabir.

“Abhimaan—” I start.

“It’s fine. This isn’t personal. It’s about the mission, and Saanvi’s mother. I have no problem.”

Kabir clicks his tongue. “Alright, then. Let’s get Meera bua ji on board—”

“She’s already here,” Silas interrupts, glancing at his phone before looking back at us. “I called her ahead of time.”

A knock sounds at the door, and she walks in, as composed as ever, calm, cold, elegant, every movement precise. She carries herself with the kind of confidence that makes the room shrink around her presence.

We all stand. Silas shakes her hand, and she offers a controlled smile, acknowledging us.

“Please, have a seat,” Silas gestures beside him. She nods and lets her gaze sweep the room.

“How is Saanvi?” she asks, folding her grey blazer neatly on her lap.

I manage a small smile. “Good.” I say sitting back.

Her eyes land on Abhimaan, still seated across from me scrolling through his phone, not bothering to stand.

“Bua ji, tea or coffee?” Kabir asks with a smile.

“Nothing,” she replies, glancing at her watch. “Let’s start the meeting.”

Silas leans forward. “We need to focus on the case against Yashwant.”

She frowns slightly, but doesn’t interrupt.

“You already know what’s happening in NVC and about Saanvi,” Silas adds.

She nods. “I understand, Silas. I can handle the legal side for trafficking, drug smuggling, and other criminal activities Yashwant is conducting here in India. But Saanvi’s mother’s case happened in California. That falls under U.S. jurisdiction. Only the district attorney’s office there can officially reopen or file a case. I can coordinate, provide evidence, and consult with them, but I cannot initiate it myself.”

Silas nods, understanding.

“To reopen either case, you need solid, verifiable evidence,” she continues, looking around at us. “we need documented, verifiable evidence. Everything must be traceable and legally admissible, financial transactions, communications, any proof linking Yashwant directly to his criminal activities.”

I can’t help but think of the two jerks who can help me.

She adds, “If you have any doubts about procedure, evidence requirements, or legal formalities, my assistant can clarify. Silas, you have her contact information?”

Silas nods.

“All of you must focus on collecting legally admissible proof,” she says.

“He has some,” Kabir says. “I got intel from my sources, but it’s high security. Almost impossible to access. Everything is compartmentalized.”

“That’s your job, then.” she says.

“Thank you, aunty,” I say, a mix of respect and relief in my voice. She nods slightly.

Abhimaan scoffs. “What are you thanking her for? She said your mother in law’s case will be handled in the U.S. Beyond that, I don’t know if she’s even going to help us here.”

I glance between him and aunty. This is going to be awkward.

“Abhimaan,” Silas warns sharply, “mind your language. And don’t forget, this is not the first time Meera has assisted NVC. She’s helped us fight legal battles, guided us on what evidence is admissible, and ensured that all the procedures we follow will hold in court.”

I nod silently, acknowledging it. Everyone in the room knows her expertise is precise, and her guidance isn’t negotiable.

“You should be really grateful to her, Abhimaan. She’s helping your cartel and keeping everything confidential,” Vijay says, shaking his head.

Kabir, sitting beside Abhimaan, glances at me and Avyaan, scrunching his nose.

This guy will never understand the stakes.

“Whatever. Just make sure she follows the rules and at least wins in court.” Abhimaan says flatly.

“Beta, agar hame kanoon ke bare mein aapse sikhna pade, toh isse jyada sharam ki baat hamare liye kya ho sakti hai?” Meera aunty finally speaks.

(Dear, if I have to learn about the law from you, what could be more embarrassing for me than this?)

Abhimaan clenches his teeth and snaps. “Mind your language.”

“Mind my language?” she raises a brow, a sarcastic smile playing on her lips. “I don’t mind my language in front of a judge, so why on earth would I stay silent while you disrespect me here?”

“You deserve it.” Abhimaan scoffs.

“Trying to play judge now?” she says, chuckling lightly. “Like I said, Abhimaan, I don’t care about my language in front of a judge.” She shrugs and stands, gathering her blazer.

Silas glares at Abhimaan. “I’ll walk you out.” he says, leading her toward the door.

Abhimaan continues to glare at her retreating figure. “Audacity… talking back even while being the mistress,” he scoffs.

“Exactly, Abhimaan,” Vijay says, standing and grabbing his car keys. “It’s weird, isn’t it? She’s the mistress, yet carries herself with such authority and dignity.”

“Vijay, shut up, or you’ll get your own punch.” Abhimaan snaps.

“Whatever it is, I respect her. She’s earned it, and you’d do better learning some manners instead of whining about it.” Vijay says, shaking his head as he walks off.

I glance at Abhimaan, confused. “Isn’t it strange? Meera aunty is the one who came between your parents, broke their marriage, and yet she’s respected across all our circles.”

“Exactly. I’ve always thought that.” Kabir says, watching Abhimaan closely. “Your mother was my dad’s sister, and still he chooses to stand by Meera bua ji, keeps the friendship alive with Veer fufa ji, even after everything that happened with your parents.”

Abhimaan stares at the wall, zoning out. “All I know is… my mother died humiliated, cheated, and abandoned.”

✿✿✿✿✿

• NEXT DAY •

“Sir, they’re here. May I send them in?” Vedant’s voice snaps me back. I close the file and nod.

Two men enter, faces flushed, collars damp, Mr. Green and Mr. Smith. I lean back in my chair, twirl my pen. “Sit.”

They exchange a look and sit. Green clears his throat first. “You can’t just drag us to India and threaten us, Rudra.”

I shrug. “I didn’t drag you. I offered you a choice. You made decisions that put you where you are. If you hadn’t put yourselves in reach, I wouldn’t have needed to remind you of the consequences.”

Smith’s shoulders tighten. “Listen, Rudra. I know, I fucking know, we lied. But you have to try and understand the gravity of it. We were scared shitless, too. Yashwant... he’s a powerful, vicious bastard. If we’d dared to cross him, he wouldn't have just ruined us, he would’ve killed us. And our families."

“So, you were that 'scared shitless' that your first instinct wasn't to call the police or grow a spine, but to open your fucking palm and take a bribe?" I say, lifting an eyebrow.

Smith's face drained of color, a magnificent sight.

“Rudra—" My eyes snapped past them, fixing on the doorway at my Pearl, she stands there, looking completely out of place in this pit of toxic confrontation. "Ah... I'll come later," she murmurs, already pulling back.

"Wait." I stop her before she can walk away. "Come inside, Pearl." For her, my voice softens.

She hesitates for a fraction of a second, then quietly enters, stopping by my side. "Maa was calling you. You weren't answering, so she called me. She said she needs to speak to you. That's why I came."

Standing up from my chair I wrap my hand firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against me. "I'll talk to her, of course." I look back at the two shitting themselves men. "She is my wife. Dr. Saanvi."

Smith and Green stared at her, then quickly at each other.

"I have surgery to prep for. I should go." She says. "You finish your... meeting."

I nod, giving her waist a final squeeze. She left, closing the door behind her. I sat back down.

"Dr. Saanvi." I say. "The daughter of Dr. Suhana Malhotra. The woman Yashwant and his animals gang raped."

I lean, locking my eyes on Smith’s pathetic face. "She was being treated in your fucking hospital, Smith. You could have provided the forensic reports. You could have helped Mr. Malhotra get justice for his wife. But you took the blood money Yashwant offered and kept your worthless, corrupt mouth shut. Even after a grieving man begged you on his knees." I scoff, fighting the urge to stand up and slam this bastard’s face against the fucking wall.

I shifted my focus to Green. "And you," I spat. "The noble fucking journalist. You could have put the truth on the front page, but you chose to name it 'car accident' because Yashwant slipped you a few extra thousands. You sold your soul for a fucking bribe."

“I'm... I’m truly sorry, Rudra. I just... I’m ashamed. I'm utterly—"

"Cut that fucking crap!" I roared, the yell making the two men flinch violently. My fist slammed onto the table. "Or I swear to God, I will fucking kill you right here. You both could have helped for the justice of Mrs. Malhotra. Do you even comprehend the sheer amount of suffering a whole family went through? My wife’s mental health is failing because of the secrets and the trauma you helped protect. A man lost his wife. A son lost his mother. Their entire family was torn apart, pulverized by that monster, and you two sat on your asses, counting your blood money, enjoying your comfortable lives after doing this unforgivable shit." I felt my breath rage hard, pulling air in past clenched teeth.

"And now, after all that destruction you enabled, you have the goddamn audacity to sit here and whisper 'sorry'?" I scoff. "You both looked me in the eye that day and lied, denying any involvement when I asked who was behind this whole mess. You kept your fucking mouths shut to protect a rapist and murderer. And I hope you remember precisely what I told you then, that if I found out you two were complicit, I'd make your lives a living hell." I glare at them. "Now watch me do it."

Smith’s eyes snap up, pure panic filling them. He shook his head wildly. "No... Rudra, see, I'm genuinely sorry. I got blinded by the money. It was a massive mistake. I shouldn't have done that, I’m truly, truly sorry." The apology was desperate, pathetic.

"Anything," Green suddenly chimes in, his face slick with sweat. "I'll do absolutely anything you want, just don't... You've already started the rumors about my press. We're getting destroyed by the backlash in the U.S. media. Please."

I raise an eyebrow, savoring their desperation. "Anything at all?"

"Yes," Smith chokes out, nodding frantically.

"Good," I purred, leaning back slightly. "Do exactly what I tell you, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll save your worthless little jobs."

AUTHOR'S POV

Saanvi settles onto the couch beside Rudra, holding out a large glass jar. “See this.”

Rudra looks up, pulling away from the glow of his laptop screen. He stares at the jar in her hands. It’s a hefty, clear piece of glass, half filled with an ivory coloured powder. A wide, maroon ribbon is tied around the neck in an immaculate bow. His brow furrows in a silent question.

“What is it?” he asks.

A soft chuckle escapes her. “Those white roses you gave me, they were dried, so I decided to keep it by this,” she says, lightly tapping the side of the jar.

Rudra closes the laptop and leans back, his weight settling into the cushions. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close, inhaling the subtle scent of citrus and vanilla that clings to her skin. "And how long are you going to keep saving them like this? Because I’m going to give you roses for the rest of our lives, you know."

She shifts slightly to look up at him. “If you can give me roses all your life, then saving them is the least I can do, Rudra. I couldn't just... throw them away. So I'll keep those flowers with me, always."

His smile felt suddenly effortful, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. An imperceptible knot of unease tightened in his chest as he met her gaze.

“You know what?” she continues, her excitement building. “When we finally shift back to our previous penthouse, I'm going to make a private room just for them. I'll decorate the walls with the preserved bouquets you give me, and there will be shelves lined with these jars."

He manages a slight smile, trying to push the tightness from his chest. “Sure. We will shift back the moment this mess clears up.”

She nods, satisfied.

He glances at the sleek digital clock mounted above the television. 10:30 PM. “It’s late. Let's head to bed. I'm going to take a shower first, I'm feeling surprisingly drained."

“Okay,” she says simply. He stands, stretching the tension from his shoulders, and leaves the room, heading towards the main bedroom.

Saanvi remains seated on the couch, the book she’d picked up resting open on her lap. She’s only managed to read a few lines when the shrill, insistent doorbell pierces the quiet. She closes the book slowly, her finger still marking the page, and frowns. Standing, she walks to the door and peers through the peephole. It’s Kabir and Avyaan.

She steps back and unlocks the door, pulling it inward.

“What’s up, doctor?” Kabir asks, wiggling a playful brow.

“You’re here this late?” she asks confused.

“We need an important file. Call Rudra,” Avyaan states, his expression serious, cutting straight to the point.

“He’s in the bathroom taking a shower. Just wait—”

“Oh, that’s the file,” Kabir interjects, pointing past her shoulder towards the couch where Rudra’s laptop and a Manila folder lay abandoned.

She turns, retrieves the file from the coffee table, and walks back to them, handing it over without another word, Avyaan takes the file from Saanvi's hand, his focus immediately dropping back to the documents. But Kabir’s gaze snags, instantly, on the paperback tucked in her hand. His momentary smile vanishes and eyes widening in a mixture of horrified recognition and theatrical disbelief. "You… you’re reading that again?"

She frowns glancing down at the paperback. "You know this?"

He wrinkles his nose dramatically. "Put it away, doctor. That’s essentially softcore porn in a nice cover."

Her eyes go wide with instant, fierce embarrassment. Avyaan lifts his head slightly from the file at the sudden noise, a slight frown touching his lips as he registers the source of Kabir’s protest.

"Kabir, shut the fuck up!" she hisses, smacking his arm with the book. He rubbed the spot, feigning injury.

"Don't play the innocent with me," he mutters shaking his head. "I know the office-desk scene."

She swallows, a deep flush spreading over her neck and cheeks. "Just be quiet. Your own mother reads books like this. Why are you only attacking me?"

He stares at her, the absolute shock, before his expression morphs into an indignant glare. "You are not dragging my mother into this, Doctor."

She rolls her eyes. "She does, Kabir. We sometimes compare notes on the plot."

His jaw drops. He stares at her, genuinely stunned. "What? But she told me she only reads classic literature and self help guides."

"That is the classic lie, Kabir," She scoffs, crossing her arms.

He covers his mouth with his palm. "That explains why she never lets me go into her little library."

"Exactly," she confirms, giving him a small, sarcastic half smile.

"Let’s go, Kabir," Avyaan interjects, finally looking up from the file with a tired, impatient edge to his voice.

“Do you two really work this late? Is this an everyday thing?"

Avyaan looks at her. "It used to be your husband's routine as well. But since he feels the need to essentially babysit you now, he cuts his time at the Cartel short to spend more of his evenings here."

She glares at him, a defensive, cold glare tightening her features.

"Okay, let's not start a fight, please," Kabir quickly intervenes. "Let’s go, Avyaan." He turns back to Saanvi. "Good night, Doctor. Stay safe, and eat a lot of food."

They turn to leave.

"Wait." She stops them.

They turn back. She hesitates for a second, glancing quickly over her shoulder toward the hall, then meeting their eyes. "I need to know something about Rudra."

"What is it, Doctor?" Kabir asks. "Don't worry, he isn't secretly seeing someone else—"

"What happened when he was in a relationship with Anvika?" she asks. Kabir’s smile instantly evaporates, and Avyaan’s gaze, which had been distant, drops sharply onto her face.

She holds their silence, staring at their sudden, hard edged reaction. "Please, don't shut me down. I really need to know what’s actually happening with him. There is something serious he’s clearly hiding, and he won’t tell me."

"Then don't ask us," Kabir says, his tone snapping into one sudden, stern seriousness. "You have to respect his privacy, Doctor. If he doesn't want to tell you, we won't. This is between you and Rudra, and we absolutely can't—"

"Rudra is suicidal." Avyaan interjects.

Her eyes widen, the colour draining from her face.

"Avyaan! What the hell is wrong with you?" Kabir snaps, his face twisting with fury as he glares at him.

Avyaan's eyes locked on Saanvi’s shocked face. "He's hurting himself. He's taking all the blame, all the guilt, out on his own body."

Her vision blurs instantly, tears springing to her eyes as they lock onto Avyaan’s unwavering blue ones.

"Avyaan, you absolutely cannot—" Kabir tries to grab him, to silence him.

"He still does… that," Avyaan continues, ignoring Kabir. "Save him, Saanvi, before he takes his whole life again."

She takes a deep, ragged breath. Her legs betray her, and she stumbles backward, reaching out to grab the edge of the door. With a sharp, desperate sound, she pulls it shut, the yank of the door echoing the break in her composure.

Outside, Kabir whirls on Avyaan, yanking his arm hard. "Avyaan! He explicitly told us he didn't want her to know! Have you completely lost your mind? He will kill you."

"As long as he’s alive and safe, it’s fine.” Avyaan replies.

Kabir scoffs, rubbing his hand roughly across his forehead. "For God's sake, Rudra is our friend. He trusted us not to spill anything, and you just dropped a bomb on her!"

"At least she will confront him now, Kabir!" Avyaan yells, pushing Kabir's hand away, the sudden outburst revealing his own anxiety. "Yes, I broke the trust. But for me, Rudra being alive and safe is more important than anything. If that makes me look like a villain who betrayed his friend, or if Rudra ends his friendship with me, I can live with that."

Kabir lets out a long, slow sigh, tilting his head as he looks at Avyaan. "Avyaan..." he whispers softly, the anger draining away to a weary acceptance. He pulls him into a quick, tight hug, then breaks away with another deep sigh.

"He's terrified, Kabir. He is terrified to tell her about his past. I just hope Saanvi somehow makes him realize she won’t leave him. He needs to know it wasn't his fault that night. He was the victim, he was drunk. It was Anvika who took advantage of him."

"But what if she really does leave?" Kabir asks. "We honestly don't know what she's feeling right now, or what decision she’ll make after hearing something like that."

Avyaan shakes his head. "She won't. I know."

"How do you know that?" Kabir insists, frowning, searching Avyaan's eyes for a logic he can grasp.

Avyaan takes a deep, resolute breath. "I just know something."

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Daily journal

When we were sitting on the couch, your head resting on my lap and my fingers tangled in your hair, a thought quietly crept into my mind. What if that day had gone differently? What if I hadn't taken that route? What if I hadn't been shot? What if I hadn't fallen in front of your car? What if I had been just one minute late, and you had already driven away? What if we had never met?

For a moment the thought made me uneasy, like imagining a world that would've been painfully empty. And in that moment, I realized just how deeply I love you, how much you mean to me. It made me grateful for everything that led me here, even getting shot that day, because, somehow, that pain became the reason I found you.

Meeting you once was all fate needed to do. The rest I knew I would take care of myself. By marrying you.