SOMEWHERE IN THE PAST

2000

BAI MANSION

Rain wrapped Bai Mansion in a quiet hush, droplets sliding down its marble walls while the courtyard glistened under the storm and distant thunder murmured like a warning, the whole mansion seeming to stand still and listen as if the rain carried secrets meant only for it.

Pallavi sat in the bedroom with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as though she could shield her heart from the sound of rain striking the windows, from the memories it dragged behind it, her knees drawn to her chest while tears slipped down her cheeks with a slow, burning ache that felt impossible to escape, because how could she be alright when every single drop outside reminded her of everything she thought she had left behind.

Back home, whenever rain frightened her, her father would pull her into his arms and rock her gently until sleep claimed her, but this time there was no warmth, no familiar voice, no safety, only the heavy realization that she was not in her home anymore, and that truth settled inside her chest like a stone. She glanced down at the chooda circling her wrists, their soft clink sounding louder than it should have in the quiet room, and then she looked at herself in the mirror, at the fragile girl staring back, eyes swollen, lips trembling, looking so heartbreakingly vulnerable as if she were someone waiting to be comforted yet knowing no one would come.

Downstairs, Vishakha had been watching the maids lay out dinner, her gaze drifting now and then toward the staircase until finally she straightened and called out, her voice warm and unaware of the storm inside the room above, "Pallavi beta, niche aajao, dinner kar lete hain." Her words floated upward gently, never guessing the turmoil they reached.

Pallavi heard her, of course she did, but the thought of walking downstairs like this, with her face betraying everything she had tried to bury, made her chest tighten, because what if Vishakha judged her, what if she failed to understand, what if her pain became something whispered about instead of something held gently. No... she couldn't allow that, she remembered her chachi's warning too clearly, that pain shown to the world becomes a weakness people learn to use.

She inhaled slowly and forced herself to stand, staring at her reflection while she wiped her tears even though more insisted on gathering, her fingers trembling as she adjusted her saree, smoothed her hair, cleared her throat, and called back as steadily as she could manage, "Maaji, hame bhook nahi hai, aap kha lijiye," her voice sounding calm enough to anyone listening, though inside her emotions pressed and clawed as if begging to spill over.

Vishakha, downstairs, missed the faint tremor in that reply, yet she knew her daughter-in-law had been struggling to settle into this house, especially with a husband who had remained distant and difficult, and since it had barely been a week since the wedding, worry softened her eyes as she answered gently, "Theek hai beta, aaram karo, main upar bhejwa deti hoon."

A few minutes later a knock sounded on Pallavi's door, soft but clear, and she whispered, "Come in," pulling the blanket slightly higher around herself as Mia, the housemaid, stepped inside and placed a tray of food carefully on the bed beside her. "Mrs, are you okay?" she asked quietly, concern flickering openly in her eyes, and for a moment all Pallavi wanted was to turn around and cry without restraint, to let someone see, to let someone know, but she didn't, not yet, because everything in this mansion still felt unfamiliar, uncertain, and her husband's indifference only deepened that loneliness.

"Nahi, I am okay," Pallavi whispered instead, her back still turned as she lay beneath the blanket hiding the truth written across her face, and something in Mia's expression shifted, a silent understanding that nothing was alright, yet she only nodded softly before leaving the room and closing the door behind her, the faint click echoing louder than it should have in the rain-filled silence.

Hours later, the main gate clicked open, the heavy steel groaning as it swung inward and the sound echoed through the mansion's vast stillness while Bai Minghao stepped inside, his men falling into silent formation behind him like shadows that knew their place.

 He shrugged off his jacket as he walked, rainwater dripping from its edges, the fabric dark where blood had seeped and mixed with the storm that had soaked him through, yet his face remained calm—too calm for a man who had buried souls only moments ago and returned home as if it were nothing more than another ordinary night, which for him, it was.

His gaze lifted almost immediately toward the upper floor, instinct sharp, cautious, hoping no one had noticed his arrival and hoping most of all that she was asleep, and when his single eye caught sight of the closed bedroom door and the darkness beneath it, something unreadable flickered across his features before a faint frown replaced it. She was asleep?

In the week since their marriage, Pallavi had waited for him every single night no matter how late he came, no matter how tired she must have been, always sitting up with that quiet patience that unsettled him more than anger ever could, and now she hadn't—now she had simply gone to sleep. Had she really listened to what he said last night, when he had snapped at her not to wait for him while he was at work? Not because he disliked her or because there was someone else, but because she stirred something inside him that a man like him had no right to feel.

He should have been relieved that she obeyed him, that she had finally done what he told her to do, yet as he stood there his eyes drifted again to the darkened hallway upstairs and then toward the kitchen as if expecting her to appear any second with a tray, her soft footsteps announcing her presence, but no one came, and the silence pressed in until something unfamiliar tightened in his chest, something that made him feel lonelier tonight than he had in years. 

She was doing exactly what he wanted, so he should ignore it, go to his study, pour himself a drink, and drown the feeling the way he always did.

Footsteps sounded before he could move, and he turned to see his mother descending the stairs, her saree whispering softly with each step, his father beside her, stern and unyielding as ever. One glance at their faces told him everything—his father's expression was dark and stormy, the look he wore whenever Minghao had crossed a line, while his mother's was gentle but laced with worry, a combination that softened his eyes despite himself.

"Maa, what's wrong?" he asked, forcing his attention onto her and deliberately ignoring the anger radiating from his father, even though he already knew he was in trouble.

"Beta, Pallavi zara theek nahi hai. Did you two fight last night?" Vishakha's words froze him where he stood, the question striking harder than any blow he had taken earlier. Had they found out? Was that why Pallavi hadn't waited tonight like she always did?

"What do you mean, Maa?" he asked quietly, swallowing as if the answer might cut on its way down, hoping—absurdly—that he had misunderstood.

"Beta, it's better you go and check on her. She didn't even come down for dinner," Vishakha said, concern deepening in her eyes. "I sent food upstairs, but I don't know if she ate."

She hesitated, then continued more softly, "I know you didn't want this marriage, but that doesn't mean you ignore your own wife and act like nothing has changed, like you aren't someone's husband now. Remember, someone left her whole world for you."

"Why are you explaining to him so calmly—" Yansong's voice rose, anger finally breaking through, but Vishakha's hand resting lightly on his arm stopped him before he could continue, her touch quiet yet firm.

Slowly, the two of them turned and walked away, leaving Minghao standing alone in the middle of the hall, and with every passing second the tightness in his chest grew worse, an ache that had nothing to do with bruises or exhaustion but everything to do with guilt settling deeper and deeper under his ribs. Behind him his men remained perfectly still, already knowing better than to interrupt when he fell into this kind of silence.

His mother's words echoed again and again in his mind, relentless as the rain outside. 

Someone left her world for you.

It was true, wasn't it? A woman had walked away from everything she had ever known to stand beside him, and still he had treated her like this.

Something in him snapped. Without turning around he spoke sharply, "Dismissed." Just one word, low and final, yet his men obeyed instantly, retreating without hesitation until he was alone.

Then, not caring about the blood staining his clothes or the faint trail it left behind him, he strode toward the staircase and climbed it two steps at a time, urgency driving his pace as if reaching that room, that door, that girl beyond it, suddenly mattered more than anything else in the world.

He reached the door and paused, his bruised, blood-streaked hand hovering over the knob as hesitation crept into his eyes, a fleeting uncertainty asking whether he should really go in, whether she would even want to see him like this, but before the thought could settle he was already turning the handle and stepping inside as if his body had decided for him.

There she was, lying beneath the blankets, small and still, and he let out a quiet breath of relief at the sight because at least she was asleep, at least she wouldn't have to see the state he was in tonight. Outside, the rain continued its steady fall, the soft drumming against the windows the only sound filling the room as he moved carefully across the floor, each step measured so he wouldn't disturb her rest.

Yet his gaze lingered on her, narrowing slightly. Was she really asleep... or pretending to be?

"Pallavi?" he called softly, the name leaving his lips almost without permission, as if he needed confirmation more for himself than for her, and when no answer came, when she didn't stir or shift even slightly, his shoulders loosened and he turned away, beginning to shrug off his jacket.

Thunder cracked suddenly outside the window, loud and sharp, but he didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't react at all.

She did.

Pallavi shot upright, tears spilling freely now, because she had been trying to sleep, trying desperately to swallow everything she felt, trying to keep it locked inside so no one—especially him—would ever see how fragile she really was, but the violent thunderclap shattered whatever control she had left, breaking through her like a blow.

In one frantic motion she threw aside the blanket, and before he could even register what was happening she ran straight into him as if her life depended on it, her arms flinging around his neck and clinging tight, the blood on his clothes not frightening her in the slightest because it wasn't him she feared, it was the storm, the night, the memories it dragged back from a past she had spent years trying to escape. Her saree was disheveled, her hair falling loose and tangled around her shoulders, her whole body trembling as sobs tore out of her chest.

For a long moment Minghao didn't move at all, didn't breathe, didn't think, because he was still trying to understand what had just happened, still trying to reconcile the sight of her like this with the composed girl he had seen all week, the one who had quietly endured everything—his distance, his sharp words, his indifference. Had what he said last night hurt her this much?

Another sob shook her, raw and helpless, and something inside him gave way. Slowly, almost cautiously, his arms came around her waist and pulled her closer, and a faint shiver ran down his spine because this woman—his wife—was crying in his arms, seeking comfort from him while he stood there stained with blood, a man who had always believed he was the last person anyone should run to for solace.

Pallavi only clung tighter, her fingers gripping the back of his neck as she buried her face against him like a frightened child who believed he was the only safe place left, and he found himself rubbing her back in slow, soothing strokes, his large hands unexpectedly gentle, his throat tightening as a strange warmth spread through his chest, unfamiliar yet undeniable, something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do, because he had never comforted anyone in his life, let alone a woman, his world always circling violence, orders, blood, and silence instead of tears and trembling hands, and yet the sound that left his mouth was soft, barely a whisper, surprising even him because it carried a gentleness he didn't recognize in himself.

"Shh..."

He still didn't understand what was frightening her so deeply that she had fallen apart like this, but he could see the fear in her eyes, raw and unguarded, and of course he recognized fear—he had caused it countless times, commanded it with a glance, watched men twice his size crumble under it without mercy—yet none of those moments had ever affected him the way this did, because seeing her like this hurt in a way he had no defense against, and that alone unsettled him more than any enemy ever had.

Slowly he guided her toward the bed, supporting her weight with steady arms around her waist, moving carefully as if she were something fragile that might break if he handled her wrong, and once she was seated he stayed close, watching her face as if searching for answers there. She was a mess—eyes swollen, lashes wet, hair loose around her cheeks—and still, absurdly, she looked beautiful to him, painfully so.

Before he even realized it, his hands were lifting to cup her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that refused to stop, and the simple contact sent a faint shiver down his spine because in all the days since their wedding he had never touched her, not once, never allowed himself to, yet now he couldn't seem to stop.

"Pallavi," he said quietly, his voice low and steady the way one speaks to someone standing on the edge of breaking, "I need you to calm down and take deep breaths."

He lowered himself onto the floor in front of her so their eyes were level, one hand resting lightly on her knee, his thumb moving back and forth in a slow, soothing motion meant to ground her, and she nodded, actually nodding, trying to follow what he said even though fear still clung to her chest. She drew in a shaky breath, then another, her shoulders rising and falling unevenly, but she tried because he asked her to.

Relief slipped quietly through him. At least she was trying.

A small hiccup escaped her as she struggled to steady herself, and he immediately rose to get water, but before he could step away her fingers wrapped weakly around his wrist, stopping him. He looked down and saw those eyes—vulnerable, uncertain, clinging—and something in his chest squeezed painfully. Had he really made her feel this alone?

"Just wait here," he murmured softly, his tone instinctively gentle, "I'm bringing you water, okay?"

He poured a glass from the jug on the nightstand and returned at once, kneeling in front of her again, one hand holding the glass while the other rested beneath her chin so if she faltered the water wouldn't spill over her saree, his movements careful, patient, almost reverent. If any of his men saw him like this, kneeling and tending to someone with such quiet care, they would probably stare in disbelief—or laugh—but right now he didn't care, not when her tears were still shining on her lashes.

Guilt gnawed at him with every passing second. Had he done this to her? Had his words hurt her enough to break her like this?

God... what had he done?

Still, he needed to know. He needed to understand what was hurting her so badly, why she hadn't eaten, why she had been crying alone instead of calling for someone, and somewhere deep inside he prayed it wasn't because of him, though a part of him already feared the answer.

She drew in a breath like she wanted to speak, like she wanted to tell him everything she had been holding back, but the lump in her throat made the words stick, and frustration flickered through her eyes at her own inability to say it.

He leaned closer, setting the glass aside once she had taken a few sips, then gently dabbed the corner of her mouth with his handkerchief before saying softly, "It's okay, Pallavi... just tell me what's wrong."

He lifted his hand slightly, gesturing for her to breathe again, then exaggerated the motion himself—slow inhale, slow exhale—quietly encouraging her to follow, and she did, her breaths gradually evening out as his calm presence wrapped around her like a shield.

The storm outside still rumbled faintly in the distance, but inside the room the thunder had softened into silence, leaving only the sound of her uneven breathing and the steady warmth of his hand resting against her, grounding her as if that simple touch were a quiet promise that whatever frightened her in the dark, she would not have to face it alone tonight.

"Rain... scares me."

The words struck him harder than any bullet ever had. For a second he just stared at her, the confession landing in his chest like icy water poured straight through his ribs, and suddenly everything made sense in a way that made his jaw tighten. Of course she was scared. It wasn't childish, it wasn't silly—it was fear, real fear, the kind that didn't need logic to exist. And for once, he didn't scoff, didn't smirk, didn't dismiss it the way he might have with anyone else.

Reality hit him all at once.

Fuck.

She had been alone the whole evening. He knew it had been raining—he had seen the storm when he left for his meeting, had watched the clouds gather, had heard the thunder roll across the sky, and still he hadn't thought of her once. And she hadn't called him. Not once. Not even when the storm must have been loud enough to shake her apart. Not after what he said to her last night. She hadn't felt safe enough to call her own husband.

The realization drove into him like a blade. Nothing in years had hurt the way that did. Not wounds, not fights, not losses. Just that one truth.

Without saying a word, he lifted his hands and gently covered her ears, his palms warm and steady against the sides of her head, shielding her even though the storm had already faded and the rain had softened to a distant whisper.

Pallavi blinked in surprise at the gesture, clearly not expecting it, but then her shoulders loosened slightly and she let out a quiet breath, relief softening her trembling frame. Tears gathered again at the corners of her eyes, not from fear this time but from something else entirely, because he wasn't laughing at her, wasn't mocking her the way people usually did when they heard what frightened her, when they dismissed it as silly or childish, when they didn't understand that trauma doesn't ask permission before it settles into someone's bones.

And that was all it took for her composure to shatter completely.

She slipped off the bed and straight into him, pressing her face into his chest, clutching him as if she might fall apart without something solid to hold onto, and this time he didn't freeze or hesitate or question it—his arms closed around her instantly, tightly, instinctively, pulling her close like he meant it.

"I promise you, Pallavi," he said quietly, his voice low but firm, the kind of tone that sounded less like words and more like an oath carved into stone. He lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek so she had no choice but to look at him, his thumb brushing away the tears still slipping down. "From today until the end of time... even after death if there is anything beyond it, I won't let you be alone."

His gaze didn't waver from hers, steady and unguarded in a way it had never been before. "Whenever it rains, whenever the storm comes, I'll be there. Even if I can't reach you, I'll still be right there. You won't face it alone again. Not while I exist."

She froze at his words, searching his face as if she expected the promise to disappear if she blinked, but it didn't. There was no coldness in his eyes now, no distance, no indifference—only sincerity, raw and unmistakable, and it stunned her more than the storm ever could.

Her tears fell faster. Not because she was scared anymore, but because no one had ever said something like that to her before, no one had ever promised her presence the way he just had, no one had ever spoken as if staying beside her was a vow rather than a burden.

She didn't say anything, not a single word, but the small smile that trembled onto her lips said more than language ever could, soft and fragile yet glowing with something unspoken, because a girl who had never been held like this, never been comforted like this, now stood in the arms of a man who had just promised to protect her until the end of time, and for her that promise felt louder than thunder, warmer than sunlight, and more real than anything she had ever known.

Slowly, carefully, as if she were something precious he had just realized he was holding, Minghao pulled her closer again and rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, his hand moving once more along her back in that quiet, soothing rhythm he seemed to have learned only for her.

He didn't recognize himself in that moment, didn't understand how he had become capable of such gentleness or how those promises had come so easily to his lips, because he had never been a man of softness or tenderness, yet with her it hadn't felt forced or deliberate, it had simply happened, as natural as breathing, as if something inside him had always known how but had just been waiting for the right person to awaken it.

And maybe—though he would never dare say it aloud, not yet, not even to himself—this man who had lived his whole life untouched by warmth was beginning to feel something dangerously close to love.

Outside, the rain softened into a faint drizzle, then into nothing at all.

Inside, she stayed in his arms.

And for the first time since she entered that mansion, Pallavi did not feel alone.

PRESENT TIME

SEWRI CHRISTIAN CEMETRY

Rain fell over the grave like a quiet confession, soft at first and then steady, each drop sinking into the soil until it gleamed dark and smooth like polished stone, while the monsoon wind slipped through the crooked iron railings carrying with it the distant blur of traffic, temple bells echoing faintly somewhere far away, and the restless breathing of a city that never truly slept.

 Water gathered slowly along the carved letters of the headstone, filling the names and dates as though time itself were being rewritten in liquid silver, and a lone marigold garland, half-wilted and clinging stubbornly to the marble, trembled whenever thunder rolled low across the sky. 

In that moment the grave did not look abandoned, did not look forgotten—it looked watched, guarded by rain, wrapped in mist, held gently inside the kind of hush only storms know how to bring.

Minghao stood bent over it, his forehead resting against the cold stone, tears falling without pause, his fingers clutching the edge desperately as if gripping hard enough might somehow bridge the distance between life and death, as if the earth itself might soften and give her back if only he refused to let go, even though he knew—God, he knew—he would never reach her again.

She was gone.

A truth he had never learned to live with. Not once. Not even after all these years.

Because some stubborn, aching part of him still believed his Pallavi wouldn't leave him, wouldn't really leave him, not like this, not forever, not when he was standing right here in front of her grave like a man waiting for her to answer.

"Mai yahi hoon, Chandni... chinta mat karna," he whispered hoarsely, the nickname slipping out before he could stop it, the name he had only ever used for her because she had always been his Chandni—his moonlight, the soft glow that had once pulled him out of a darkness he never thought he would escape. "Main hamesha se yahin hoon... chinta mat karo."

Every man in the world might forget his promises, might break them, might let time bury them along with memories, but Bai Minghao was not every man, and he had never expected to love anyone at all, yet he had loved his wife so fiercely that even death had not managed to dull it, not even a little, not even after it took her away from him.

So he stayed.

Right here. With her. Shielding her from the rain with his own body as if that still mattered, as if she could still feel cold, as if there was anything left he could protect her from except his own helplessness.

His trembling hands slid slowly across the grave, tracing the stone the way one might trace a beloved face, his touch reverent, aching, almost disbelieving, like he expected warmth to answer him back, like he expected her fingers to curl around his at any second, even though he knew she could feel nothing now, knew the silence beneath the earth would never answer him again, and still he kept touching her name because stopping felt worse than pain.

"Yahi hoon main, Chandni... aapke saath," he murmured, his voice breaking as he pressed his lips against the rain-soaked marble again and again, careless of the water streaming down his face, careless of the way his expensive suit clung to him heavy and drenched, careless of the cold that made his body shiver because none of it mattered, none of it could matter, not when she was lying beneath this stone and he was still up here breathing without her.

Hours passed, but he didn't move. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Because every time he even thought of stepping away he saw her as she had been twenty-five years ago, trembling in a storm, eyes wide and frightened, clinging to him like he was the only safe place she had ever known, and he had promised her that night—promised her she would never face the rain alone again.

He wasn't about to break that promise now. Not even if she could no longer hear it.

His phone began ringing in his pocket, the sharp sound slicing through the rain, once... twice... again... but he ignored it, jaw tightening, fingers still gripping the grave like it might disappear if he loosened his hold. When it rang yet again, louder, more insistent, something inside him snapped; he yanked it out without even looking at the screen and hurled it across the wet ground, the device skidding through mud and rainwater until it vanished into the darkness beyond the railing.

He didn't spare it a glance.

Instead he bent closer over the grave, shoulders hunched protectively, as though shielding her from the storm that had already passed, and stayed there unmoving, rain sliding down his hair, his face, his lashes, mixing with tears no one was there to witness, a man kneeling in the mud beside the only thing he had ever loved, refusing to leave because leaving her—even now, even like this—felt more unbearable than drowning.

Maybe no one down here noticed, maybe the world kept moving just as it always did, blind and indifferent, but high above, Mahadev surely saw it all—saw how the man who once made grown men tremble and cry with a single glance now stood shattered beyond repair, undone completely and helplessly, not by war or enemies or fate, but by love alone, by the loss of the one woman who had been his whole world.

He apologised —
not in half words,
not in wounded pride,
but in a voice that trembled
like a man laying down his armour
for the first time.

And when he stood before everyone,
shoulders straight, eyes fierce,
defending me as if I were
the only truth in a room full of noise —
something inside me shifted.

In that moment,
I was not just a woman being defended,
I was chosen.

I felt like the happiest woman alive,
like the world had paused
just to let my heart breathe.

Was he changing?
I didn’t know.
Men like him build walls so high
even the sky cannot see over them.

But today I saw it —
the crack in his strength,
the ache he carried quietly,
pain folded neatly behind silence
so no one would dare touch it.

And I realised…
he had been fighting alone
for far too long.

So from today,
if the world dares to weigh him down,
I will stand beside him.

If his past tries to pull him back,
I will hold his hand tighter.

He defended me in front of everyone —
now I will protect his heart
when no one is watching.

He will never face his storms alone again.
Not while I breathe.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

MUMBAI,INDIA

DEEWAN MANSION

Night had folded itself around the mansion so slowly and so silently that it almost felt intentional, as if the darkness itself had crept in on bare feet and wrapped its shadowed shawl over the marble halls and high pillars without anyone noticing the exact moment the light disappeared, and somewhere far beyond the boundary walls an owl hooted into the still air while the last of the servants drifted away down the corridors until even their fading footsteps seemed swallowed by the night's hush.

Kashi sat still, barely daring to shift, because Minsheng's head lay heavy in her lap and his fingers were tangled stubbornly in her saree as though the fabric were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth, and it did something strange to her heart to see him like this — this man who normally carried danger around him like a crown, who held authority in his voice like a blade, who wore silence like armor — now clutching her instead, drunk and unguarded and soft in a way she had never witnessed before.

Her fingers slipped gently into his hair, slow and careful, and she couldn't help noticing how different it felt like this because his hair was always perfectly combed and disciplined just like his expressions and movements, yet now it fell loose and messy against her palm, warm and slightly damp and real, and the sight made her chest ache with something that hovered between tenderness and disbelief.

God... what was he doing to her?

The day had been chaos wrapped in laughter and moments she didn't know how to describe, moments that kept replaying in her mind because she didn't want them to fade, and she realized with a quiet start that she had spent more time with him today than she had in their entire one year of marriage, which almost felt impossible when she thought about how long a year should be and how short it suddenly seemed.

Tomorrow would make it a year.

A whole year since she had given herself to him completely — not just as a bride standing beside him in rituals, but as a woman who had silently offered him her patience, her loyalty, her care, her stubborn, quiet devotion.

Their anniversary.

And Mahashivratri. It was the day her Mahadev had married Gauri Maiya and the same day she had married her Shankar.

Which meant she would have to perform at the mandir.

The thought brushed her mind lightly yet lingered there, not frightening her exactly but stirring a soft nervousness in her chest, because Vishakha's words still echoed somewhere in her memory like a calm reassurance and yet she couldn't stop wondering how he would react, what expression he would wear, whether his eyes would harden or soften or remain unreadable the way they usually were.

She was so lost inside those thoughts that she didn't notice the shift in him until she felt it.

A small, uneven sniffle against her saree.

Her body went completely still.

Her eyes widened.

Was he—

Her breath caught.

Oh God.

Was he crying?

Panic rushed through her instantly, sharp and breathless, and she lifted his head gently from her lap before she could even think properly, her hands careful as if he might break.''Aap... aap theek hai?" she whispered, voice soft but trembling.

He blinked up at her. His eyes were glassy. Wet. Unfocused. Vulnerable.

Her heart twisted painfully. God, how could someone look this helpless and still be the same man people feared to even look at?

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, trying to steady her voice even though her thoughts were already racing. Did I hurt him? Did I say something? Did I do something wrong?

His lips parted slowly, like the words had to push their way out. "I... I am shorry... wifey." The apology came out slurred, soft, and completely unguarded.

Kashi froze.

Her heart skipped.

Did he just—

Was he apologizing?

The memory slammed into her mind, sharp and sudden, his furious voice from that night ringing in her ears.

"DON'T THINK YOU CAN END ME! I AM BAI MINSHENG. NO ONE KILLS THE WHITE TIGER!"

She could still hear it.

Still feel it.

But she knew now that he hadn't meant it the way it sounded — not completely, not truly.

Before she could speak, he wiped his nose clumsily with his sleeve and pushed himself upright with visible effort, swaying slightly as he looked at her with an expression that was strangely boyish, almost guilty.

"I am shorry," he repeated, nodding a little too hard like he was convincing himself. "Shorry wifey. Very shorry. I... I bad husband."

Her eyes softened instantly.

He sniffed loudly.

"I was... mean," he added, squinting as if the word itself was hard to pronounce. "Not little mean. Big mean. Very big mean." He frowned at his own sentence like it offended him. "You... you cook for me. Real cook. Not fake cook. Not servant cook. You cook cook."

Another tear slid down.

"I should say thank you," he muttered, voice wobbling. "But I say... angry things. Stupid things. Bad things. I say tiger things." He blinked slowly. "I don't like tiger me."

Her chest tightened.

He rubbed his face with both hands and then peeked at her through his fingers.

"You waited," he said softly, almost wonderingly. "You waited for me... nobody wait for me. People wait for money. Or power. Or fear. But you..." He pointed at her with a slightly crooked finger. "You just wait."

His lips trembled.

"That... scary," he whispered. "Very scary. You care. Caring dangerous. Caring make heart..." He tapped his chest clumsily. "Boom boom weird."

A tear dropped onto her saree.

"I was poisoned when I was little," he added suddenly, voice small like he was confessing a secret to the dark. "So I don't trust food. I don't trust people. I don't trust... nice things." He swallowed. "Nice things go away."

Her throat tightened.

"I leave you that night," he continued, guilt thick in his slurred voice. "Wedding night. I go. I leave. Bad husband. Worst husband. Trash husband." He nodded solemnly. "You should divorce me. Throw me out. Kick me." He demonstrated a weak kicking motion in the air and nearly lost balance. "Like that. Dhishoom."

Despite the ache in her chest, her lips trembled faintly.

"But you stay," he whispered, eyes glossy again. "You stay and still be nice. Why you nice? Huh?" He leaned closer as if waiting for an answer, then shook his head slowly. "No. Don't answer. I know."

His voice softened.

"Because you... you you."

Silence stretched.

Then he mumbled, almost to himself, "I monster. Real monster. People say. I know. I also say." His fingers tightened weakly in her saree again. "You should go. But... when you care..." His words slowed, sleep tugging at them. "It make me wanna be... better monster. Only for you. Just you. My wifey."

His head grew heavier against her. His voice faded to a murmur.

"All for you... only you..."

And just like that his body slackened, breath deepening as sleep claimed him mid-sentence, the confession slipping out of his lips and dissolving into the quiet night before he could take it back.

Kashi didn't move.

Her hand remained in his hair, fingers slowly stroking through the strands while she stared down at him, her heart full and aching and warm all at once because she had never seen him like this, never imagined he carried this much hurt hidden behind those iron walls.

God... was he this broken all along?

He thought he was a monster.

He thought she would leave.

He thought he deserved nothing.

Her fingers smoothed his hair again, softer this time, almost like a promise.

Maybe he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning.
Maybe he would pretend it never happened.
Maybe he would rebuild his walls before sunrise.

But she would remember.

She would remember every slurred word, every trembling confession, every tear he tried and failed to hide.

Because this feared man, this untouchable man, this man the world called dangerous — had fallen asleep in her lap like someone who finally felt safe.

And in that quiet midnight stillness, with his hand still clutching her saree like it was home, Kashi realized with a certainty so deep it frightened her that she had never loved him more than she did in this very moment.

NEXT MORNING

Morning slipped into the bedroom with such delicate hesitation that it almost seemed alive, as though dawn itself were shy and reluctant to disturb the quiet that still lingered from the night, and a thin ribbon of sunlight crept through the narrow gap in the curtains, stretching slowly across the polished floor before climbing inch by inch onto the bed, spreading warmth across the sheets in a pale golden hush while dust motes drifted lazily in the beam like tiny secrets suspended in the air, visible only to those patient enough to notice them.

Kashi was still asleep.

Her head rested against the carved headboard at an angle that should have woken her hours ago, her neck bent and her back stiff from remaining in the same posture all night, yet she had not shifted even once, not when her shoulders had begun to ache, not when her legs had long since gone numb, not when sleep had tried to pull her deeper, because Minsheng had been resting in her lap so peacefully that she had not dared risk even the smallest movement that might disturb him.

She knew how rare that kind of sleep was for him.

How fragile it must be.

How easily it could vanish.

And if sitting like this, spine aching and muscles protesting, was what it took for him to sleep without tension carved into his face, then she would sit like this every night without complaint, without question, without hesitation, guarding that quiet like it was something sacred.

A low groan slipped from his throat.

She didn't wake.

Another sound followed, heavier this time, rougher, dragged out of him as though it had clawed its way through sleep.

Her lashes fluttered slowly.

Minsheng shifted against her lap, one hand rising unsteadily to his forehead while his brows drew together in discomfort, and the faint wince that crossed his face made it obvious even before he spoke that his head was pounding mercilessly from the aftereffects of the alcohol he had consumed the day before.

Of course it hurt.

Anyone would be suffering after that much.

Slowly, sluggishly, like someone fighting through thick water, he pushed himself upright and blinked around the room in visible confusion, his gaze unfocused and heavy as though the world itself had woken before he was ready for it.

The moment he moved, Kashi straightened at once, sleep vanishing from her eyes so completely it was as if it had never been there, concern rushing across her face while her hands instinctively hovered near him, uncertain whether to steady him or simply watch.

"Aap theek hai?" she asked softly, her voice careful and almost tentative, as though she feared that speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile softness she had glimpsed in him the night before, because a quiet part of her worried that if she startled him he would retreat behind those familiar walls again and she would find herself once more standing outside them.

He didn't answer.

He just sat there, one hand pressed to his temple, breathing slowly through his nose as though he were attempting to steady both his thoughts and the room at the same time.

For one small hopeful moment she wondered if he remembered.

If he would say something.

If he would look at her the way he had last night.

If—

His expression changed.

His face went pale.

Not slightly.

Completely.

His brows pulled together sharply and his lips pressed into a tight line as something uneasy passed through his features.

Kashi blinked, confused. "...Suniye?"

He lifted a finger faintly, like he was about to say something important, something serious, something that required focus. Nothing came out.

His eyes widened instead.

And before her mind could catch up to what was happening—

He lurched forward.

And promptly threw up all over the front of her saree.

Time stopped.

Not metaphorically.

Actually stopped.

The sunlight seemed to freeze in place.
The dust motes hung motionless.
Even the air felt stunned.

Kashi did not move. She did not blink. Her mind simply refused to accept what had just occurred.

Slowly — very slowly — she lowered her gaze.

She looked down slowly, her gaze freezing on the ruined silk draped around her, and for a long, suspended moment all she could see was her precious Manish Malhotra saree — the one she had treasured like a jewel, the one she had worn with such care — now utterly destroyed, and truly, if the man standing before her had not been the very same man she loved more fiercely than her own life, more protectively than her own pride, he would have been declared dead on the spot by nothing more than the silent, lethal look gathering in her eyes.

Real Dead

She looked at him. Looked back at her saree.

Minsheng, meanwhile, remained leaning forward slightly, breathing through his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as though he were waiting for the universe to stabilize again before rejoining it.

A long second passed.

Then another.

A faint, horrified whisper finally left her lips. "...Hai Mahadev..."

He swallowed weakly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a dazed, automatic motion, and only then seemed to realize the situation he had just created.

His gaze dropped.

Noticed the saree.

Noticed the evidence.

Noticed reality.

He blinked once.

Twice.

"...I," he rasped hoarsely, voice wrecked from sleep and nausea and leftover alcohol, "can explain."

She stared at him, completely mortified, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief, horror, and silent accusation.

He looked down again, squinting faintly at the mess as though studying it might somehow improve it, and then added in a tired mumble, "Maybe not... immediately. But... eventually. With time."

Her jaw fell open.

"You—" she inhaled sharply, scandalized beyond recovery, "—aapne mere upar?!"

He winced faintly, not at the mess, but at her tone. "In my defense," he muttered weakly while pressing his fingers harder against his temple, "the room moved first."

"The room did not move!"

"It definitely did."

"You vomited on me!"

"I apologized internally."

"That does not count!"

He squinted at her as if trying very hard to focus on her face while the world stubbornly refused to stay still. "...You're loud," he informed her gravely, with the solemn seriousness of a man making an important observation.

Her eyes widened in outrage.

"I am loud?!"

He nodded slowly.

"Very."

She looked as though she might actually combust from indignation.

He, meanwhile, leaned back slightly, closed his eyes halfway, and murmured with exhausted sincerity,

"...Still worth it. Slept good."

Her anger faltered.

Just like that.

She stared at him, stunned.

He had already slumped sideways again, looking seconds away from passing out once more, utterly unbothered by the chaos he had caused.

Kashi remained frozen where she sat, saree ruined, hair slightly disheveled, dignity in shambles, staring at the man feared by enemies and respected by allies alike — a man whose name alone could silence rooms — and who had just, without warning, thrown up on her like a helpless, overgrown child.

And despite everything...

despite the horror...

despite the shock...

a small, disbelieving laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Because truly, only her husband could confess his soul one night, shatter her heart with tenderness, and then greet the next morning by committing such a crime with complete sincerity and absolutely no awareness of the catastrophe he had caused.

Usually, he wouldn't react like this. He would pull up his walls, put on that familiar mask of cold indifference, and keep everyone at a distance—but now, just waking up under the haze of alcohol, he barely knew what he was doing, and the edges of his control were dangerously blurred.

"Chaliye... ab let's clean up," she murmured, a soft chuckle slipping past her lips as she carefully stood up first, the damp folds of her saree clinging uncomfortably to her and carrying the unmistakable smell of the mess he had just made, yet none of that mattered to her in that moment because the only thought steady in her mind was that she had to make sure he was stable before anything else, before her own discomfort, before her own embarrassment, before anything at all.

And just like that, in the middle of all that ridiculous chaos, the kind that would have mortified anyone else beyond recovery, Kashi realised something that settled quietly but firmly inside her heart — what kind of man he truly was, not the one the world saw, not the one he forced himself to be, but the one hidden beneath all those walls — a man who felt, deeply and fiercely, every emotion he had spent years trying to bury, trying to silence, trying to drown in anger and distance... and she had seen it, every raw piece of it, every unguarded fragment he never meant to show.

And now that she had seen it, truly seen him, there was no force in this world strong enough to make her let him go.

Not after everything he had confessed.

Not after everything he had trusted her with.

She would make sure of it — that one day would come when the world would look at him and not whisper monster behind his back, but speak his name with the respect he had never been given.

ANSH AND KALYANI'S BEDROOM

The bedroom was less a room and more a private kingdom. A grand four-poster bed stood at its center, draped in rich fabric that fell like royal robes to the polished floor, its carved headboard heavy with patterns that spoke of legacy, of authority, of a past that refused to loosen its grip. Soft lamplight glowed from crystal fixtures on either side, casting warm shadows across silk sheets that lay untouched, smooth and accusing in their stillness.

Kalyani stood by the vanity, combing her hair slowly, carefully, as though each stroke needed thought. Her hair was still damp from the bath she had just taken, droplets slipping down the length of it and disappearing into the pleats of her saree, the fabric rustling faintly with every small movement she made. The sound was delicate, almost musical, yet the silence around her swallowed it whole.

It was another day. Just another day of pretending that everything was fine. Of pretending nothing had ever gone wrong. Of pretending she was a woman content with her life, a wife who did not carry the strange, unbearable contradiction of not being able to hate the man she had every right to hate.

A sigh left her chest, heavy and tired, the kind of sigh that made her want to drop everything, leave the room, leave the mansion, leave the life she had built brick by brick with her own hands and just run—far enough that no memory could follow. But she knew she couldn't. Not when her children were still here. Not when their voices still called her Ma. Disappearing was a luxury she was never meant to have.

Just then the door creaked open.

She didn't turn immediately. She didn't need to.

She knew.

Ansh stood there.

Her husband. The man she should have hated more than she hated her own reflection... and yet the same man her heart had once chosen and stubbornly refused to unchoose, no matter how much pain it had learned to endure because of him. Love, after all, does not come with an expiry date, and hers had been foolish enough to last.

He stepped inside quietly, shoulders slumped, dark circles carved beneath his eyes like permanent shadows. One glance at him was enough to know he hadn't slept the entire night. Work, always work. There had been a time when he used to come home early just to sit beside her, to talk, to watch her braid her hair, to steal smiles from her like they were secrets. That time felt like it belonged to another lifetime now. He knew better than to expect that closeness again, not after everything he had done, not after everything she had endured because of him.

He moved further in, exhaustion clinging to him so visibly it seemed almost tangible. God, he was tired. Bone-deep, soul-deep tired.

Then his eyes fell on her.

And his world stopped.

For a moment the distance between them—years of it, silence of it, guilt of it—vanished as though it had never existed, or perhaps he simply pretended it didn't. His chest tightened at the sight of her standing there, looking as breathtaking as she always had. Time had touched her, yes, but only gently, like it was afraid to ruin something sacred. She was still the same woman who had once stolen his heart without even trying.

His Apsara.

She turned then, lifting her gaze to him, tilting her head slightly. "Suniye?" she said softly, her voice still the same honeyed tone that used to undo him in seconds.

It still did.

Why was she so kind to him?

Why?

He didn't deserve it. Not even a little.

He hummed in response, a quiet sound urging her to continue, his fingers loosening his tie slowly, each movement sluggish as if even that small effort made his muscles ache.

"Kashi aur Minsheng ki anniversary hai kal," she said, her fingers absently fidgeting with the edge of her saree pallu. "Unhe tohfa toh dena padega."

He froze.

He had forgotten.

Of course he had. His daughter's first anniversary... and he had forgotten. The realization struck him like a slap, guilt rising sharp and immediate. With everything that had been happening, with work swallowing his nights whole, he had let the date slip past him.

He nodded quickly, almost stiffly. "Haan, theek hai," he said, slipping off his suit jacket and hanging it on the hanger. "Bachon ke liye kuch khareed lenge."

He turned slightly, intending to go change, maybe shower, maybe lie down for just a few minutes because sleep felt like a distant dream—but her voice stopped him.

"Nahi," she said quietly, eyes lowering as if she couldn't quite bring herself to hold his gaze. "Kuch laane ki zarurat nahi hai."

He frowned and turned back. "What do you mean?"

"I... already have something." She stepped away from the vanity then, finally looking at him. "Something perfect for them."

His frown deepened, confusion creasing his forehead, but she didn't explain. Instead, she turned and walked toward the closet.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. All he wanted was sleep, just an hour, maybe less, but something inside him insisted he stay awake. Wait. Watch.

She returned a moment later holding a small red potli, its fabric shimmering faintly under the lamplight. A soft tinkling sound came from inside it, delicate and unmistakable.

His breath caught.

He knew that potli.

He could forget himself, forget dates, forget the world—but never that.

A slow, creeping horror spread through his chest.

No.

It couldn't be what he thought.

Kalyani wouldn't...

Before he could speak, she did. "I was thinking of giving Kashi these bangles," she said calmly, opening the pouch and sliding them out into her palm.

The sight of them shattered something inside him.

They weren't just bangles.

They were the first thing he had ever bought her with money he had earned himself. His first salary. He had been so nervous that day, hands sweating as he handed them to her, convinced she would laugh because they weren't expensive, weren't grand, weren't worthy of her.

But she hadn't laughed.

She had lit up.

He could still see it—the way her face had brightened, the way she had practically jumped into his arms, hugging him tight, slipping the bangles onto her wrists like they were treasures beyond price. She had worn them everywhere after that, proud of them, proud of him. And that day he had made a silent promise to himself that he would work harder, earn more, give her the entire world one day.

And he had.

Everything except peace.

"Aap sun bhi rahe hain?" she said, snapping her fingers lightly in front of him.

He blinked, dragged back to the present—and she froze. Tears were sliding down his face.

Her expression faltered instantly. "Aap... ro kyun rahe hain?"

He couldn't answer. He just stared at the bangles in her hand, realization crashing into him with brutal clarity.

She was giving them away.

The same bangles she had once clutched to her heart. The same bangles she used to wear on days she missed him. The same bangles that had once meant them.

Suddenly he wasn't tired anymore.

The exhaustion drained out of him as if shock had burned it away, leaving only a hollow ache behind. And for the first time in years, fear crept into his chest—quiet, unfamiliar, suffocating.

Nothing in his life had ever scared him. Not the first time he stepped into the underworld. Not the first time he spilled blood. Not danger, not enemies, not death.

But this?

This terrified him.

"Tum... yeh Kashi ko dena chahti ho?" he asked, voice low, almost unsteady.

She nodded, meeting his eyes. She didn't let her expression break. She tried not to. Because she had finally reached a conclusion—letting go hurt less than holding on to something that no longer held the same promise.

Her heart had shattered before she learned that truth. But this was better. Safer. Kashi loved bangles, especially old ones with antique charm. At least they would be loved.

"Tum pakka Kashi ko dena chahti ho?" he asked again, tears falling freely now, hope clinging stubbornly to the edges of his voice, hoping she would laugh, say she was joking, say she would never give them away.

"Haan," she said softly, drawing in a breath that trembled despite her effort to steady it. "Main Kashi ko dena chahti hoon... waise bhi, what's the point of keeping things that don't hold the same meaning anymore? The same promises they once did."

And that was it.

Those words didn't just hurt him.

They shattered him.

For a second he didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't even blink. It was as if something inside his chest had been struck with such force that his entire body forgot how to function. His ears rang. His throat tightened. The room—vast, grand, powerful—felt suddenly too small to hold the weight of what she had just said.

Then, before even he realized what he was doing, he slid off the bed.

Not stood. Slid. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud that echoed softly against the marble.

Kalyani's fingers tightened around the bangles.

"Ansh—"

But he didn't let her finish.

He was already there. Already kneeling in front of her. The same man who people feared to even look in the eye... the same man whose name alone could silence rooms... was now on his knees before his wife like a man stripped of everything except his regret.

His hands trembled as they reached forward, not touching her yet, hovering near her wrists like he didn't have the right anymore.

"Mat do," he whispered. His voice broke. He swallowed hard, shaking his head slowly, tears slipping down one after another without pause. "Please... yeh mat do, Kalyani."

She stared at him, stunned. Not because he was crying—she had seen him cry before in their younger days—but because of how he was crying. This wasn't quiet pain. This was collapse. This was a man who had finally run out of strength to hold himself together.

"Yeh... yeh sirf bangles nahi hain," he continued hoarsely. "Tum jaanti ho na... yeh kya hain." His breath hitched. "Meri pehli kamai... mera pehla garv... mera pehla sapna... sab tum thi. Sab."

Her throat tightened.

He finally gathered the courage to touch her hands then, his fingers closing gently around hers, careful, hesitant, as if afraid she might pull away.

"Tumhe yaad hai?" he asked softly, voice trembling. "Us din tum kitni khush hui thi... jaise maine tumhe duniya de di ho. Aur maine tabhi decide kiya tha... ki main tumhe sach mein duniya dunga." A broken laugh slipped out. "Duniya de di, Kalyani... par sukoon nahi de paya."

Silence pressed around them.

His grip tightened—not painfully, but desperately.

"Jo bolna hai bolo. Jo saza deni hai do. Jo chaho kar lo mujhse. Main sab manzoor kar lunga." His forehead dipped, almost touching her hands. "Par yeh mat cheeno mujhse... yeh mat kehna ki inki koi ahmiyat nahi rahi."

Her eyes stung.

He shook his head again, breathing uneven. "Tum gussa karo mujhse, nafrat karo, baat mat karo mujhse... main sab seh lunga. Sach mein seh lunga." His voice cracked into a whisper. "Bas yeh mat kehna ki woh sab khatam ho gaya jo hum the."

A tear fell from his chin onto her fingers.

Warm.

Real.

"Please," he said again, barely audible now, like the word itself was all he had left. "Kuch bhi keh do... kuch bhi kar lunga. Par yeh bangles mat do. Inhe mat chhodo. Inhe mat chhodo jaise..." His voice broke completely. "...jaise tum mujhe chhod chuki ho."

The room fell still.

Even the air seemed to stop moving.

He didn't look up. Didn't dare. He just stayed there on his knees, holding her hands like they were the only thing anchoring him to the world, waiting—terrified—for her to pull away.

IN CAR

The car glided smoothly down the road, engine humming softly as streetlights flickered across its windows. Outside blurred into streaks of shadow and light, while inside everything felt calm and steady with the gentle motion.

Kashi stood in the backseat, steady despite the movement, one hand lightly resting against the headrest in front of her. The yellow saree wrapped around her like sunlight itself — simple, graceful, unpretentious. 

The mangalsutra rested against her collarbone, her fingers fidgeting with its black beads shifting faintly with each breath she took. Sindoor traced a quiet line through her hair, not loud, not decorative, just there... like a truth she couldn't wipe away even if she tried. A few glass bangles circled her wrists, clinking softly whenever the car slowed or turned. No heavy jewelry. No extra shine. She didn't feel like wearing anything that glittered when her chest felt this empty.

The driver didn't speak. He knew better than to disturb her when she stood like that — silent, straight, eyes somewhere far beyond the glass. He only focused on the road leading toward Trayambakeshwar Mahadev Temple, the headlights cutting through the night in long white beams.

She told herself she was going there for practice. For tomorrow's event. For responsibility. For the people waiting. Depending. Expecting.
And she would do it. She always did.

But somewhere beneath that determination sat a quiet question she had been avoiding all day — what did she want? Not what was right. Not what was expected. Not what she had promised.

What she wanted.

The thought made her chest feel hollow, like someone had gently scooped something out from inside and left the space echoing.

She exhaled slowly.

She knew by now the alcohol had left his system. Whatever softness she had seen yesterday... whatever crack had appeared in that iron wall of his... it was gone. Drained out along with the liquor. Yesterday's Minsheng might have listened. Might have understood. Might have let her speak without turning everything into pride, ego, or silence.

But today's Minsheng?

No. Today's him wore his usual armor — controlled voice, unreadable eyes, that infuriating calm that made it impossible to know what he felt or if he felt anything at all. And the apology...

Her fingers curled slightly.

It hadn't felt real.

Or maybe she was the one who didn't want to believe it was.

The car slowed.

Red light.

The faint deceleration made her bangles chime once. She shifted her gaze absentmindedly toward the window, not really looking at anything in particular — just watching the outside world pause with them. Bikes idled. A couple argued near a tea stall. A child tugged his mother's dupatta. Ordinary life. Moving. Breathing. Existing without drama.

Her eyes drifted lazily across the pavement—

—and stopped.

They didn't just stop. They caught.

Her lashes twitched.

At first she thought her mind was playing tricks. The way shadows sometimes form shapes that aren't real. The way longing sometimes paints faces where there are none.

She blinked once.

Twice.

Her breath stalled.

There.
Across the road.

A figure.

Her spine stiffened slowly, like someone had poured cold water down her back.

No. No, it couldn't be.

Her gaze sharpened, trying to focus, trying to confirm, trying to deny all at once. The world around that single point blurred — horns, lights, voices — everything fading into a dull hum as her heartbeat began thudding louder in her ears.

The figure shifted slightly.

Enough for the light to fall across his face.

And the color drained from hers.

Horror didn't arrive loudly. It didn't scream. It crept in — quiet, icy, certain — settling behind her ribs like a truth she had prayed she would never see again.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

No...

And once again, he had dismantled her insecurity without even trying. She was the better one. God... was it really true?

Or was he just saying it to make her feel better?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ZAVERI BAZAAR

The jewellery market shimmered like a corridor of captured starlight. Glass counters stretched in neat rows, glowing under warm golden lamps that made necklaces, bangles, and rings sparkle as if they held their own fire.

Shopkeepers sat poised behind the displays, sharp eyes following every movement while their voices flowed smoothly into practiced sales pitches. The soft clink of metal, the rustle of velvet trays, and the hushed excitement of customers blended into a refined hum. Diamonds flashed, gold gleamed, gemstones burned in shades of ruby, emerald, and sapphire — every piece whispering luxury, temptation, and quiet grandeur.

Yunji walked through the market with Aksh beside her. She wore a simple suit and salwar, her dupatta neatly draped, purse hanging from one shoulder. Usually she wouldn't come somewhere like this herself. Places like these were loud, crowded, curious — too many eyes, too many questions. But this wasn't for her.

Li was getting married.

To Jaanki — a girl from a simple world. A girl who probably didn't even know the difference between Italian cut diamonds and temple gold polish. Vishakha had sent Yunji for the shopping anyway. Consent from the bride hadn't even properly come yet, nothing was finalized, nothing confirmed... and still she had said, "You go. You understand these things better."

Maybe because Yunji always understood things she was never meant to be part of.

Aksh had come along, of course. Not because he wanted to roam jewellery markets. He had to drop Neel to daycare anyway, and Kalyani had told him to go along.But he didn't trust this place a bit. Not here. Not in a place like this where eyes stuck a second too long and smiles meant more than politeness.

Or maybe fate had its own quiet reasons.

They stepped inside one of the larger shops. Lights here were brighter, glass cleaner, guards stricter. Yunji leaned slightly forward, studying the trays as the salesman pulled out one set after another, placing them on velvet like offerings.

Aksh stood behind her, jaw clenched.

He didn't like this.

Didn't like the crowd. Didn't like the stares. Didn't like the way men's gazes lingered when they thought no one was watching. He knew markets like these. Knew how they worked. Knew how people were.

Still he was here.

Still he was watching her carefully from behind like he was guarding something.

The fuck?

His brows knit faintly.

Was he... worried?

Over her?

Why would he be?

She meant nothing. She was no one. She was just—

His thoughts cut off sharply.

Maybe it was just basic decency. Maybe it was because she had been kind to Neel. The way she spoke to him softly, the way she never treated his son badly. That's it. That had to be it.

He wasn't kind.

He never was.

Especially not to women.

Just then she turned slightly, lifting a delicate choker from the tray. "Suniye... yeh kaisa lag raha hai?" she asked softly, raising it to her neck. She didn't clasp it fully, just held it there lightly so he could see how it might look.

And the first thought that entered his mind was —

Pari.

Not the childish fairy kind. The kind people write poetry about and then spend lifetimes searching for.

She looked exactly like the kind of woman someone would want to love forever. The necklace resting against her collarbone, the soft fabric of her suit framing her face, the simplicity of her presence making the jewellery look expensive instead of the other way around.

God.

How beautiful she looked.

He couldn't even describe it. Couldn't name it. Couldn't place it.

It was like seeing something for the first time and realizing nothing before it had ever really counted.

"Acha nahi lag raha kya?" Yunji asked again when he didn't answer. Her voice was softer now, uncertain. Her expression faltered just a little.

"Bohot sundar."

Just two words.

That's all that came out of Aksh's mouth.

But for a moment the entire world seemed to pause.

He was staring. Completely. Openly. Like he had forgotten how to blink. Forgotten where he was. Forgotten himself.

God, he was mesmerized.

She looked like art — the kind that should be displayed in a museum behind glass so people wouldn't dare touch it.

Yunji froze when he spoke. Her heart started pounding loudly in her chest, so loud she was almost sure he could hear it.

Had he really said that?

No one had ever called her sundar before. Not like that. Not with eyes that looked straight into hers like the word wasn't politeness but fact. Especially not a man. Especially not him.

Why was he doing this to her?

Why was he, day by day, undoing insecurities she had spent years stitching into herself?

Did he really mean it?

Was she... actually beautiful?

"Yeh pack karwa lijiye. Bohot sundar hai," he said quietly, voice lower now. He didn't add on you. He didn't say the part sitting at the edge of his tongue. God, what the hell was wrong with him?

She was his best friend's sister.

For God's sake.

He exhaled slowly and straightened. "I mean... this is really beautiful." He cleared his throat, tone returning to something controlled. "Aap yeh pack karwa lijiye."

And just like that he stepped past her, pulling out his wallet as if his only purpose had been to pay. In reality he was escaping — escaping the moment, the words, the look he knew had stayed too long.

For most of his life he had never been confused about his own actions.

Right now he had no idea why he'd said any of it.

He wasn't good with women. Never had been. Never cared to be.

And yet with her...

He was gentle.

Careful.

Soft in ways he didn't even recognize in himself.

Fuck.

What is wrong with you, Aksh?

Behind him, Yunji stood still for one extra second, fingers unconsciously touching the spot where the necklace had rested.

Later they moved through more shops. Bangles. Anklets. Maangteekas. Long necklaces. Bridal sets. The salesman kept talking, Aksh kept paying, Yunji kept choosing.

But something had shifted.

Not loudly.

Not visibly.

Just enough that both of them were aware of it... and neither of them dared to name it.

Or maybe because it was too early to name it yet.

Just as they were done with the shopping, they stepped out of the shop. The warm air of the late afternoon hit them, mingling with the faint chatter of the market. And then, a voice sliced through the hum, pulling Yunji straight out of her thoughts.

"Devika?"

She froze. Her heart stuttered for a moment. Had she heard it right?

No... it couldn't be. Not here. Not now.

She turned slowly, eyes widening as they landed on him. Aryan. Her ex-boyfriend. The one who had ended things between them with cold precision, telling her she "felt too much," that girls like her were nothing but burdens. And because she had loved him, she had believed it. She had convinced herself, painfully, that she didn't deserve love, didn't deserve a boyfriend. That she would always be a burden.

"Oh... hi, Aryan. It's... you." Her voice wavered slightly, her smile faltering, but she forced it into place. She didn't want to show the panic swirling inside her. What was he even doing here?

Aryan's expression remained calm, almost casual, as if he had no idea how much he had hurt her, how deeply he had shaken the foundation of her self-worth. His eyes flicked to Aksh beside her, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Oh... is that your boyfriend?"

Aksh froze. The man in front of him had no idea who he was, and now he was being labeled as Yunji's boyfriend? He opened his mouth to correct him, but Yunji was faster.

"Oh yes, of course he is my Akshu," she said, looping her arm through his with effortless grace. She turned to Aksh and smiled — sweetly, too sweetly. A gentle tilt of her head, a warmth that made his chest tighten. God... what was happening? She leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly.

He froze. Akshu? The sound of it made him blink, his mind scrambling. What the hell was even happening?

"Yunji, what are you—" he started, but then caught the pleading look in her eyes. And suddenly, he understood. She was putting up an act, and she needed him to play along.

He shifted instinctively, wrapping his arm around her waist as naturally as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. He looked down at Aryan, his voice calm, steady, but carrying that unmistakable weight of authority. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Aksh Deewan."

Aryan froze. Aksh Deewan. The man known for his deadly reputation, the one who took no nonsense from anyone. And he was Yunji's boyfriend. What the hell?

"Oh... hi. Nice to meet you," Aryan muttered, forcing a smile that faltered every time Aksh pulled Yunji closer. Jealousy burned behind his calm facade, sharp and sudden, but he forced himself to stay composed. Seeing her smile, seeing the way she leaned into Aksh, it was unbearable.

"Uh... well, it was nice to meet you, Devika. I should... go." And just like that, he disappeared, fading into the crowd as if he couldn't bear the sight of them.

The instant he was gone, Yunji stepped back slightly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and guilt. "I... uh... I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

Aksh lifted a hand, brushing it lightly near her waist. "It's okay. Not a big deal," he said softly, though his heart was still racing, the lingering warmth of her presence clinging to him. "But... why did you do that? And why was he calling you Devika?"

Yunji took a deep breath, gathering herself. "That... was Aryan. My ex-boyfriend." Her eyes flicked once toward where he had disappeared before returning to him. "We... broke up last year. It's... stupid, but I didn't want him to think he was the better one. That I couldn't have a boyfriend. So when he asked about you... I just... I said you were my boyfriend. I'm really sorry."

She looked at him, guilt written in every line of her face. Her voice softened, almost a whisper. "And... Devika... that's another name for me. Actually, I have two names — one Chinese, one Indian. Yunji is my Chinese name, Devika is my Indian one."

Aksh nodded slowly, taking in her explanation, though the warmth of her kiss on his cheek still lingered, making a faint blush rise across his face. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the moment, even as the memory made him stiffen. "Uh... chaliye. It's late. Let's head home. And honestly... seeing him back there, looking like that... you didn't have to act, Yunji. You're better than him — anyone can see that with just one look."

He started walking toward the car, bags in hand, his mind quieting only slightly. She might have called herself Yunji or Devika, but in his eyes, she had already become Pari.

An angel.

Yunji nodded silently, overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of the moment, a flutter stirring in her chest that she couldn't quite name. She followed him, keeping close, letting the lingering hum of her heartbeat catch up to the adrenaline that still clung to her skin.

And once again, he had dismantled her insecurity without even trying. She was the better one. God... was it really true?

Or was he just saying it to make her feel better?

The city moved around them, oblivious to the small storm of emotions they carried between them — but inside, everything felt like it had shifted, permanently, irreversibly, and beautifully.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

SEWRI CHRISTIAN CEMETRY

The morning was quiet, almost painfully so. Soft sunlight brushed the marble headstone, and dew clung to the grass, sparkling like fragile crystals. A few hesitant birds chirped from the trees, their voices a delicate contrast to the heavy silence that clung to the cemetery. Mist curled low around the grave, lending the place an ethereal, solemn calm.

Kashi stood frozen, Minghao's head resting in her lap. Her tears fell relentlessly, unchecked, staining her cheeks as she stared down at him in desperation. She had been trying—begging him—to wake up, but he didn't stir. The fear twisting in her chest was suffocating, each second more agonizing than the last.

"Baba... please... uthiye... it's me, Kashi," she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible. Her fingers shook as she gently shook him, then more insistently, her panic growing, her heart pounding. His pale face, his damp hair clinging to his forehead—it all reminded her of the grief that had brought him here, standing before the grave of her late mother-in-law.

"Mahadev... please... baba ki raksha kijiye," she murmured, her words a desperate prayer as she clutched him tighter. Then, almost frantically, her gaze darted to the driver standing silently at a distance. "Get my phone. Now!" Her voice cracked, raw and commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

The driver nodded, nearly stumbling as he rushed toward the car.

She dialed her mother, Kalyani. "Maa... inhe zara bol dijiye... Sewri Christian Cemetery pohch jaaye." Without waiting for a response, she cut the call, leaving Kalyani on the line, worried and confused.

Kashi returned her attention to Minghao, her hands trembling as she rubbed his lifeless fingers, trying to warm him with the touch of sheer will. "Baba... please... stay strong... I'm here," she whispered over and over, as if her words could breathe life back into him.

Minutes later, the screech of tires split the air. A car skidded to a halt beside the cemetery, and Minsheng was out of it before it even fully stopped. His breath came in ragged gasps, panic clawing at his chest as he scanned the scene. Kalyani's frantic words  had been enough to drive him to the edge, and now, seeing Kashi crouched over Minghao's still body, his heart nearly stopped.

What the fuck is happening?

He sprinted toward them, the ground beneath his feet a blur. His mind raced, but his body moved instinctively. He might hate his father for many things, but this? This was different. He couldn't—he wouldn't—abandon him.

Kashi looked up at him, her face swollen from crying, eyes raw and desperate. "Dekhiye na... baba uth nahi rahe," she whispered, shaking Minghao's shoulders once more. Her hands were trembling, and yet still, no response.

Minsheng's throat tightened as he knelt beside them, his own fear masked by a forced urgency. He had no idea how Kashi had ended up here, or how she had found his father—but that didn't matter right now. "Kashi... shaant hojaiye... okay?" he said softly, his voice a quiet command. He knew she had a heart condition and this much worry and crying could worsen it. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady, and then glanced at his father.

Minghao was pale, nearly lifeless, but his pulse was there—faint, but there. Relief flooded through Minsheng, but it was short-lived. He looked at Kashi, her hands clutching his father's with such raw devotion that it nearly broke him.

"It's okay... he's fine. We'll take him home," Minsheng whispered, trying to calm the storm of emotions rising in his chest. Carefully, he lifted Minghao into his arms, his own hands shaking despite his effort to remain steady. He glanced at his father, the man who had shaped him in so many ways, and yet, in this moment of vulnerability, he felt nothing but an overwhelming tide of grief and confusion.

The sight of Minghao—once a symbol of power and control—now so fragile, broke something inside him.

Minsheng looked over his shoulder, eyes searching for Kashi. She was following, tears streaming freely, her body trembling as she struggled to hold herself together. Her gaze was fixed on Minghao, and for a moment, Minsheng wondered if the man lying in his arms was truly her father-in-law—or something more.

Kashi's heart ached as she followed, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. The man who had been a pillar for her, a father figure who had always been more like family than an in-law, now lay broken in her arms. Her chest tightened, the helplessness gnawing at her from within. She rubbed Minghao's back gently, as if her touch could shield him from the storm of his own grief.

The world felt fragile that morning, the sunlight like it could shatter at any moment. But Kashi and Minsheng wouldn't leave him here. Not like this. They couldn't.

And for the first time in a long while, they stood together. Even if it was in a moment of such devastation.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

RAJPUT MANOR

SHANAYA'S BEDROOM

The bedroom was serene, washed in soft moonlight. A large bed with crisp white linens stood at the center, a deep green throw draped carelessly over the foot like someone had left in a hurry. The air carried a faint hint of lavender, cool and calming, while sheer curtains breathed in and out with the night breeze.

 A simple wooden dresser rested against one wall, and a plush rug softened the floor beneath. It was the kind of room that quieted the mind without trying — a place meant for stillness, for reflection, for moments that didn't belong to the world outside.

Shanaya stood near the bed, Inaayat perched on her hip, clinging to her as if her mother were the only solid thing in existence. The little girl's warm cheek rested against Shanaya's shoulder, her arms looped tight around her neck, her body limp with that fragile heaviness only fevers bring. She had a slight pout on her lips, lashes damp, skin warmer than it should be.

All because of two ice creams last night.

Snuck out with her father. Of course she had.

Her partner in crime — Edward.

And he was about to be executed. Publicly. Brutally. By none other than Shanaya Rajput.

In her free hand, Shanaya held her phone to her ear, voice calm, clipped, and precise as she spoke to her secretary. Business. It never paused. Not for night, not for exhaustion, not even for motherhood. Numbers, instructions, decisions — she delivered them effortlessly while shifting Inaayat slightly higher on her hip, balancing both worlds like she always did.

"Mama..." Inaayat murmured softly, tightening her hold.

Shanaya's tone gentled instantly, even though she was still mid-sentence. "Yes, send the files by morning," she finished, then disconnected without another word. The phone slipped from her fingers onto the bed as all her attention settled on the small girl in her arms.

She brushed damp strands of hair from Inaayat's forehead, her touch slow, tender, instinctive. Moments like this were rare — painfully rare — when Shanaya wasn't the sharp-edged businesswoman, wasn't the unshakable woman everyone feared, wasn't the force that commanded rooms.

She was just a mother.

And that was her softest truth.

The door clicked.

She didn't turn.

She didn't need to.

Edward stood there.

Exhaustion clung to him — in the slope of his shoulders, the loosened collar, the faint shadow under his eyes — but the second his gaze landed on them, something inside him eased. A smile appeared, quiet and helpless, the kind that didn't ask permission. Scenes like this... they undid him. Completely.

He stepped in slowly, as if afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast. His jacket slipped off his shoulders and onto the hanger by the door, movements silent, practiced. He knew he shouldn't look at them like that.

They weren't a family anymore.

Not really.

The only thing binding him and Shanaya now was their angel.

Inaayat.

And yet, whenever he saw them like this — her holding their daughter, moonlight outlining them both — his chest tightened with a feeling that had never learned how to leave. They were still his world. Entirely. Completely. No one could ever replace that. No one ever would.

He was a man who could burn the world down for them today.
He would be the same man tomorrow.
That much had never changed.

He exhaled slowly, stepping further into the room. Every time he entered this space, reality blurred for a few dangerous seconds. It felt like before. Like nothing had broken. Like they still belonged to each other. Like it was just them against the world.

He shouldn't be here. Not in her room. Not after the divorce.

But Inaayat loved her parents in the same place. Loved it enough to insist, to scheme, to tug at both of them until they gave in. And that was why, whenever he was in India, they somehow ended up sharing the same room again — not as husband and wife, not as lovers...

Just as parents.

All for Inaayat.

Though it would be a damned lie if he said he didn't treasure every second of it.

He cleared his throat softly. "Is my princess asleep?" His voice was gentle, careful — but his eyes betrayed him. They lingered on Shanaya a second too long. She wore nothing special. Just a loose shirt, soft pajamas, hair slightly messy, face bare of makeup.

And still — still — she was the most beautiful sight he had ever known.

Years ago.

And now.

Inaayat's head lifted instantly at the sound of him. Fever forgotten, discomfort forgotten, everything forgotten. "Daddy!"

Before Shanaya could even react, the little girl wriggled out of her arms and launched herself forward.

Edward caught her effortlessly, hands steady, heart fuller than it had been all day. He let out a quiet breath as he held her close, one palm rubbing her back in slow circles. In that moment nothing else mattered — not work, not distance, not history. She was the reason for everything. The reason he endured, fought, breathed.

And when she looked at him like he was her hero...

God, there was no better feeling in the world.

Inaayat buried her face in his neck, nuzzling into him for warmth. Edward smiled faintly, chin resting briefly against her hair — until he felt it.

Heat.

Too much heat.

His brows knit. He pulled back slightly, his hand coming up to her forehead. "What's wrong, my princess?"

"I'm fine, Daddy," she whispered, pouting. "Mommy says I got fever." She immediately hid her face back in his chest, as if that ended the discussion.

Edward froze.

Oh, hell.

Hell. Hell. Hell.

What the fuck.

Memory hit him like a slap — sneaking her out, her giggles, melted ice cream on her fingers, her asking for one more, just one more, Daddy please — and him giving in because he never could refuse her.

He already knew.

He didn't dare look up.

Because he could feel it.

Shanaya's stare.

Burning holes into him.

"Mommy gonna kill you, Daddy," Inaayat whispered into his collar, giggling softly, clearly thrilled about the chaos she had just unleashed.

And Edward, holding his feverish daughter with his ex-wife's lethal silence behind him.

Yeah.

He was absolutely finished.

He finally sat Inaayat down on the bed. The little girl immediately burrowed into the blanket like a tiny caterpillar, only her face peeking out, eyes moving back and forth between her parents with sharp curiosity.

She looked like she was watching a movie.

And the chaos scene was about to start.

Edward slowly lifted his gaze.

Shanaya was staring at him.

Not just staring.

Burning.

Her eyes were narrowed, lips pressed tight, jaw set — the kind of quiet fury she used to have before she exploded. He knew that look. Knew it very well.

God. Fuck.

He was about to die.

No escape. No mercy. No last words.

Her voice came out soft. Too soft.

"Tumne Inaayat ko do ice cream khilai?"

That tone.

That dangerous, silky tone.

Edward swallowed internally but kept his face perfectly calm, almost bored, like he wasn't standing in front of a fully awakened tigress.

"Haan toh," he said casually, shrugging, "ice cream toh bachchon ko khilane ke liye hi hoti hai."

He glanced sideways at Inaayat and gave her a tiny wink.

The traitor giggled.

When he looked back at Shanaya, she looked even more furious.Bad sign. Very bad sign.

"Tumhe toh aaj main zinda nahi chhodungi."

Before he could respond —

Thwack.

A pillow hit his chest.

He didn't even move.

Of course he didn't. It was a pillow.

Inaayat burst into loud giggles, clutching the blanket. Edward clutched his chest dramatically. "Ow!" he gasped, staggering half a step back. "Kya yaar, darling, you are hurting my precious heart."

He even pouted.

He knew he was provoking her.

And he loved it.

Oh, he loved it more than he should.

Because he knew exactly what it did to her temper.

And it worked.

Within seconds, the room turned into a battlefield.

Shanaya grabbed whatever came to hand — another pillow, a cushion, a rolled magazine, a soft toy — and started launching them at him one after another.

"If you weren't so reckless," she snapped, throwing a cushion, "she wouldn't be sick!"

Edward dodged left. Then right. One cushion hit his shoulder. A soft toy bounced off his arm.

"Well, well," he said, raising his hands like he was negotiating with a criminal, "at least we both know who the fun parent is."

He clapped once toward Inaayat. She clapped back instantly, giggling like she'd just witnessed the greatest show on earth.

Edward grinned.

He was so dead.

Absolutely dead.

Shanaya's eyes widened in outrage. That was it. Finished. Gone. Over.

She had lost it.

Not because he gave Inaayat ice cream.

But because he always did this.

She panicked. She worried. She calculated. She prepared for every possible disaster.

And he?

He stood in the middle of storms with that stupid smirk like the world was a comedy show.

God. It made her want to kill him.

Without thinking, she turned toward the vanity, grabbed the first thing her hand touched —

—and threw it.

Inaayat gasped. "Mama that's—"

Too late.

The perfume bottle flew straight and hit Edward right on the side of his head.

Tap.

Silence.

Edward blinked.

He wasn't hurt. Not even a little. Anyone with eyes could tell that.

But did that stop him?

Absolutely not.

He slowly collapsed sideways onto the bed like a tragic hero in a dying scene, hand flying to his head.

Shanaya froze.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" she rushed forward instantly, panic replacing anger. "Let me see, let me see—"

She reached for his forehead.

He winced.

Way too dramatically.

Edward peeked one eye open and glanced at Inaayat. "Beta," he whispered weakly, "tu jaake purush helpline pe call karde. Teri maa toh mujhe maar hi daalegi aaj."

He made the most pitiful face known to mankind.

Inaayat nodded seriously. "Okay, Papa."

She started getting off the bed.

"Inaayat, wait!" Shanaya said quickly.

The little girl stopped mid-step.

Shanaya turned back to Edward, guilt written all over her face now. "I'm sorry... I—I didn't mean it."

Edward rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into the mattress like a wounded child. "Haan haan," his muffled voice came, "agli baar maar dogi aur bologi 'I didn't mean it.'"

He lifted his head just enough to look at Inaayat with fake fear. "Meri bachi toh anaath ho jaayegi. Beta bachke rehna. Kahin tujhe bhi na maar de."

And that—

That did it.

Shanaya's eyes filled instantly.

God.

She actually hurt him.

Fuck.

"Daddy..." Inaayat whispered, pointing. "Momma crying."

Edward shot upright like someone had pressed a switch.

All drama gone.

All acting vanished.

"Oye Shanaya, I was joking!" he said quickly, eyes widening when he saw her tears. "Arre—hey—"

Too far.

He went too far.

Shanaya looked at him through wet lashes. "You were joking?" she whispered, wiping her cheek.

Then she looked at Inaayat.

Who suddenly looked very interested in the blanket.

Ah.

Conspiracy.

She turned back to Edward slowly.

She wanted to glare.

Wanted to scold him.

Wanted to lecture him on maturity, responsibility, adulthood, basic sanity—

But the sight in front of her—

Edward sitting stiff like a caught criminal.

Inaayat pretending innocence.

—broke her.

A disbelieving laugh slipped out instead.

"Main dikhati hoon tumhe joke."

Before he could react, she lunged.

Her fingers attacked his stomach.

His weakest point.

Edward jerked. "NO—Shanaya—no—!"

Too late.

She tickled him mercilessly.

He twisted, trying to grab her wrists, laughing despite himself. "Princess! Save me!" he wheezed.

Inaayat gasped dramatically.

Then jumped in.

Tiny fingers joined the attack.

Now it was two against one.

"Betrayal!" Edward choked, squirming. "Meri hi beti mere khilaaf!"

Inaayat squealed, "Attack Daddy!"

Shanaya laughed harder, hair falling over her face as she leaned over him, relentless.

Edward tried to escape. Failed. Miserably.

Within seconds the bed was a mess of blankets, laughter, tangled limbs, and chaos.

The fever.

The anger.

The past.

Everything disappeared in that moment.

And for a little while —

They weren't broken.

They weren't separated.

They weren't complicated.

They were just three people laughing on a bed like they belonged to each other.

Like they always had.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

RAJVANSH HOSPITAL AND RESEARCH CENTRE

The hospital stood bright and sterile, its white walls gleaming under sharp fluorescent lights. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the quiet hum of machines blended with distant footsteps in the corridor.

Nurses moved briskly past with practiced calm, while monitors beeped steadily in patient rooms — each sound a reminder that life here was fragile, watched, fought for every second.

Isha sat on one of the hallway benches, back stiff, shoulders tense. She had no idea how she even gathered the courage to come here, but she had. A mask covered her face so no one would recognize her.

Of course she had worn one.

This was Rajvansh Hospital — the one that belonged to her late in-laws. Everyone here knew her. Especially since Nisha practically ran the place now.

And today she absolutely could not be recognized.

Not when she was here for this.

God.

Her back throbbed again and she shut her eyes briefly.

It wasn't just pain. It was revenge-level pain. And all because her husband had made her sleep on the floor for two nights straight.

Two. Nights.

Ugh. She wanted to murder him.

Still, she had crossed level one of whatever mission this was by actually coming here. Now she just had to go inside and see the doctor.

But what was she supposed to say?

Hello doctor, my husband punished me because I watched his favorite series without him so now my spine is broken?

Absolutely not.

She had an image to maintain.

Isha pressed her lips together, thinking hard.

Come on Isha. Think. You can do it.

Nope. Nothing.

She would rather die of back pain than say the real reason.

Just then footsteps approached.

She looked up — and froze.

Nisha.

Her sister-in-law stood there in surgical scrubs, lab coat hanging open, stethoscope around her neck, hair tied into a loose bun. Her eyes widened the second she saw Isha.

Of course she had recognised Isha despite the mask.

"Bhabhi? Aap yaha kya kar rahi hain?" she asked, instantly sitting beside her, a tired but warm smile appearing. After hours of surgery, seeing someone familiar clearly felt like relief.

Isha leaned closer, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

"Di... mujhe aapse kuch kehna hai."

Nisha's expression shifted — curiosity, concern. She leaned in too, lowering her voice.

"Haan bhabhi, bolo. Kya hua?"

And just like that, Isha spilled everything.

Every. Single. Detail.

What Arsh had done. The punishment. The floor. The pain. The humiliation. By the time she finished, her ears were burning.

Nisha stared at her.

One second.

Two.

Shock.

Then disbelief.

Then—

She burst out laughing.

Like actually laughing.

A few passersby turned to stare but she couldn't stop.

"Oh my God, bhabhi—" she wheezed between breaths, "bhaiya ne seriously aisa kiya?"

Isha nodded miserably, face flaming behind the mask.

"So now," Nisha said, still grinning, "you need a better reason to see a doctor because this one is too embarrassing?"

Another defeated nod. "Haan di... please. Sirf aap hi bacha sakti ho." Isha clasped her hands dramatically, eyes pleading.

Nisha squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "Accha thik hai. Main sochti hoon. Don't worry." A few minutes passed. Nisha went quiet, deep in thought, brows slightly furrowed, while Isha waited like her life depended on it.

God, please let her get an idea.

Suddenly Nisha's eyes lit up.

"Wait, bhabhi... I do have an idea."

"Haan toh batao na," Isha said quickly — but her voice slowed when she noticed the hesitation on Nisha's face. "...kya hua?"

Nisha leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "We'll just... change the story."

Isha blinked. "Matlab?"

Nisha bit back a smile. "You tell the doctor your back hurts because you strained it... after a very enthusiastic night with your husband."

Isha froze. Her soul left her body. "NISHA!" she whisper-shouted, horrified. "Main mar jaungi lekin yeh nahi bolungi!"

Nisha clapped a hand over her mouth to stop her own laughter. "Arre bhabhi listen! It's believable. Newly married couple. Back strain. Doctor won't question it. In fact, they'll probably just nod like haan haan samajh gaye."

Isha stared at her, scandalized.

"That is worse!"

"No it's not," Nisha argued calmly. "One story makes your husband look romantic. The other makes him look like a dictator who punishes his wife with flooring arrangements."

...Pause.

Isha's expression slowly shifted.

Because unfortunately —

That logic made sense.

Nisha saw it happen and smirked. "See?"

Isha groaned, covering her face. " zameen phat jaaye aur main andar gir jaaun wala feeling aa raha hai."

"Bhabhi," Nisha said sweetly, standing up and tugging her hand, "choose embarrassment with dignity. Chaliye."

Isha didn't move.

"Di..."

"Haan?"

"...agar doctor ne detail pooch li toh?"

Nisha grinned wickedly.

"Toh aap sharma jaana. Case close."

Isha stared at her in betrayal. What the fuck is Sharma Jaana. She didn't know how to do that.

And Nisha, traitor that she was, looked entirely pleased with herself.

On the other side, Arsh had just finished a meeting when his phone buzzed softly in his hand. He glanced down at the screen, expecting another work notification, but instead saw a short message waiting for him:

Zara hospital aa jaiye.

Just three words — and yet they were enough to pull his brows together in confusion and quiet concern.

Why was Isha at the hospital?

His mind immediately began running through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Was she hurt? Had something happened to her? Or was this some new mischievous stunt of hers meant to throw him off balance?

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his thoughts, but the unease had already settled in his chest. Without wasting another second, he grabbed his keys, left the office, and headed straight for the parking lot. Within minutes, he was driving toward the hospital, his grip on the steering wheel tighter than usual.

Back at the hospital, Isha sat stiffly on the bench, staring at Nisha, who was very clearly enjoying the situation far more than she should have been.

"Aapke bhaiya humein maar daalenge," Isha whispered anxiously, letting out a heavy sigh as she imagined Arsh's reaction.

Nisha, however, only giggled, completely unbothered.

"Arre bhabhi," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief, "yeh toh perfect mauka hai bhaiya ko embarrass karne ka. Aur waise bhi, aap apne aap ko bachane ka sochiye. Main toh chali."

And before Isha could protest, before she could even grab her wrist to stop her, Nisha had already turned and walked away, disappearing down the corridor with infuriating calm.

For a moment, Isha simply stared at the empty space where she had been.

Traitor.

Her lips parted.

Her brain caught up.

"Di?" she called softly.

No response.

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

She's actually gone.

A helpless groan slipped out of her as she leaned back carefully, wincing at the dull pull in her back. "Mahadev... main sach mein akeli phas gayi."

And somewhere deep inside, she just knew —

The real problem wasn't the doctor anymore.

It was her husband, who was currently on his way.

A few moments later, Arsh reached the hospital, breath uneven and chest tight. He had driven like a madman the entire way, barely noticing signals, barely hearing the honks around him — his only thought fixed on one thing:

Isha.

The moment he stepped into the main hallway, his eyes began searching restlessly, scanning every bench, every corridor, every passing face until they finally landed on her.

She was sitting alone.

Her fingers were fidgeting nervously with the edge of her saree, her posture too straight, too careful.

Relief hit him so fast it almost hurt.

He crossed the distance in long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her without hesitation.

"Ish?"

Isha looked up instantly, her eyes widening at the sight of him, but just as quickly she forced her expression to settle into something calm — or at least something that resembled calm.

She had to do this.

This was the safer lie.

God, please help her get through this.

"Ish, say something," he urged, voice low, concern slipping through despite his attempt to stay composed.

"Main theek hoon," she said quickly. Then she paused, inhaled slowly, and stood up with deliberate care before adding, "Bas... back pain hai. Doctor ko dikhana tha, toh aa gayi."

Arsh's gaze softened immediately. He lifted his hand and gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek as his eyes searched hers.

"Sach mein dard ho raha hai?" he asked quietly. His hand moved from her face to her back, resting there with instinctive tenderness, as if afraid even his touch might hurt her.

Guilt crept into his expression.

He hadn't realized he would actually hurt her this much.

They were used to this — teasing punishments, petty revenge, playful wars. That chaos had always been the rhythm of their marriage.

But this...

Maybe he really had crossed a line.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, voice heavy with sincerity. "I went too far."

Isha froze.

What the hell.

No.

No no no.

Don't apologize.

Because she knew — she knew — what she was about to say inside that doctor's cabin was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Bhagwan... ab aap hi bachao.

"Chalo," Arsh said softly, intertwining his fingers with hers while his other hand remained protectively at her back. "Doctor ko dikha lete hain."

She nodded.

And just like that, they walked toward the consultation rooms together.

They stepped inside the orthopedic cabin, where the doctor sat reviewing a file.

He looked up.

For a split second, confusion crossed his face.

Then recognition hit. He immediately stood up, surprise melting into a warm smile.

"Arre bacho," he said affectionately, adjusting his glasses, "tum dono yahan kya kar rahe ho?"

Isha's heartbeat spiked.

Arsh glanced at her.

The doctor glanced between them.

Silence stretched.

And in that silence, Isha realized—

This.

This was the moment.

The lie.

The humiliation.

The point of no return.

Her grip on Arsh's hand tightened slightly.

Arsh felt her fingers tighten around his hand, not in the usual absent-minded way she sometimes did when she was nervous, but with a deliberate, almost warning pressure that immediately made his eyes shift toward her face. Something was off. He didn't say it out loud yet, but he felt it — that faint prickle of suspicion creeping in beneath his concern.

Before he could question her, the doctor spoke again, still smiling warmly, still completely unaware that he was standing in the middle of something far more dramatic than a routine consultation.

"Kya hua? Sab theek toh hai na?" he asked kindly, folding his glasses and setting them aside as if giving them his full attention.

Isha swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as though all the moisture had vanished from it. Her mind began racing, every sensible thought telling her to stop, to change the topic, to fake a cough or faint dramatically — anything but what she was about to do.

Say it.
Just say it.
End this.

Beside her, Arsh gently rubbed his thumb over her knuckles in a quiet attempt to reassure her, his voice softening as he prompted, "Doctor pooch rahe hain, Ish."

That softness nearly broke her resolve.

God, this man was apologizing to her five minutes ago, and she was about to emotionally assassinate him in public.

Still, she forced herself to inhale slowly and looked straight at the doctor.

"Actually... mujhe back pain ho raha hai," she said, trying to keep her tone steady.

The doctor nodded immediately, shifting into professional mode as he pulled a prescription pad closer. "Hmm. Since when ho raha hai?"

"Kal raat se."

That made Arsh's brows draw together slightly.

Kal raat?

He didn't interrupt yet, but his gaze turned toward her more intently now, as if replaying the previous night in his head and failing to find any logical explanation.

The doctor scribbled a note. "Sudden start hua ya gradually develop hua?"

Every instinct inside Isha screamed abort mission, but the memory of Nisha's evil, encouraging grin flashed before her eyes.

Her fingers tightened around Arsh's hand again.

"Sudden," she answered.

"Achha," the doctor murmured thoughtfully. "Kuch strain hua tha? Heavy lifting, sudden movement, twist, jerk?"

Now Arsh fully turned his head toward her.

Because he knew — with absolute certainty — that she hadn't lifted anything heavy. 

Unless...

His eyes narrowed faintly.

"Isha?" he said quietly, suspicion beginning to thread through his voice.

She didn't look at him. Didn't dare.

"...haan," she replied to the doctor instead.

The doctor glanced up from his notes. "Kis type ka strain?"

Silence followed.

Not ordinary silence.

The kind that stretches thin and sharp like glass.

Arsh's gaze was fixed on her now, steady and searching, his instincts telling him that something about this conversation was very, very wrong.

Isha could feel heat climbing up her neck, her ears burning, her thoughts tangling over each other. The longer she stayed quiet, the worse it would get.

So she decided to rip it off like a bandage.

"Woh... actually..." she began, her voice shrinking despite her effort.

The doctor waited patiently.

Arsh waited silently.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath.

"...after... intimacy," she finished in a small, mortified voice.

For a moment, nothing happened.

The doctor blinked once, processing, then nodded with calm medical understanding as if she had just told him she slipped on stairs. "Ah. Samajh gaya."

He casually wrote something down, entirely unfazed.

Meanwhile, beside her, Arsh stopped breathing.

Not dramatically.

Literally.

His mind had gone blank in that stunned way where thoughts simply refused to form.

Slowly — very slowly — his eyes shifted toward her face.

"...what?" he said under his breath, as if he wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

Isha stared straight ahead like a soldier awaiting execution.

The doctor continued speaking in a practical tone, still unaware he had just detonated a bomb between husband and wife. "Kabhi kabhi ho jaata hai. Muscle strain ho jaata hai, especially agar sudden—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

Because now he could feel something had changed.

The air had gone strangely heavy.

He looked up.

Saw Arsh's expression.

Paused.

"...everything alright?" he asked cautiously.

Arsh didn't answer.

He was still staring at Isha, his face unreadable — not angry, not shocked, not even fully confused. Just... calculating. As if pieces of a puzzle were slowly sliding into place in his head.

When he finally spoke, his voice was very calm.

Too calm.

"Isha."

She shut her eyes briefly.

Yes. This was the end.

"Haan?" she replied faintly.

"...kal raat," he said slowly, each word measured, "main ghar pe bhi nahi tha."

The doctor's pen stopped moving.

The silence that followed could have shattered glass.

And in that exact moment, Isha realized she had not merely lied.

She had lied strategically wrong.

But Isha was not about to let this collapse now, not after she had already crossed the point of no return, so before the silence could grow any heavier or Arsh could say something dangerously logical, she straightened slightly and spoke again, forcing confidence into her voice that she absolutely did not feel.

"Doctor, yeh bas embarrassed hai," she said quickly, gesturing faintly toward Arsh without looking at him, "but this is true."

For a brief second the doctor simply looked at the two of them, his gaze shifting from her determined face to Arsh's stunned one, as if silently piecing together a story he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to understand. Then, like the seasoned man he was, he chose the safest option — professionalism mixed with gentle humor.

"Arre Arsh beta," he said with an easy chuckle, waving his hand lightly as though dismissing the awkwardness from the air, "ismein embarrass hone jaisa kya hai? Married ho tum log. Normal baat hai."

If Isha had been capable of dissolving into the floor tiles, she would have.

The doctor, completely unaware that he had just poured fuel over a very specific fire, calmly began writing something on his prescription pad. His pen moved in steady strokes while the room remained wrapped in a strange tension that he either didn't notice or politely chose to ignore.

Once he finished, he tore the paper neatly, pressed the small brass bell kept on his desk, and waited.

Within moments, a nurse stepped inside.

He handed her the slip. "Yeh medicines abhi le aaiye."

She nodded respectfully and left just as quickly as she had come.

And still—

Arsh hadn't moved.

He was standing there, staring at Isha.

Not blinking.

Not speaking.

Just staring.

The kind of stare that said his brain was replaying the last five minutes on loop and rejecting all of them.

Isha could feel his gaze without even turning her head. It was practically burning a hole into the side of her face.

Slowly, cautiously, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

Big mistake.

He was already looking at her.

Expressionless.

Dangerously calm.

She swallowed.

He leaned closer.

Not enough for the doctor to notice.

Just enough that only she could hear him when he spoke, his voice low and smooth and far too controlled.

"Isha," he murmured, "ghar chalte hain."

No anger.

No irritation.

Just quiet certainty.

Which was worse.

Much worse.

Because she knew that tone.

That was not public reaction.

That was private consequences pending.

Her fingers curled nervously into the edge of her saree.

"Abhi?" she whispered.

"Haan," he said softly. "Abhi."

A pause.

Then, even quieter—

"Detail mein baat karte hain."

Her soul left her body for the third time that day.

Behind the desk, the doctor cleared his throat politely, blissfully unaware of the psychological warfare unfolding two feet away.

"Toh strain hai," he said matter-of-factly. "Rest karna padega. Sudden movements avoid kariye. Aur—"

He glanced at Arsh with a friendly smile.

"Thoda gentle rehna padega."

Isha stopped breathing.

Arsh's jaw tightened.

 Right on cue, there was a soft knock and the nurse stepped back inside, handing over a small packet of medicines along with the prescription slip. The doctor passed it to Arsh automatically, assuming the husband would handle it.

They thanked Mr Sharma and then slowly walked out. He placed a steadying hand at her back — gentle, careful, attentive — exactly like a concerned husband should.

Exactly like someone who had nothing to question.

Isha blinked at him, her steps faltering for the briefest moment before she forced them steady again, as if she could simply outwalk the situation and leave it behind her in the polished hospital corridor. 

The automatic doors ahead slid open with a soft mechanical hiss, letting in a wash of pale afternoon light, yet the cool air brushing her face did absolutely nothing to calm the heat steadily creeping up the back of her neck, because she knew that tone — that dangerously calm, deceptively gentle tone that Arsh only ever used when he was thinking far more than he was saying.

Then, without looking at her, he spoke.

Softly.

"So."

That was it.

Just one word

"Toh?" she said lightly, adjusting the edge of her saree as though that required her full concentration and she hadn't just fabricated the most catastrophic lie of her married life. "Aap meeting pe gaye the na."

Arsh exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound almost thoughtful, almost amused, and then he stopped walking altogether.

Isha, too focused on pretending confidence, took two more steps before realizing the sound of his footsteps beside her had disappeared, and that realization alone made her stomach sink. Slowly — cautiously — she turned back.

He was standing a few feet behind her in the middle of the corridor, one hand slipped into his pocket, the other holding the small packet of medicines, watching her with an expression that was far too composed to be harmless. People moved around them, nurses passing briskly, a patient wheeled past on a stretcher, someone speaking softly near the reception desk, yet despite all that movement, it felt as if the entire hallway had narrowed down into a silent space containing only the two of them.

"...aage kyun nahi aa rahe?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual even though her pulse had begun to drum unevenly.

Instead of answering her question, he tilted his head just slightly, his gaze never leaving her face, and asked in a mild, almost conversational voice, "Main meeting pe tha... ya ghar pe tha?"

Her mind stalled, because that question had no safe answer, no clever escape, no harmless lie that would not collapse under its own weight. So she did what she always did when cornered — she pretended not to understand.

"Mujhe kya pata?" she replied with a faint shrug, as if the matter had nothing to do with her at all. "Main toh doctor ko bas symptoms bata rahi thi."

He made a soft sound in his throat, not quite agreement, not quite disbelief, and then began walking toward her again, each step slow, unhurried, deliberate, the kind of steps a man took when he was already certain of the truth and was simply allowing the other person time to trap themselves further.

By the time he stopped in front of her, she was painfully aware of how close he was standing, close enough that she could see the faint tension at the edge of his jaw and the quiet sharpness in his eyes that most people missed but she knew too well.

"Isha," he said quietly, "symptoms bata rahi thi... ya story bana rahi thi?"

Her lips parted, but no words came out, because the answer was obvious to both of them.

His gaze drifted slowly over her face, studying every flicker of panic she failed to hide, before settling back into her eyes with unnerving steadiness. "Strain," he repeated softly. "After intimacy."

The words alone made her ears burn.

He leaned a fraction closer, not enough for anyone passing by to notice, but enough that his voice reached only her.

"Interesting," he murmured, his tone calm, thoughtful, and infinitely more threatening because of it. "Mujhe yaad nahi... kab hua."

That was the exact moment her composure cracked.

"Arsh," she whispered quickly, darting a glance around to be sure no one was paying attention, "hallway hai."

"Haan," he replied smoothly. "Isliye dheere bol raha hoon." The fact that he was completely unbothered while she was internally collapsing made irritation spark beneath her embarrassment, and she lifted her chin slightly, attempting to gather what little dignity she had left.

"Doctor ne bola na strain hai," she said, trying to sound firm and final. "Bas. Ho gaya. Case close."

He watched her in silence for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then that slow, knowing smile appeared — the one that never meant anything good for her. "Case close?" he repeated.

She nodded quickly. "Haan."

Another pause followed, stretched thin with tension, before he leaned closer again and said in a low voice meant only for her,

"Achha. Toh ghar chalke reopen karte hain."

Her stomach dropped so fast it felt like the floor had vanished beneath her feet. Before she could think of a response, he straightened to his full height, his expression once again perfectly composed, as if he had not just threatened her peace of mind in the most polite way possible, and held out his hand toward her with quiet expectation.

"Chalo."

She stared at his hand, not because she didn't want to take it, but because she understood exactly what it meant — taking it meant willingly walking into whatever questioning, teasing, or revenge he had already begun planning.

"Arsh..." she said hesitantly.

"Hm?"

"...aap gussa ho?" Then she was asking the most dumb question

He actually seemed to consider that question, his gaze softening slightly in thought before he answered in a tone so gentle it only made her more nervous,

"Abhi nahi."

Which was infinitely worse than yes.

Because abhi nahi meant baad mein zaroor.

He lifted his hand just a little, silently insisting.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Isha finally slipped her hand into his, and his fingers closed around hers at once — warm, steady, firm — the grip of someone who had absolutely no intention of letting her escape now.

Without another word, he turned and began leading her toward the exit again, his pace unhurried, controlled, confident, as though he had all the time in the world to deal with her later.

Behind them, half-hidden near the nurses' station, Nisha peeked out from behind a cabinet where she had very obviously been spying the entire time, her eyes sparkling with wicked amusement as she watched them leave.

"Bhabhi," she whispered to herself, barely containing her laughter, "aaj toh pakki waali phasi."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

DEEWAN MANSION

Kashi stood at Minghao's side, his cold hand in hers, fingers moving over it as though she could bring him warmth through sheer will. Her heart was heavy with a mix of guilt and worry.

This man, who had always been kind to her, lay before her now, so still, so pale. And she hadn't been there when he needed her most. The thought crushed her.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, endless and unstoppable, each drop a reminder that she had failed him, that she couldn't protect him from whatever had hurt him.

The doctor's reassuring words—that Minghao hadn't suffered much, that it was just exhaustion and cold—had brought brief relief, but it hadn't erased her guilt. It never would.

The door creaked open.

Minsheng stepped inside, his presence almost palpable in the quiet room. His gaze landed on Minghao, then shifted to Kashi. He watched her as she sat there, still holding his father's hand, wiping away fresh tears but never letting go.

Minsheng's chest tightened at the sight. His father still and the woman he had once blamed for so much—she was here, holding on, as if this man were her own.

It was impossible to deny it now—Kashi had married not just him, but his world. She had stepped into a life filled with cold, with hurt, and she had stayed.

Kashi had always been there, through everything, caring for everyone else even when no one cared for her. But this... this moment was different.

For the first time, Minsheng felt something shift within him. He couldn't just stand here and watch. He stepped closer, sitting beside her on the bed, his voice breaking through the silence.

"Kashi," he said, his tone soft but insistent.

She flinched, startled by his presence, her head jerking up as she wiped her tears in a rush. "It's you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, though he had already seen her tears. He had already seen everything.

He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself before speaking again. "Aap yahan bohot der se baithi hain. Chaliye. Ab theek hai."

Kashi shook her head immediately, her eyes pleading. "Nahi... Baba ko hum yahan kaise chhod sakte hain?"

Minsheng's heart ached as he saw the depth of her care for everyone else—her loyalty, her kindness, her refusal to abandon the ones she loved. Even now, when her own exhaustion was written on every inch of her, she would not leave Minghao's side.

But he couldn't let her stay here forever.

"Kashi," he said softly but firmly, his voice like a quiet command. "He's resting. He needs that. And we're not going anywhere. Just let him rest for a while."

She looked at him, shaking her head, as if she couldn't tear herself away. "Par kaise—"

"Kashi. Enough."

His voice was steady, not harsh, but full of something new—something she hadn't heard from him before. She froze, her gaze meeting his. There was no cruelty there. No anger. Just... concern.

He reached out then, without thinking, and took her wrist gently in his hand. The touch was warm, strong, and for a moment, Kashi's breath caught in her throat.

Dam-dara, dam-dara, chashm-e, chashm-e-nam
Dam-dara, dam-dara, chashm-e, chashm-e-nam
Sun, mere humdum, hamesha ishq mein hi jeena

Dam-dara, dam-dara, chashm-e, chashm-e-nam

Dam-dara, dam-dara, chashm-e, chashm-e-nam
Sun, mere humdum, hamesha ishq mein hi jeena

Her heart pounded in her chest, faster than she could understand. God, was this really happening?

Mahadev yeh aapka Jaadu hai.

Hai Shankar aap ne meri dil ki sunli. Does this mean something?

Minsheng, the ruthless man, the one who had kept her at arm's length for so long... was holding her hand.

She froze completely, her eyes wide, not sure if she was dreaming. Was this really happening?

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft pressure of his hand around hers. His grip was not forceful, but steady, like he knew she might pull away, like he was offering her something fragile yet precious.

Her heart surged, the shock of it so overwhelming that she couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe. Could this truly be happening? Had he really... done this for her?

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted in disbelief. And what she saw in his gaze made her heart leap. It wasn't the cold, hardened mask he wore for the world. It wasn't the man who had shut everyone out.

It was concern. Real, genuine concern—for her.

For the first time, she saw it. She saw him. The real him.

And in that instant, she realized that everything had changed. She wasn't just his wife. She had become part of his world, in a way she never could have imagined.

Minsheng didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. His hand around hers spoke everything. Slowly, carefully, he rose to his feet, still holding her hand.

"Come on," he murmured softly, his voice low but full of quiet command. "Let's go."

She couldn't stop herself. She followed him, still in shock, her hand held firmly in his, her mind racing.

She couldn't quite grasp the change that had just happened, but it didn't matter.

Minsheng was leading her, guiding her out of the room, and for the first time, Kashi didn't feel like the world was crushing down on her.

She felt light. She felt seen. She felt... alive.

She looked up at him, still holding his hand, and for the first time, she wasn't worried about what came next.

In that moment, she felt as though she had won everything she had ever wanted. The world seemed to shift beneath her feet, and all that mattered was this—his hand in hers.

FEW HOURS LATER

The night unfolded like a velvet curtain, silent and still, its weight settling over the grand Deewan Mansion, embracing it in its serene and almost otherworldly stillness. The mansion stood regal and poised with its towering columns and intricate ironwork, bathed in the soft, silver glow of the moon. The shadows it cast were long and mysterious, stretching across the meticulously manicured gardens that seemed to guard the secrets of the family within. It was the kind of night where every corner of the mansion whispered history and every breeze carried stories untold.

Inside, the Living Room of Deewan Mansion was buzzing with activity. The family had gathered, not just for a simple evening together, but because Kalyani, ever the gracious hostess, had decided to invite everyone to her home tonight. There was Mrinali and Viraj, and of course, Shanaya, Edward, Isaac, and Nisha—along with the little Inaayat, who was a whirlwind of energy despite her tender age.

Seated comfortably in the grand living room, Mrinali, Viraj, Ansh, and Kalyani conversed with Vishakha, Yansong, and Naresh, who were equally caught up in the family dynamic.

At the dining table, Shanaya sat with Isha and Nisha, exchanging casual words as they sat in a quiet corner of the room, while little Inaayat and Neel giggled as they played with their toys on the floor.

Across the room, Arsh, Isaac, Aksh, and Edward were engrossed in their own conversation, a rare moment of camaraderie among them, free from the usual tension that sometimes filled the house.

And in the farthest corner of the room, Kashi stood with Yunji, their heads bent together as they discussed the upcoming performance at the temple for Mahashivratri. There was a calm about her, an air of quiet excitement for the tradition that she so loved.

But then, as though the very air had thickened with malice, a voice sliced through the room, so sudden and harsh that it made everyone freeze in place.

''Acha toh tum nachogi, Kashi ab?''

The words were venomous, dripping with judgement and disdain. Kashi's body went rigid at the sound, her heart sinking into her stomach. She knew, from the moment she heard that tone, who it was. Slowly, she turned, her breath catching in her throat, only to find her Bua Nalini standing there. Nalini's smile was too sweet—too practiced—and Kashi knew it for what it was. A smile that could cut through the thickest of hides, sharp and cruel.

A heavy silence descended on the room, thick enough to suffocate the air. Kalyani was the first to break it, standing up with a suddenness that drew everyone's attention. ''Didi, aap Kashi ko aise kyun bol rahi hain?'' she asked, her voice calm but unmistakably firm.

Nalini didn't bat an eye. She simply glanced at Kalyani, that smile still firmly in place, as she replied, ''Arre, Kalyani, kya ho gaya? Mai toh bas baat kar rahi thi.'' She turned her gaze back to Kashi, her eyes gleaming with the sort of satisfaction that came from knowing her words would wound.

''Haan toh beta,'' Nalini continued, her voice a little too loud, ''kal tum perform karne waali ho mandir mein?''

Kashi nodded, though she could already feel the sharp edge of judgment cutting through her. She knew this wasn't going to end well; the contempt in Nalini's voice was too thick, too palpable. She braced herself for what was coming next.

''Beta,'' Nalini's words dripped like poison, ''tumhe aise nahi karna chahiye. Shaadi ho gayi hai, ab tumhari...'' She paused, letting the silence stretch out for a moment as if savoring the weight of her words, before continuing, ''ab tumhari zindagi kuch aur ho gayi hai. Tumhe ghar pe dhyaan dena chahiye.''

Kashi's heart clenched in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral, though her eyes betrayed the hurt already beginning to flicker in her heart.

''Bua, aap yeh kaise bol rahi hain?'' Aksh's voice rose from behind her, his anger unmistakable. He couldn't stand it any longer, hearing those words that were meant to humiliate his sister. No, he couldn't let it pass. Not without saying something.

But Nalini, as if not bothered in the slightest, turned towards Aksh, a saccharine smile still pasted across her face. ''Arre beta,'' she said, turning back to Kashi as though she hadn't spoken at all. ''Hum toh bas yeh keh rahe the ki shaadi-shuda aurat ko ghar ka dhyaan rakhna chahiye...'' She allowed the words to linger, knowing full well the sting they would carry.

Kashi could feel the weight of every word pressing down on her chest, a heavy, suffocating weight that was hard to shake off. Nalini wasn't done yet.

''Warna, jab aurate apne kaam mein hi lagti hain na... toh phir pati kahin aur apna dhyaan laga lete hain.''

The final blow. It hit Kashi like a storm, and for a moment, she stood frozen, her heart shattering with the weight of those words. Could it really be true? That just because she pursued her passion, her husband would abandon her? Her mind raced, the thought settling like an unbearable knot in her stomach.

Tears began to well in Kashi's eyes, unbidden, hot and stinging. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in her life. She swallowed hard, trying to hold them back, but the sting of her Bua's words was too much. She could barely keep the words from tumbling out.

And then, as if to make it all the more final, Nalini added with a self-satisfied smile, ''Ache ghar ki ladkiyan aise naach-gaana nahi karti.''

Ache ghar ki? Just because she wanted to do something she wasn't Achi anymore. Is this how this world saw woman?

She glanced towards her parents hoping to know if they thought the same. But they were as shocked by the words unable to speak.

Kashi felt like the ground beneath her was crumbling, and in that moment, she wished she could disappear into the shadows that stretched across the room.

Nalini, as if sensing the effect her words had, pressed on with a certain cruel pleasure, the kind that came from knowing she was in control. Her voice was casual, but every syllable felt like a whip cutting through the stillness of the room.

''Dekho Kashi,'' Nalini said, her gaze never leaving her, ''sab ko apni position samajhni chahiye. Tumhari shaadi ho gayi hai, aur ab tumhe apne ghar, apne pati ka dhyaan dena hai. Yeh sab... yeh sab aise nahi chalta.''

She let out a light laugh, but it had no humor in it. The air around them grew thick with tension as everyone watched, some too shocked to speak, others too afraid to intervene.

''Tumhare pati ke saath time bitana, tumhara farz hai. Aur yeh jo tum kar rahi ho—dance, performance—yeh sab kahan se aagaya? Tumhe nahi lagta ki yeh tumhari shaadi ke liye galat hai?''

Kashi's breath hitched, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to turn away, to run, but she was rooted to the spot, trapped in the venomous web Nalini had spun.

''Aur jo log yeh sab karte hain,'' Nalini continued, leaning in slightly, the words wrapped in a sickly sweet tone, ''unka pati bhi kisi aur mein apni khushiyan dhundhta hai.'' She paused for a moment, letting the implication sink in. ''Tumhare ghar ka mahaul bhi gir sakta hai agar tum khud ko samajh nahi paayi.''

Kashi's eyes began to blur with the oncoming tide of tears. Her vision wavered, and for a brief moment, she felt utterly alone in the crowded room. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a loud reminder of the pain Nalini's words had carved into her.

''Aur tum samajh nahi paayi, Kashi,'' Nalini added, her voice lowering now, dripping with that cruel sympathy. ''Tumhari shaadi mein jo pyaar hona chahiye, woh tumhare kaam aur passion ke saath khatam ho jayega. Aise toh tum apne pati se door ja rahi ho... aur phir yeh shaadi toh sirf ek naam rahegi. Tum aur tumhara pati ek doosre se alag ho jaayenge.''

Kashi's legs felt weak, and she stumbled, clutching at the back of the couch for support. The sting of those words was too much, too heavy. The tears that had been threatening to fall broke free now, slipping down her cheeks in a steady stream. She wiped them away quickly, but it was no use. The pain, the crushing weight of those accusations, was too much to bear.

''Bua... please...'' Kashi's voice was a mere whisper, shaky and filled with hurt, but Nalini was relentless.

''Haan, haan, tum kehna chahti ho ki tumhein yeh sab nahi chahiye, par samajh lo... tumhe yeh karne ka haq nahi hai. Tumhe apne ghar ko sambhalna hoga, Kashi. Tumne shaadi ki hai, tum ab ek aurat ho, aur ek aurat ka farz apne pati ka khayal rakhna hota hai, na ki yeh sab drama karna.''

The final blow landed hard, and Kashi could no longer hold herself up. She sank into the couch, her face buried in her hands as sobs wracked her body. The tears fell freely now, hot and unrelenting. Her chest ached with every breath she took, and her heart shattered with the weight of it all.

She had always known that Nalini was cruel, but she had never imagined her words would cut so deep. It wasn't just about the judgment of her passion—it was the insinuation that she wasn't worthy of love or respect anymore because she had dared to follow her heart. That her husband, the person she had loved more than life itself, could somehow be lost to her because of her dreams.

She felt like a man drowning and the words had actually worked she was already starting to think Is this why he was distant because she had a passion?

Because she loved to do something of her own?

Is this why their marriage was so broken?

Is this why she was so unloved?

As Kashi's sobs filled the room, no one spoke. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating every voice, every sound. And in that silence, Kashi felt more isolated than she ever had before.

Just as the heavy silence weighed down on the room, a voice sliced through it, dangerous and barely holding back the fury that simmered within.

''Bas.''

Everyone froze at the sound. Even Nalini's smile faltered as they all turned toward the source of the command. Minsheng stood at the foot of the stairs, his figure commanding and stormy, the kind of expression he wore in boardrooms or when dealing with the triads—sharp, unyielding, and furious. But what made the moment so different, so much more intense, was that this anger, this energy, was being unleashed in his own home.

Kashi's heart skipped a beat as she saw him. His eyes were locked onto her, a tempest brewing behind them. The sight of her tears, the tremble in her hands, the way her body was so fragile and broken—it hit him like a punch to the gut. And suddenly, everything around them went still.

He didn't waste a second. Minsheng moved with purpose, climbing the stairs two at a time, his eyes never straying from Kashi. He could feel the sharp pain in his chest as he saw how small and vulnerable she looked, her body practically trembling from the emotional weight.

He reached her in a flash, crouching down in front of her, his gaze softening as he placed his hands on the sides of the couch. His voice was gentle, though it held an edge that still carried the remnants of his anger.

''Aap theek hai?''

Kashi barely nodded, her hand coming up to wipe away her tears, but before she could, Minsheng grabbed her wrist gently but firmly. His eyes darkened as he watched her, unable to look away from the pain that had been so unfairly placed upon her.

''Nahi, Kashi, ruk jaiye,'' he said, his voice now edged with a kind of quiet authority. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to her. ''Yeh lo, wipe your tears.''

Her hands shook as she took it from him, but the act of him caring, him seeing her, brought something to life inside her. It was almost as if the broken pieces of her heart were stitching themselves back together, slowly, gently.

He stood up, his gaze flicking to Nalini with an intensity that could have burned through stone. His glare could have made anyone quake in fear, but Nalini stood there, not even flinching.

''Mai aurto ki bohot izzat karta hoon,'' he began, his voice steady but laced with cold fury. He paused for a moment, letting his words land, before continuing, ''hamesha se karta aaya hoon.''

Then, his eyes darkened even more, his lips curling into a thin line. ''But I have never, ever given anyone the right to talk about my Shona like that.''

The room seemed to freeze at the mention of his words—his voice practically daring anyone to challenge him. Kashi froze, her heart skipping a beat. Had he really just called her Shona?

Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked up at him, still dazed, her mind trying to process everything happening around her. Had he really said that?

Minsheng wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

''Aap badi hain,'' he said, his voice low, but the force behind his words unmistakable, ''par aapka koi haq nahi banta ki Kashi ke baare mein aise bolen.'' His gaze softened as he turned back to Kashi, whose eyes were still wet with tears. ''Kya mila aapko, ek itni dayalu, aur dil se naram si aurat pe aise shabd bol kar?''

His teeth clenched together, barely able to hold back his anger. Kashi could see it in his eyes—the fury he was holding inside, the protective rage that made him look like a lion ready to pounce.

Because a man had finally realized the worth of the woman he had once mistreated, the very woman he had feared would become his weakness — yet in every moment since she had come into his life, she had done nothing but dismantle his walls with a quiet kindness that reached places inside him he never knew could feel.

He wasn't done. No. Not even close.

''Aur kya bol rahi thi aap? Agar patni apna passion follow karti hai, toh pati kahi aur dhyaan deta hai?'' Minsheng's tone turned mocking, biting. He looked directly at Nalini. ''Firstly, Bua Ji,'' he spat, ''Kashi is the kind of woman who lights up any room she walks into, who brings color to the dullest of lives. The love she carries in her heart could soften even the hardest soul.''

In that moment, no one understood that when he spoke of the hardest soul, he was not speaking of some distant man shaped by cruelty — he was speaking of himself, and only himself.

Of how she had been gentle enough to treat him like a human, like a husband, not like the monster the world had always named him. Of how her eyes, whenever they rested on him, held a softness so undeserved that it frightened him more than hatred ever could.

His voice gained strength with each word, as if he was channeling everything he had been holding back. He glanced briefly at Vishakha and Yansong, then turned his gaze to Yunji and Jun.

''In this one year of our marriage,'' he continued, his voice growing in conviction, ''she has taken care of my grandparents in my absence.'' He looked back at Jun and Yunji, his eyes filled with respect for Kashi. ''Aur mere bhai-behnon ko Kashi ne apna maana hai.''

His voice carried the weight of his pride and admiration.

''And my men...'' He glanced at Li standing in corner, his voice almost breaking with the emotion that was suddenly pouring out of him. ''She's treated them like her own brothers. A woman like her? A man would have to be a fool to leave her.''

His gaze turned back to Nalini, his anger now cold but unwavering.

''If a man ever leaves a woman like Kashi, he's the most stupid man on this planet,'' he whispered, his voice raw with sincerity.

''And secondly,'' he continued, the mocking tone returning to his voice as he glanced briefly at Kashi, ''don't worry about me. I've made it clear: I will never betray her. That's a promise, and a Bai never breaks his word.''

Kashi's heart fluttered at his words. The depth of his loyalty, his unwavering devotion—it was something she hadn't expected to hear today, not from him.

''Aapka koi haq nahi banta ki aap Kashi ko aise bole,'' Minsheng continued, his tone turning serious once more, his finger pointing toward the wound on his hand. ''Yeh dekh rahi hain aap?'' He glanced down at the small cut on his palm. ''I got this injury, and yet—'' He turned back to Kashi, his voice softening. ''This woman didn't hesitate for a second to tend to my wound, despite being unwell herself.''

Fuck.

His expression had softened, and no one noticed it — no one realized that a woman, with nothing but her quiet kindness, had accomplished what the world never could: she had softened Bai Minsheng himself.

Kashi felt a lump in her throat, tears threatening to spill again, but this time, they weren't born of hurt. They were born of gratitude, of love.

''And being married doesn't mean taking care of the husband and making him the center of your universe. A woman is her own person, before marriage and after marriage,'' Minsheng continued, his gaze softening as he looked directly at Kashi for the first time with a tenderness that took everyone in the room by surprise.

''This woman right here,'' he said, his voice full of reverence, ''gave up everything for me. She married me, to be with me, and I didn't deserve it. But she did.'' His words rang with honesty, with love. He wasn't hiding his emotions anymore.

He didn’t care who saw him like this, who mistook it for weakness, who tried to use it against him or bring him to his knees. For once, the feared image of the mafia boss meant nothing to him — the power, the reputation, the shadows that followed his name — none of it mattered.

All that mattered was this woman.

''And Kashi,'' he added, his voice more firm than ever, ''is her own person. No one, in this entire world—not even me—has the right to tell her what she should do and what she shouldn't. She's not Kashi Deewan, or Kashi Bai Minsheng. She is Kashi. Just Kashi. A woman who does what she loves, who lives for herself, and who answers to no one.''

A long, painful pause stretched out, before Minsheng's next words came, laden with finality.

''And if anyone dares to question that, you can answer my fucking gun.'' He shifted his suit jacket slightly, revealing the gun tucked into his waistband, the cold gleam of metal a silent but unmistakable threat.

“This woman is a goddess,” he said, pointing toward Kashi once more before turning back to Nalini, a fierce, almost disbelieving pride burning in his eyes. “And I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call her my wife.”

The room was deathly quiet, every person standing frozen in disbelief, before Kashi's hand reached out instinctively.

''Suniye, ruk jaiye—'' she began, but before she could say anything further, Shanaya stepped forward and pulled her back gently, a smile of pride and satisfaction creeping across her face.

''Bolne de, Kashi,'' Shanaya said, her voice firm. ''You deserve someone who defends you. Someone who sees you.'' She glanced at Minsheng, a knowing look in her eyes. She had known for years how much Nalini had put Kashi down, but seeing Minsheng finally step up like this—it was more than satisfying. It was healing.

Minsheng, without a single word, walked toward Kashi, his arms lifting her effortlessly into his hold. She clung to him, her arms wrapping around his neck in a silent embrace.

His eyes found Nalini's one last time, his tone cold, though there was a finality in it now that left no room for argument.

''Aaj toh main calm tha. Lekin agli baar agar aap meri biwi ke baare mein aise kuch bhi bola... toh main apna respect bhool jaunga.''

Without another word, he turned and began to walk toward the stairs, his every step filled with purpose.

And in that moment, something inside Kashi shifted. 

She felt like the luckiest woman alive. The way he had spoken of her as if she were something sacred, the way he had noticed every little thing she had done and given her a credit she had never once expected — it left her heart trembling in disbelief.

The quiet, unassuming man she had married, the one who had always stayed in the shadows, had stepped into the light at last. He was no longer just Bai Minsheng of the triads and the boardrooms — he was her husband, standing there openly, unashamedly, as if loving her was the greatest honor he had ever been given.

He was her Bai Minsheng.

The white tiger had finally shown his claws, not in the shadows, but loudly and proudly, in defense of the woman whose worth he had finally realised.

As he led her away, her parents stood frozen in awe, pride shining unmistakably in their eyes, grateful beyond words that their daughter had found a man who could stand for her when it mattered most. Aksh and Ekaksh watched with tears brimming, their chests tight with emotion — all their lives they had been the ones shielding their little sister, and now, for the first time, they saw someone else step forward with that same fierce devotion.

Arsh and Isha exchanged a glance filled with quiet triumph, a deep satisfaction settling in their hearts as they witnessed someone finally put Nalini bua in her place — not with cruelty, but with truth.

Nisha and Shanaya, her closest friends, looked the proudest of all, because there is no greater joy than watching your best friend be loved out loud, defended without hesitation, cherished without condition.

Edward and Isaac shared a silent look of their own, astonishment flickering between them — they had never imagined such a transformation in Minsheng. After everything he had done, after all the years he had lost to darkness, he had finally seen his own reflection clearly and chosen, at last, the right path.

And Jun and Yunji… they felt like the proudest siblings alive, their hearts swelling at the sight of their bhabhi being protected with a devotion that needed no words, because in that moment, they knew — she wasn’t just part of their family now. She was its heart.

Upstairs in Bedroom

Minsheng gently lowered Kashi onto the bed, his movements tender as if she were the most delicate thing in the world. Without a second's hesitation, he rushed to the nightstand, filled a glass with water from the jar, and hurried back to her side. But instead of handing her the glass, he brought it to her lips, his other hand carefully cradling her chin to ensure no water spilled, not even a drop. His touch was gentle, soothing, as if he were handling the most precious thing on Earth.

Kashi, still frozen in the moment, let her tears fall freely as she slowly drank the water. For the first time, she didn't care about how she looked or if her emotions were on display. Tonight, in front of her, stood the man she loved—no longer distant, no longer cold—but someone who had defended her, spoken for her, and most of all, someone who saw her.

She didn't have to pretend anymore. She wasn't alone.

Her voice cracked as she tried to speak, her words barely audible through the sobs. ''Aapne woh sab...''

Her tears spilled over again, each one a mixture of relief, gratitude, and pure, overwhelming love. She felt like the luckiest woman alive. All she had ever wanted was to be seen, to be heard, to be defended by him. And tonight, he had done that in the most raw, vulnerable way possible.

Minsheng didn't say a word in response. Instead, he did something that took Kashi's breath away—he dropped to his knees. No warning, no hesitation, just a movement that seemed almost... instinctive. The man who had built his life on pride, on power, on being untouchable, was now kneeling at her feet.

If anyone from the triads had witnessed that scene, they would have stood frozen in disbelief at the sight of Bai Minsheng on his knees.

Because as far as the world knew, he was a man who never bowed, never bent, never knelt — not before power, not before fear, not before fate itself. And yet here he was, lowered not by force, not by defeat, but by something far stronger than either.

Kashi froze in shock, the air around her thick with the rawness of the moment. She could feel a shiver run through her as Minsheng's nose brushed against her bare feet, his hands gently touching the small payal that adorned her ankle.

''Aap yeh kya kar rahe hai?'' she whispered, her voice trembling as she instinctively tried to rise and pull him up.

But he stopped her with a quiet, steady plea, his voice low and sincere. ''No, Kashi, please... let me do this. This is the little I can do for all the pain I have given you.''

Fuck. He was pleading — pleading. A man who had once walked away from her on their wedding night, who had turned his back without a second glance, now stood stripped of pride and power, his voice no longer edged with command but heavy with desperation.

He spoke with such sincerity, such vulnerability, that Kashi's heart ached. The man who had been a wall of stoic pride, whose heart had seemed as cold as stone, was now on his knees, broken and vulnerable before her. She wanted to say something, to make him stop, but his words kept coming, more desperate than the last.

''Even your feet are so pure, Kashi,'' he continued, his voice thick with emotion. ''I will never be pure in my life. Because I am a monster. A real one. I don't care about anything, but you do. You care for me.''

His tears, for the first time, spilled freely, falling onto her feet, mixing with her own. He didn't care that his pride, his image, had been shattered. He just let the tears fall, unabashedly. And that was when Kashi realized—the White Tiger, the powerful, ruthless man she had known, was breaking down in front of her.

''God, fuck... I don't know why you do this,'' he whispered, almost to himself. ''Kashi... I don't deserve you.''

He choked on the words, his voice breaking as he spoke again.

''I left you alone for a year...'' His words came out between sobs. ''I don't deserve your forgiveness. I thought you'd leave me, Kashi. I thought you'd ask for a divorce, or at least scream at me, fight with me. But you didn't... you just...'' He faltered, his hands trembling as he wiped his face. ''You just fell into my arms.''

His tears were relentless now, and Kashi could see how much pain he had carried, how much regret and guilt weighed on him.

''You are that angel,'' he said, his voice filled with disbelief. ''That angel who should be anywhere but here, not with a man like me. I'm a fucking monster, Kashi.''

And then, almost as if it were an instinct, Minsheng collapsed against her feet again, his hands holding her ankles as if they were the most sacred thing in the world. His voice broke once more, a sound of such raw, desperate need that Kashi's heart clenched in her chest.

''And that night you made dinner for me...'' he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. ''That was the first time in years someone made something for me... and didn't want anything in return. No manipulation, no strings attached. It was pure, Kashi.''

He took a deep breath, his chest heaving as he looked up at her, his eyes full of regret, of devotion.

''You are a Goddess, Kashi. A literal Goddess.''

''I am sorry...'' He whispered it again, his voice shaking. ''I am sorry for what I said that night. I know you would never poison me, Kashi. I was wrong, and I am sorry.'' His voice was barely above a whisper now. ''When I was poisoned as a child, it changed everything. I stopped trusting anyone. Not even my own men. They check everything, Kashi. My food, my drink... they make sure it's not poisoned. That's why I said what I did. But it wasn't you. I was wrong. It's not you, it's me. I'm the problem.''

His gaze locked onto hers, filled with an overwhelming mix of devotion and guilt.

''And you are a goddess,'' he repeated, his voice so full of reverence it almost took her breath away. ''I know I've hurt you, Kashi. I know it. But please, let me fix it. Please, just let me try.''

He clasped his hands together, his eyes desperate as he looked up at her. The man who had always been in control, the man who had commanded entire empires, was now begging her. And in that moment, Kashi realized how much he had truly changed.

''I know I'm not capable of loving you the way you deserve,'' he continued, his voice breaking. ''Not just you, but anyone. I wasn't trained for things like love. I don't know how... But...''

He looked into her eyes, his gaze softer now, filled with vulnerability.

''Please let me try, Kashi. Let me be the man who's always behind you. Protecting you. Defending you. I can give you everything, but love... I can't promise you that. I was never meant for that.''

He paused, his hands trembling as he gripped her feet, holding them as though they were the most precious thing in the universe.

''But please... just let me try. I beg you. Just let me try.''

Kashi's heart broke at the sight of him—so lost, so broken. But there was something else there too. Hope. And the fact that he was willing to fight, to try, meant more to her than anything else ever could.

Kashi stared at him, her shock evident, tears slipping down her cheeks. It felt like today was the day she was truly seeing him, like she was finally understanding the depths of what he had endured. She never imagined she would receive an apology from him—let alone one that was so broken.

Kneeling down, she gently lowered herself to the floor beside him, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Mujhe pata nahi tha about the poisoning... about all of it. I'm so sorry." She covered her mouth, stifling a sob, as she thought of the pain he must have carried—poisoned and betrayed as a child.

She looked at him softly, her gaze steady yet full of understanding. "Aapka dil bohot saaf hai, bas bhaar se aap kathor lagte hain." Her words were a whisper, as if she were speaking directly to his soul. "Aur aap kuch bhi kariye, mai aapko kabhi chodke nahi jaungi." She paused, tilting her head slightly, the faintest of smiles playing on her lips. "Lekin agar aap kuch harkat karenge, toh daatungi zaroor," she teased, lightening the heavy atmosphere.

Without even realizing it, Minsheng let out a laugh—a small but real one, the first he'd shared in years.

Kashi exhaled softly, a deep sigh of both relief and reflection. "Aaj apne jo kiya, woh mere liye kisi ne nahi kiya," she said, her eyes softening as she spoke from the heart. "I was born to a Mafia Don... everyone expected me to take over the business. But stupid me, I fell in love with Bharatanatyam when I was just a little girl. It gave me peace like nothing else." She looked at him, her gaze steady, filled with a quiet resolve. "Maa-baba were never against it, but I knew what people said. They'd gossip about me, the daughter of such a man... and yet I danced. They talked about how I could buy thousands of studios around the world, and more... but all I wanted was to do something of my own."

She looked down for a moment, gathering herself. "I did until last year... when hamaari shaadi ho gayi," she continued, meeting his eyes with a soft, almost nostalgic smile. "It healed something in me, seeing you support it so much."

Her voice dropped lower, and she smiled at him. "Aur haan, aaj jo aapne mere liye kiya... voh bohot tha." She paused again, her smile gentle. "I don't need love, Minsheng. This... this is enough for me."

The words hung between them, tender and fragile, and they hit Minsheng harder than he expected. They broke something inside him and healed him all at once. He knew that he couldn't give her the love she deserved—but in that moment, he promised himself that he would always be there for her. Protect her. Shield her from anything and everything, even from him.

"Vaada karta hu, Kashi, kabhi bhi aapko aise chhodunga nahi, jaisa pichle saal kiya tha." The words came out of his mouth, a promise that resonated deeper than just words. Because Bai Minsheng didn't make promises lightly—he meant them and kept them, no matter the cost.

Kashi nodded, a soft smile curving her lips. "Haan, pata hai, mujhe yakeen hai." Her voice was calm, as if she knew now—deep in her soul—that he would never leave her, that he would always be there. Forever. No matter what happened, he would stand behind her like a shadow.

Minsheng's gaze softened, but then a mischievous spark appeared as Kashi tilted her head, her voice playful. "Voh toh theek hai, par aapne 'Shona' kyun bola tha mujhe?"

Minsheng froze for a moment, his hand instinctively rubbing the back of his neck in awkwardness. "Oh... aapne suna tha woh," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

"Arre, boliye naa!" Kashi tugged at his sleeve, her curiosity piqued.

Minsheng sighed, resigned. "It's a name, Kashi. For someone who's pure and soft. The moment I saw you, a year ago, I thought of the nickname. So yeah..."

Kashi's eyes widened as shock flashed across her face. Then, slowly, a blush crept up her cheeks, and she whispered, her voice quiet but teasing, "Acha, toh phir bulaya kyun nahi uss naam se aapne?"

Minsheng sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Arre baba, kaise bolta? Jab main aapko ek saal ke liye akela chhod gaya, it made me want to bury myself in the ground. With what face should I have called you 'Shona'?"

Kashi froze for a moment, then let out a light giggle, her eyes shining. "Baat toh aap sahi keh rahe ho." She paused, then, almost to herself, whispered so quietly that she almost didn't hear it: "Waise, ab bula sakte ho, ab toh sab theek hai hamaare beech."

Without another word, she rushed to the bed, either to sleep or perhaps to escape the weight of what she had just said.

Minsheng stood there, frozen. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. God, what was this woman? But this was the first time she had asked him for something, and he would do it—because something had shifted in Bai Minsheng today. A woman had entered his life so quietly, yet so powerfully, that her actions had broken down the walls around his heart. She had made him want to be better—for her. For them.

And somewhere, unnoticed by both, their hearts began to dance in harmony, unknowingly stepping towards a dawn they were destined to share.

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Deewangi Writess