MUMBAI,INDIA

DEEWAN MANSION

LAST NIGHT - KASHI'S BEDROOM

Night settled quietly inside the mansion room, wrapping the space in a calm, heavy stillness. The tall windows were partly open, letting the cool breeze slip through the thin curtains that swayed softly in the dark. Moonlight spilled across the polished floor and the edge of the large bed, painting pale silver lines over the rich furniture.

Minsheng stood by the window, arms crossed over his chest, his suit jacket unbuttoned, revealing his crisp white shirt, making him look as composed and striking as ever, even when his mind was anything but calm . Moonlight cast shadows over his sharp features, softening nothing, only deepening the conflict written across his face.

Despite what he had done today—defended her, something he should have done long ago—his heart still felt unbearably heavy. He couldn't stop thinking about all the times he had caused her pain, and yet she had given him nothing but care in return. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have thought twice about it, wouldn't have let it linger, but she... she had broken through every wall he had built over the years with nothing but quiet patience and tenderness.

He turned, his gaze falling on her as she slept on the bed, curled slightly into herself, a faint, peaceful smile resting on her lips as though the world had never wronged her. He didn't understand it, but something warm, unfamiliar, unsettling had begun to stir inside his chest—something he hadn't felt in years.

She was sleeping peacefully... so why was he not?

He shouldn't care. He doesn't care. Maybe it was just that—seeing her at peace somehow eased the weight of his guilt.

Or maybe... her peace had begun to matter to him.

He knew he had shocked her today. Of all people, she had not expected him to stand up for her—why would she?

A man who abandons her on their wedding night, disappears for a year, and then returns only to accuse her of poisoning him... why would she ever expect protection from someone like him?

Minsheng let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening, because the truth was simple—he couldn't hold it in anymore. The guilt had begun to consume him from the inside out. He had once promised himself he would never hurt someone because of his past, because of his trauma... and yet he had done exactly that.

The day he married Kashi, he had seen her as a threat.

Of course he had.

Ever since he had been poisoned as a child, trust had become something foreign to him, something dangerous. Everyone and everything had become a possibility of betrayal.

And then he had done what he always did best.

He had run.

He had abandoned his own wife in a foreign place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, in a house that was never hers to begin with.

And yet... she had made it her home.

She lived as his wife—with pride.

The realization sat heavy in his chest now, suffocating in its weight, because he had been wrong—so horribly, unforgivably wrong. He had thought himself a man, but a man does not run, a man does not abandon, and a man certainly does not throw blame where it does not belong.

He had accused her of things she would never even think of doing. And now he knew—he knew she cared. Even when he had given her every reason not to, she still did.

And tonight... tonight had broken something inside him.

He had been upstairs on a call when he heard the voices—Nalini's sharp words, and Kashi's silence.

That silence had done something to him.

Because in that moment, 

He had remembered his mother's words.

Pallavi.

He could still hear her voice as clearly as if she stood beside him.

If you have to even think before protecting her, then you have already failed being a man.

The words had struck him so hard he hadn't even paused to think. By the time he reached downstairs, anger had already taken over, burning through him when he saw Kashi standing there, her head lowered, not even attempting to defend herself.

That... that had been the moment something inside him snapped.

For once, he hadn't cared about reputation, about control, about appearing unaffected. All he had known was that he had to stand in front of her.

Because if he hadn't... he wouldn't have been able to face himself again.

What was the point of being a man if he couldn't even protect her?

Today is the day you become a real man.

Not when you killed your enemies. Not when you finalized a deal. But when you commit to that girl... and cherish that bond, no matter what, for the rest of your life.

Those were the words his father and grandfather had drilled into him for years. Words tied to pride, to legacy, to the very meaning of being who he was.

And yet he had done the exact opposite.

He felt nothing but disgusted at himself. Because despite knowing all of that, he had treated Kashi like she was nothing—like she didn't matter, like their marriage meant nothing.

But not anymore.

Now... he would fix it.

No matter what it took.

Even if she chose to leave him—no, when she chose to leave him—he wouldn't stop her. He didn't have that right. But before that, he would make it right. He would give her what he should have from the very beginning.

His gaze shifted, landing on the sindoor in her hairline and the mangalsutra resting against her neck—symbols of a bond he had never respected, never even acknowledged.

Something inside him twisted. How easily he had ignored it all.

He shut his eyes, his expression raw, almost pained, because looking at her felt like facing every mistake he had ever made. After everything he had done to her, after everything he had taken from her... he didn't even know if he deserved to stand in the same room as her.

But when he opened his eyes again, there was something else there. Something steadier. Determination.

He would do anything to heal what he had broken. He would give her everything she deserved—everything she had never asked for, but silently endured without.

And if anyone ever dared to hurt her again...

They would have to face him.

He had never thought he would feel like this again. Had never thought he was capable of it. But Kashi—her quiet care, her patience—had forced him to see what he had been refusing to acknowledge.

He could not keep hurting people just because he had been hurt once.

And Kashi... she did not deserve to carry his past as her burden.

He didn't love her.

He knew that.

Because a man like him didn't deserve to love someone like her. Someone so pure, so unwavering—someone who felt almost divine in her patience.

He didn't know how to love.

But he could be kind.

He could give.

And from now on... he would.

Edward's words echoed in his mind then, reminding him that no one could keep shielding him from himself forever.

They were right.

This was his responsibility.

His mistake.

And now... his to fix.

And this time—

He wouldn't run.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

NEXT MORNING

5 : OO AM

Morning didn't arrive loudly—it slipped in, soft and unannounced. A pale golden light filtered through the sheer curtains, brushing gently against the quiet room, chasing away the last traces of night. The air still carried a hint of coolness, but it was warmer now... calmer—the kind of warmth that settled slowly, like a quiet promise of a new day.

Kashi stirred slightly as the curtains were drawn aside, revealing the window, and sunlight came in instantly, falling across her face. She slowly opened her eyes, rubbing them lazily before looking around, only to see Kalyani standing near the window, having just pulled the curtains open.

"Kashi bacha, uth jaa..." Kalyani's soft whisper filled the room. Kashi didn't wake up instantly, still caught in the haze of sleep, her movements slow and unsteady. "Remember, aaj mandir mein perform karna hai, bacha."

And those words were enough.

They pulled her fully awake, reminding her what day it was.

Mahashivratri.

Her Mahadev's day—the day he got married to Parvati Mata.

And not just that...

It was her anniversary too.

One year of their marriage.

And then... she remembered him.

Minsheng.

A small smile crept onto her lips instantly as yesterday replayed in her mind—the way he had stood there, unwavering, defending her in front of everyone... in front of her Bua.

The same woman who had always been cruel to her, who had never missed a chance to belittle her—and yet yesterday, Minsheng had put her in her place without hesitation.

Kashi had never thought he would do that.

But he did.

And not just that—he had apologised. For everything.

And he had meant it.

She had never felt this kind of happiness before. It felt as though her Mahadev had finally listened to her prayers... as though her marriage, which she had held onto so tightly, was no longer slipping through her fingers.

Not anymore.

And somewhere between those moments yesterday... she had fallen in love with him all over again.

Because what he did might seem like the bare minimum to the world—but to her... to a woman who loved him with every breath she took, who carried his name in every silent prayer... it meant everything.

He didn't love her—she knew that. He had said it himself.

But he was sorry.

And somehow, that alone had begun to heal parts of her she didn't even know were broken.

Last night, for the first time in almost a year... she had slept peacefully. Because what better sleep could there be than the one that came after seeing your husband stand up for you, defend you, choose you—without hesitation?

That was all Kashi had ever wanted.

And she had finally gotten it.

Just then, she felt the bed dip slightly beside her. She glanced up to see Kalyani sitting next to her, a gentle smile on her lips. Leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to Kashi's forehead and whispered, "Happy Anniversary, mera bacha."

Kalyani lingered there for a moment before pulling back, her hand staying on Kashi's cheek, caressing it softly as if trying to memorize the feel of her. It was hard to believe her daughter had grown up so much... it felt like just yesterday she had gotten married, and now it was already her first anniversary.

Her eyes welled up instantly at the thought.

But Kashi noticed right away. Moving closer, she wiped her mother's tears gently. "Maa, ro kyu rahi ho?" she asked softly, now fully awake, though still looking adorably drowsy with her doe-like eyes.

Kalyani shook her head lightly. "Kuch nahi, bacha... bas dekh rahi hu tu kitni badi ho gayi." She composed herself quickly, wiping her tears, not wanting to worry her. Taking Kashi's hands that were cupping her face, she kissed them softly—just like she used to when Kashi was little.

Kashi smiled warmly, looking up at her. "Kya maa, aaj aap bohot pyaar dikha rahi ho?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Kalyani paused for a second before letting out a soft laugh. "Oho..." she murmured, flicking Kashi's forehead lightly. "Mujhe pyaar dikhane ki kya zarurat hai? Tera pati itna pyaar karne wala hai toh."

Kashi froze.

Her cheeks flushed instantly at her mother's words, understanding exactly what she was referring to—the way Minsheng had defended her yesterday, in front of everyone.

"Maa... bas bhi karo..." she whispered, burying her face in her hands, trying to hide the deep blush spreading across her cheeks.

Kalyani laughed again, clearly enjoying her daughter's reaction. "Acha, arre main toh mazaak kar rahi thi, bacha," she said, gently pulling Kashi's hands away from her face.

"But sach mein..." her tone softened now, her thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on Kashi's skin, "kal mujhe aur tere baba ko bohot relief mila..."

She paused, looking at her properly. "Ki humne teri shaadi aise aadmi se ki jo tujhe puri duniya ke saamne defend kar sakta hai."

There was a quiet honesty in her words now. "Humein chinta lagi rahi poore ek saal ki... tu waha kaisi hogi..." she admitted softly. "Even though we knew tu khush hi hogi... but kal, seeing Minsheng defend you like that... it warmed our hearts."

Kashi felt her chest tighten hearing that—hearing how worried they had been all this time.

"Maa, main waha bohot khush hun..." she said gently, pausing for a moment as Vishakha and Yansong came to her mind. "Maa, waha mujhe bahu nahi... sab beti ki tarah rakhte hai."

Those words alone brought a kind of relief to Kalyani that nothing else could have. Because what more could a mother want than to know her daughter was loved like a daughter in her sasural?

"Bas... yahi toh sunna tha," Kalyani whispered, leaning forward to kiss her forehead once again.

"Chal ab khadi ho ja, naha dho le... maine tere kapde nikal diye hai. Bilkul apsara ban jaa... aur mandir mein perform karna hai na," she added, patting Kashi's cheek.

Kashi smiled, but the moment her eyes fell on the clock, her expression changed into a small frown.

"Maa! Aapne mujhe pehle kyu nahi uthaya?" she exclaimed, jumping out of bed and throwing the blanket aside in one swift motion—and for a moment, Kalyani saw her little girl again, the same one who used to throw tiny tantrums.

"Haan haan, mujhe mat bol... tere pati parmeshwar ne hi bola tha tujhe sone du," Kalyani replied casually, bending down to pick up the blanket Kashi had thrown.

And just like that—

Kashi froze.

Minsheng had told her not to wake her?

To let her sleep?

Did he... know she hadn't been sleeping well?

The thought settled deep, quiet but overwhelming.

"Kaha kho gayi, madam?" Kalyani waved her hand in front of her face, pulling her back.

"Kuch nahi, maa... inhone bola toh koi baat nahi," Kashi said softly, though her voice carried emotions she didn't quite understand yet.

And before her mother could say anything else, she quickly turned and rushed into the bathroom.

Kalyani stood there for a second, stunned. Just a moment ago, this same girl had been scolding her for not waking her up... and now she had accepted it so easily—just because it was her pati who had said it.

A soft chuckle escaped her.

She saw herself in Kashi far too clearly.

A woman in love.

Something she once had been.

And in that quiet moment, a thought crossed her mind—one that didn't leave as easily.

She just hoped...

Kashi wouldn't turn out like her.

Wouldn't have to suffer the way she did.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Trayambakeshwar Mahadev Temple

Trayambakeshwar Mahadev Temple stood in divine stillness at the foothills, its black stone structure carrying the weight of centuries of faith, the temple's intricate carvings, weathered yet majestic, seeming to whisper tales of devotion with every passing moment. A soft mist often lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of incense and fresh flowers, while the distant sound of temple bells and chants created a serene, almost otherworldly aura—making every step within feel sacred and deeply grounding.

Minsheng and Aksh stood inside the temple, dressed in nothing but simple kurtas and bare feet, looking nothing like the ruthless mafias they were in the underworld or the businessmen they were known as. They looked like simple people helping out in the temple, like normal people would on Maha Shivratri.

Aksh looked at Minsheng with an annoyed expression while tying datura flowers together, weaving the pale, trumpet-shaped blooms into a delicate garland. They were not just any flowers, but the kind of flowers that Mahadev preferred, and today was his day, so they were tying them around the walls everywhere in the temple.

He looked at Minsheng with a deeply offended expression while aggressively tying datura flowers together, weaving the pale, trumpet-shaped blooms into what looked less like a garland and more like something that had personally wronged him.

''Kya hai? Aise kyu dekh raha hai?'' Minsheng whispered, noticing the unnecessary attitude.

''Main dekh raha hu ki meri zindagi ke faisle kaha galat gaye,'' Aksh muttered, not even looking at him, fingers moving dramatically. ''Subah ke 5 baje uthkar main yaha phool baandh raha hu. Mujhe apni life choices pe doubt ho raha hai.''

He shot a sharp glare at Minsheng. "Pagal hai kya? Itni subah uthaoge toh aisa hi expression dunga," Aksh snapped, his irritation deepening. He hated being woken up this early—he was definitely not a morning person.

He was used to working all night and then sleeping late into the afternoon—that was how his life was. Adding to it, since one year his son Neel had been a part of his life, he would work all night and then in the morning tend to his son, either dropping him to daycare or taking a nap with him, or letting him stay with his grandmother.

''Tu hoga pagal, ek din jaldi nahi uth sakta,'' Minsheng threw back at him, sighing heavily, because this man right here was a morning person, because this man had no idea what eight hours of sleep actually meant. It had been years since he had last slept on a bed, and he would work at night—on deals and the mafia business—and then go through the day without pause. He lived on Baiju, that was it.

 ''Drama band kar, aise behave kar raha hai jaise tujhe mandir nahi, battlefield bhej diya ho.''

 Aksh shot back instantly, glaring at him. ''Ek toh tu alarm se pehle aa gaya tha. Kaun uthta hai itni jaldi? Tu insaan hai ya pandit ji ka assistant?''

''Kam se kam main kaam toh kar raha hu, tu toh phoolon se personal badla le raha hai,'' Minsheng replied, eyeing the uneven garland.

Aksh looked down at it, paused... then continued tying anyway. ''Art samajh nahi aata tujhe.''

''Haan clearly, modern art lag raha hai—title hoga neend ka badla,'' Minsheng muttered under his breath.

Aksh narrowed his eyes. ''Ek kaam kar, tu bolna band kar warna ye mala tere gale mein daal dunga aur bolunga bhakt ban gaya hai.''

''Tu daal ke dekh,'' Minsheng leaned slightly closer, smirking, ''main wahin se tujhe pandit bana dunga—lifetime duty.''

Aksh let out a dry laugh. ''Mujhe pandit bana diya toh mandir band ho jayega do din mein.''

Just then, a pandit passing by spoke up, ''Arre beta, jaldi karo, aur bhi kaam hai.'' 

''Ji,'' Minsheng replied respectfully, bowing his head slightly.

The moment the pandit walked away, Minsheng leaned toward Aksh again. ''Suna? Bhagwan ke interpretor bhi keh rahe hai jaldi kar.''

''Bhagwan mujhe keh rahe hai ki galat dost chun liya maine,'' Aksh shot back, rolling his eyes but picking up speed anyway.

''By the way,'' Aksh said after a moment, side-eyeing him, ''tu meri behen ko gift mein kya de raha hai?''

A slow smirk tugged at Minsheng's lips—rare, but there. Something that hadn't been seen for a long time because it was real. Because today he was real, he wasn't hiding himself. Because he had realised hurting others didn't make him a man there was no need for that and he wouldn't do that anymore. He wouldn't hurt others just because he was traumatised.

''Tujhe kyu bataun'' he said casually, flicking a flower at him. It was meant to be a secret that no one knew and no one expected.

''Saale ka attitude toh dekho ,'' Aksh muttered, shaking his head. ''Puch hi toh raha hu, income tax nahi bharwana.''

''Tujhe bata diya toh surprise ka kya faida,'' Minsheng shrugged, continuing his work like he hadn't just irritated him on purpose.

Aksh watched him for a second, then his tone shifted slightly, quieter this time.
''To be honest... tune best gift usse kal hi de diya hai.''

Minsheng froze, his hands stilling against the phool. Best gift de diya? What did Aksh mean by that?

Minsheng turned to face Aksh, confusion all over his face. ''Bro, tu kya bol raha hai, mujhe kuch samajh nahi aa raha?''

Aksh looked at him, his expression turning slightly serious. ''Bhai, actually jab se Kashi chhoti hai, tab se hi Nalini bua ne usse neecha feel karaya hai,'' he paused, sighing heavily as if even speaking of it hurt him, remembering all his sister had gone through.

Minsheng's jaw tightened instantly, his muscles tensing as he thought—why would someone even want to hurt someone like Kashi? Someone so pure, someone who always put everyone before herself. Someone who only knew how to give love instead of taking it.

"Bro, why the hell would she do that?" Minsheng asked, his voice laced with confusion and anger. "And how the fuck do I know nothing about it?"

Aksh turned fully toward him, dragging in a slow breath before answering. "Bro... it all happened when you left for your mafia training. Nalini bua—she was pregnant with her first child back then. And not just that... her husband was cheating on her. Not just a fling—he was properly cheating, bro."

He paused, jaw tightening.

"She was already broken. But because of the pregnancy, she didn't have the courage to leave him. She kept hoping he'd change." His voice dropped slightly. "That day, she had come to visit us. And you remember, right? She used to be so kind... not like now. No taunts, no bitterness—just... soft."

Minsheng stayed silent, listening.

"She was walking near the stairs when Kashi called out to her—'Bua, come, we'll eat pizza.'" Aksh swallowed hard. "And then... she slipped."

The words hung heavy.

"She fell. And... she lost the baby."

A thick silence settled between them.

"Kashi panicked," Aksh continued quietly. "She was crying, screaming, calling maa and baba... she tried, bro. She really tried. But it was too late." His eyes darkened. "And from that day, bua just... blamed her. Hated her. Even though it never made sense."

He let out a bitter breath.

"There was a time baba tried to defend Kashi. He fought with bua—said she couldn't talk to his daughter like that. But Kashi..." he shook his head faintly, "she saw them fighting—brother and sister—and she couldn't take it. She stopped him. Swore on them that he wouldn't interfere again."

Aksh's voice turned hollow.

"And after that... no one defended her. Not really. Because bua... she practically raised baba. Dadu was always busy with business. So... her word carried weight."

Minsheng froze.

Each word sank deep, heavier than the last. The image of Nalini—once kind, now cruel—twisted into something tragic. Betrayal had shattered her... but she had chosen the wrong person to blame.

And Kashi...

Kashi had just endured it all. Silently.

A sharp guilt clawed its way through his chest.

Because hadn't he done the same?

Left her. Judged her. Turned away when she needed someone.

He was no different.

And yet... she never blamed any of them.

Minsheng slowly looked up at Aksh, something firm settling in his eyes now—something unshakable.

"Don't worry, bhai," he said, his voice low but resolute. His fists clenched at his sides. "Aaj ke baad... koi bhi Kashi ko hurt nahi karega.''

They weren't just words—

they were something heavier... something that settled deep and refused to be taken lightly.

Spoken by a man who had never learned the weight of promises,
who had lived untouched by the mess of emotions,
who had always walked away before anything could demand more of him.

And yet—
for her... he didn't.

Because a promise from a man like him wasn't fragile.

It wasn't sweet or easy or spoken to comfort.

It was rare.
Deliberate.
Dangerously real.

The kind that, once given, would either be kept...
or ruin him trying.

Because he didn't know how to love her the way she deserved—
but he knew he would bleed before he ever let himself become the reason she broke again.

Aksh froze, seeing the look in Minsheng's eyes—something he had never seen before—but he also saw sincerity, and he knew Minsheng had finally seen the truth, that Kashi wasn't the one who had to suffer for his traumas. He nodded, smiling slightly. ''I am glad, bhai, that you finally see the truth.''

Then, like always, he ruined the moment himself. ''Waise main usse Ritu Kumar ki sarees dene wala hu... full collection,'' he added casually.

Minsheng blinked slowly, like he was genuinely reconsidering everything he knew about this man.
"Paisa bahut aa raha hai kya tere paas?"

Aksh didn't even look up properly—just that lazy, infuriating smirk tugging at his lips.
"Tere se kam hi hai... tension mat le."

It was absurd.

Almost laughably so.

Two men who could shift markets with a single signature... who had just walked out of a deal worth more than most people would see in lifetimes... stood there talking about money like it was pocket change.

Minsheng, draped in precision and silence, his presence carrying that faint, expensive note of Shumukh—like it belonged to him the way power did.

Aksh, all effortless arrogance, wearing Armani and Gucci like second nature, like brands bent to him, not the other way around.

And yet—

Here they were.

Arguing like college boys over who had more cash.

Minsheng let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head.
"Tu na... kabhi sudhrega nahi."

Aksh finally glanced at him, grin widening just a fraction.
"Sudhar gaya toh tu bore ho jayega."

There was a pause.

Brief. Familiar. Dangerous.

Then Minsheng exhaled, almost amused despite himself.
"Already ho raha hoon."

"Jhooth," Aksh shot back instantly. "Mere bina tu do din nahi tikta."

Minsheng didn't respond.

But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Just slightly.

Minsheng shook his head, a faint smile slipping through despite everything. ''Haan theek hai, ab kaam kar.''

A moment later, he checked his watch and straightened. ''Bhai, main chalta hu.''

Aksh frowned. ''Ab kya hua? Bhagwan ki bhakti khatam?''

''Arre, Kashi ka performance hai aaj,'' Minsheng said, already stepping back, ''aur agar unhe help chahiye hogi toh—''

''—toh tu hero banne jayega,'' Aksh cut in, nodding knowingly. ''Ja, ja. Emotional husband arc chal raha hai tera.''

Minsheng didn't even deny it this time. He just gave him a look—half warning, half something softer—and walked off.

Aksh watched him go, shaking his head under his breath wiping the corner of his eyes feigning tears. ''Gaya mera ladka... pura gaya. Mafia se seedha pati ban gaya.''

But something softer flickered in Aksh, something quiet and unguarded, and before he could stop himself, he called out, ''Minsheng.''

Minsheng had barely taken a few steps when he stopped, turning back with a slight frown, brows pulling together as if already expecting another comment. ''Ab kya hai?''

Aksh didn't answer immediately. For once, there was no sarcasm, no smirk, no teasing remark waiting on his tongue. He just looked at him.

And in that look, there was something unfamiliar—something that hadn't been there for years.

Something softer. Something that had been missing.

''Aise hi rehna... badalna mat,'' Aksh said quietly, his voice losing its usual edge, pausing as if the next words didn't come as easily to him. Then, almost like an afterthought—but one that mattered more than everything else—he added, ''I missed you.''

Minsheng froze.

Not because he didn't understand.

But because he did.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say, his usual replies, his usual deflections—none of them coming to him the way they always did. The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable... just heavy with things left unsaid for too long.

Then slowly, he nodded.

A small gesture, but enough.

Because he knew exactly what Aksh meant.

Somewhere along the way, between the violence, the deals, the endless nights that blurred into mornings, he had lost himself. Lost the part of him that laughed easily, that stayed, that felt.

He hadn't just left people behind.

He had left himself behind too.

And now... somehow... he was finding his way back.

Not through anything big.
Not through anything loud.

Just... through her.

That was all it had taken.

A little patience.
A little warmth.
A kindness so quiet, it didn't demand anything in return—

and yet it had changed everything.

Minsheng let out a slow breath, something easing in his chest that he hadn't realized was tight all these years.

''Haan,'' he said simply, his voice quieter now, steadier, ''ab nahi badlunga.''

And this time—

he meant it.

No one saw—no one except Mahadev himself—that a man who had known nothing but violence and distance had begun to change, quietly, steadily, in ways even he didn't fully understand yet.

And somewhere between the scent of flowers, the echo of temple bells, and a promise spoken without hesitation—

something in the air had shifted.

And so had he.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

DEEWAN MANSION

Vishakha walked into the bedroom, the soft rustle of her saree trailing behind her, a simple plate of dal, roti, and achaar balanced carefully in her hands—nothing extravagant, just the kind of food that carried the quiet weight of home, of years gone by, of a time when her son would sit across from her and eat without having to be asked.

She placed the plate on the nightstand with a gentleness that didn't match the storm inside her, then moved toward the window, slowly drawing the curtains apart to let the pale morning light spill into the room, her gaze inevitably falling on the figure lying on the bed—her son, Bai Minghao.

The same man she had raised to be unbreakable now lay there reduced to something fragile, something almost unrecognizable, all because of a loss that time had refused to soften. Years had passed, yet grief still clung to him as if it had happened yesterday, and in all those years he had drifted further and further away—not just from himself, but from his own children too. It had been her and Yansong who stepped in, who raised those kids while Minghao buried himself in work and in memories of a woman he could never bring back.

Pallavi—his calm in chaos, the only person who had ever managed to steady him—had taken something essential with her when she left, something Minghao had never been able to reclaim.

He stirred faintly as the light touched his face, his brows pulling together before his eyes slowly opened, heavy and unfocused, his body aching from a night spent out in the rain. And then it came rushing back—he had been at her grave, at his Chandni's grave. It had been raining. She was alone. She was afraid of the rain.

He pushed himself up abruptly despite the dizziness, panic already settling in his chest—he shouldn't be here, he needed to go back—but before he could even swing his legs off the bed, Vishakha's hand shot out, firm and unyielding, gripping his wrist hard enough to stop him in place.

"Agar khada bhi hua na, toh yahin se ulte haath ka padega," she snapped, her glare sharp, her other hand already raised in warning—not because she wanted to hit him, but because she needed him to stop, needed him to understand.

"Maa... jaane do mujhe," Minghao whispered, his voice rough as he tried to sit straighter, ignoring the way his body protested, ignoring everything except the urgency clawing at him.

"Chup. Bilkul chup," she cut him off instantly, her voice trembling despite the anger laced through it. "Jaane doon tujhe? Kisliye? Taaki tu phir se apni haalat kharab kare? Tujhe pata bhi hai tu behosh pada tha kabristan mein?"

Her words didn't stop, but her eyes betrayed her, filling despite herself as she continued, "Kashi aur Minsheng tujhe ghar lekar aaye... aur woh bechari Kashi... itna ro rahi thi, bas yahi bol rahi thi ki 'Baba ka maine dhyaan nahi rakha.'"

Minghao stilled. For a moment, everything inside him seemed to pause, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. Kashi... crying? His daughter-in-law, who had always looked at him with nothing but respect and quiet affection, as if he were more than he had ever deserved to be.

And his son had seen him like that too.

A hollow, bitter sound escaped him, something between a laugh and a breath, because of course—of course this is how it would be. As if the distance between him and his son wasn't already enough, as if he hadn't already failed him in every way that mattered.

Why did he always ruin everything?

Vishakha's voice softened then, almost against her will. "Aur waise bhi... ab baarish nahi ho rahi."

His breath caught.

It was such a small sentence, and yet the effect was immediate—his shoulders loosening just slightly, the panic easing as relief slipped in where it didn't belong. It wasn't raining. That meant... she would be okay. Nothing would scare her.

Vishakha watched that shift, and it hurt more than his stubbornness ever could—the way he still lived in a reality where Pallavi needed him, where she could still be protected, still be reached. She wanted to shake him, to force the truth into him, to tell him that Pallavi was gone and no amount of waiting in the rain would bring her back—but she knew it wouldn't matter.

Because Minghao's love had long crossed the boundaries of reason.

For him, there was no clear line between the living and the dead anymore. She was gone, and yet she wasn't—not to him. Not in the way that mattered.

Woh aaj bhi uske saath hai... bas farq itna hai, ek yaadon mein hai aur ek saanson mein.

The door suddenly swung open with a force that broke through the stillness of the room, and Yansong stepped in, his hands tucked into his pockets, his face unreadable in a way that made both Vishakha and Minghao tense immediately.

Minghao straightened on instinct despite the pain, his spine going rigid the moment his eyes landed on his father, while Yansong exhaled slowly and walked forward before lowering himself onto the bed beside his wife.

"Aaj ke baad agar tune aisa kuch kiya na..." he said, his voice quiet but edged with something dangerously final, "toh mera mara muh dekhega."

The words landed like a blow. Because enough was enough watching their son do this shit for years. 

Minghao froze, his eyes widening, while Vishakha let out a soft, shocked gasp, her hand instantly clutching her husband's arm. "Yeh aap kya keh rahe hain..." she whispered, shaken, because she knew him—knew this wasn't just anger, this was helplessness spilling out in the harshest way it could.

"Baba... aap kya bol rahe hain..." Minghao's voice broke, his gaze dropping immediately, shame settling heavy in his chest, because even now, even after everything, he had managed to hurt them like this.

"Nazar kyun neeche kar raha hai? Upar dekh," Yansong said, though his own voice wavered ever so slightly, his throat tightening as he forced the words out. "Agar tujhe hamari kadar nahi hai na... toh main mar jaata hoon."

"Na—nahi, Baba, aisa mat kahiye," Minghao shook his head quickly, almost frantically now, his tears falling freely as he looked up at him, guilt written all over his face. "Mujhe kadar hai... aapki bhi, Maa ki bhi... main—main bas..."

But the sentence didn't complete, because there was nothing he could say that would undo years of absence, years of choosing a memory over the people who were still standing right in front of him.

"Agar kadar hai toh yeh sab karna chhod de," Yansong said more quietly now as he leaned forward, pulling his son toward him and then his wife, closing his eyes as he held them both close.

"Bas tum log hi toh mere ho..." his voice cracked as a man who had always been so composed finally broke in front of his family.

Minghao's heart ached, guilt twisting deep inside him. His father—the man who had always been so strong, the man who had raised him with love despite everything, the man who had loved his mother for years without faltering—

"I am sorry, Baba," Minghao broke down, finally wrapping his arms around his parents, and for a moment he was nothing more than a little boy again, the same one who used to run to him over a scraped knee.

"Hum dono tujhe aise nahi dekh sakte... hamara dil toot jaata hai," Vishakha whispered, her own voice cracking, because she had lived through so much, seen so much, and yet the thought of losing her son to grief frightened her in a way nothing else ever had.

"Pallavi chali gayi, Minghao," Yansong said after a moment, his words slow, deliberate, each one carrying its own weight. "Yeh sach hai. Aur yeh bhi sach hai ki tu usse bhool nahi sakta. Par ek aur sach hai..." he paused, his gaze shifting back to him, steadier now, "ki jo log zinda hain, unhe tu khona shuru kar chuka hai."

That landed.

Properly this time.

Minghao's head snapped up, his eyes meeting his father's, something flickering in them—fear, realization... maybe both.

"Kashi..." Yansong continued, his tone softer now but no less firm, "woh tujhe Baba kehti hai. Aur kal raat woh ro rahi thi... sirf isliye nahi ki tu behosh tha, par isliye bhi ki usse laga woh tujhe sambhal nahi paayi."

Vishakha added quietly, "Aur Minsheng... woh kuch bolta nahi hai, par uski aankhon mein sab dikh jaata hai. Tumse door ho raha hai, Minghao. Dheere dheere... bina awaaz ke."

Minghao felt something inside him twist painfully at that.

Minsheng.

His son.

The boy who had once waited at the door for him, who used to run to him with the smallest of things just to get his attention—and now... now he barely spoke.

He had noticed it.

Of course he had.

He had just chosen to ignore it.

"Aur Jun aur Yunji ko toh pata bhi nahi ki maa-baap kya hote hain... tune kabhi unki taraf dekha bhi hai?" Vishakha whispered, because from the moment those two were born, it had been her and Yansong who had raised them while Minghao remained trapped in the aftermath of his loss.

Minghao lowered his head in shame, because it was true—he had never really been close to his children, and in that moment, the realization settled heavy enough to make him feel like a failure.

"Bas apne bachchon ko bhi mat khona..." Yansong said softly, and it felt like a bullet straight through his chest.

He had already lost his wife.

But he could still lose his children.

If he didn't stop this.

If he didn't pull himself out of this.

"Main karunga, Baba..." he said after a pause, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them again, something steadier settling in them now. "Maine apne bachchon ko nahi khona."

Vishakha and Yansong froze for a moment, exchanging a look before something softened between them, a quiet, fragile relief settling in their chests as they saw the determination in their son's eyes—maybe it wasn't too late after all.

They had watched him go to her grave for twenty-five years, had watched him spend entire nights there whenever it rained, clinging to something that no longer existed—but maybe now, finally, that would begin to change.

And in that moment, for the first time in years, his parents felt something close to relief, seeing their son choose, even if only just, to return to the life that was still waiting for him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

KASHI'S BEDROOM

Kashi walked out of the bathroom, the last traces of steam slipping past her and dissolving quietly into the stillness of the bedroom, but she didn't notice any of it, not the warmth lingering in the air, not the softness of the quiet around her, because her mind was somewhere else entirely—caught, unwillingly, in everything that had unfolded the day before.

She hadn't fully recovered from it, from the way he had stood there and spoken for her, defended her without hesitation, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if her efforts, the small unnoticed things she had always done for others, had always mattered, had always been seen. And that was what unsettled her the most—because she had lived so long believing no one ever really saw her, not beyond what she offered, not beyond what she gave away.

But he had.

He had seen the quiet kindness she lived by, the way she put others before herself without ever expecting anything in return, the love she carried so gently that it often went unnoticed—and in doing so, he had made her feel something she didn't quite know how to hold onto, something fragile and overwhelming all at once. Seen.

And maybe, for a moment, dangerously close to loved.

Even though she knew better. Even though he had made it clear, in his own way, that love wasn't something he could offer, wasn't something he believed he was capable of.

Yet that didn't stop her heart from betraying her.

Because since yesterday, she had fallen deeper—far deeper than she should have—drawn not by what he said, but by what he had done without meaning to, without intention, without even realizing the weight it carried for her. And that was the cruelest part of it all... because now she understood that none of it had been deliberate, none of it had been meant to reach her the way it did.

It had only meant everything to her.

And that realization sat heavy in her chest, tightening slowly, painfully, until her breath felt uneven and her vision blurred.

Her eyes filled before she could stop them, tears gathering quietly, as if even they understood that this wasn't something meant to be loud—only something meant to be endured.

Kashi had barely taken a step forward when the door suddenly flew open, the sharp sound cutting clean through the quiet she had been wrapped in, and there stood her younger sister Isha—bright, breathless, full of life—followed closely by Nisha and Shanaya, their presence instantly filling the room with warmth, with noise, with something that felt so achingly familiar it almost overwhelmed her.

Her tears were gone in an instant. They didn't see the tears lost in their excitement or maybe because she wiped them away.

The motion was quick, practiced—wiped away before they could betray her—and when she turned toward them, there was already a smile on her lips, soft and surprised, as if she hadn't just been standing there moments ago, breaking quietly within herself.

She cleared her throat, steadying her voice before it could give anything away.
"Tum log yaha kya kar rahe ho?" she whispered.

Isha didn't answer with words at first—she simply walked straight up to her and pulled her into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around Kashi with a familiarity that spoke of years, of love that never needed permission.

"Jiji... aap itne samay baad performance karogi," she murmured softly, her hold tightening just a little, "aur itna special moment hai... toh obviously hum aayenge na aapki help karne."

Kashi didn't realize when her own arms came up to return the hug, but they did—slowly, instinctively—holding her sister back with the same quiet affection she had always carried.

"Aur nahi toh kya," Shanaya's voice cut in, just as blunt and unapologetic as ever, though her eyes held that same warmth they always did, "akele toh tujhse ek jhumka bhi na pehna jaaye."

The memory slipped in so effortlessly that it almost made Kashi laugh—those rushed college mornings, her struggling with her earrings while the others hovered around her, half-helping, half-teasing—and right on cue, Isha and Nisha broke into soft giggles, the sound light, teasing, familiar in a way that tugged at something deep inside her chest.

Kashi pulled back, a small pout settling on her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest, feigning annoyance.
"Haan, ab main wapas aayi hoon toh tu mujhe chedegi?" she muttered under her breath.

But there was no real irritation in her voice—only tenderness, only the quiet kind of affection reserved for people who had always stayed.

Because no matter what changed... these three never did.

"Kuch bhi badal jaaye, yeh chedna band nahi karegi," Nisha added softly, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched the two sisters, her eyes lingering just a second longer, as if taking in the moment after so long.

"But haan, Shanaya didi..." Isha leaned slightly toward her, her voice dropping into a mischievous whisper, "aap bachke rehna, kahin jiju ko pata chal gaya na, toh aapki class na le le."

"Warna aapka muh Nalini bua ki tarah band karwa denge," she added, barely holding back her laughter now.

Nisha burst out laughing immediately, unable to contain herself, while Shanaya rolled her eyes dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest as if she was above all of this—though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

But Kashi...

Kashi stilled.

Just for a moment.

Her face flushed instantly, warmth rising up her cheeks so quickly it almost startled her, her fingers curling slightly at her sides as Isha's words settled in.

Because there was no denying it.

Since last night, everyone had started seeing him the way she had told them he was—the lie of perfect husband, and last night he turned the lie into the truth, man who had stood for his wife without hesitation, who had defended her with a certainty that left no space for doubt.

But only Kashi knew the truth.

He wasn't always like that. He had never been.

What they had seen... wasn't habit. It wasn't love.

It was something else.

Guilt. Realization. A quiet attempt at making up for everything he hadn't been before.

And yet...

She couldn't deny what it had done to her.

For an entire year, she had carried a lie on her shoulders, smiling through every question, offering excuses so easily they had begun to feel like truth—he's busy, he's away, work is demanding—protecting an image of him her family could respect, could admire, could love.

She had built that image for them.

And now...

Now he was slowly stepping into it.

It wasn't love—she knew that, reminded herself of it over and over again.

But it was something.

And for now... that something felt enough.

At least he wasn't leaving her alone anymore.

"Oho... dekho toh, Shona ji kitna muskura rahi hai," Shanaya teased lightly, her tone stretching the nickname just enough to make it sting and soothe all at once.

The name lingered in the air, soft, dangerous. Because it wasn't just a nickname.

It was the first one he had ever given her.

From a time when everything had been simpler—when she had been nothing more than a little girl hiding behind corners, stealing glances at him, giggling to herself without understanding why her heart felt so full every time he was near.

And then he had left.

After his mother's death, he had disappeared from her world as quietly as he had once entered it, leaving behind nothing but fragments—faces like Jun and Yunji passing by over the years, but never him.

Until one day, years later, their marriage had been fixed—two families bound together the way they always had been—and just like that, she had become the wife of the man she had loved in silence for as long as she could remember.

The ending she had once dreamed of.

Her fairytale.

Only for it to turn into something far more complicated... something she had never imagined, never prepared herself for.

And yet—

Yesterday had shifted something.

Given her a fragile, almost dangerous kind of hope.

The kind that made her believe, even if only for a moment, that maybe her Mahadev hadn't stopped looking after her... that even when she felt most lost, something unseen was still guiding her, still holding her together in ways she couldn't understand.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

She would still get her happy ending.

"Kashi, kaha kho gayi? Chal, ab tujhe taiyaar karte hain," Nisha's voice broke through her thoughts gently, her hand waving lightly in front of Kashi's face as she stepped closer.

But of course—Isha wasn't done yet.

"Arre bhabhi didi... jiju ko miss kar rahi hai shayad," she added, her grin widening with every word.

Kashi froze again, her blush deepening, spreading down her neck this time as she looked away, almost instinctively.

God... they were really testing her.

Because the worst part was—it wasn't entirely untrue.

Her thoughts had drifted to him more than once already.

Where was he? What was he doing?

Would he remember what he had said last night... or would it all fade away like it meant nothing?

She shot Isha a sharp glare, narrowing her eyes.
"Ruk ja... tujhe toh main batati hoon," she muttered, grabbing her fluffy slippers and tossing one straight at her.

"Seriously, jiji? Fluffy slippers?" Isha dodged easily, laughing, "inse toh cockroach bhi na mare."

Kashi reached for the other one, ready to throw again, but Nisha stepped in just in time, catching her wrist lightly.

"Bas. Ab taiyaar hote hain," she said, her tone soft but firm as her eyes flicked toward the clock—it was already six.

Time wasn't waiting.

Isha and Shanaya exchanged a quick look, swallowing the last of their laughter as they moved forward, ready to get to work, while Kashi shot Isha one final glare before turning away.

But the blush...

The blush didn't leave. It lingered stubbornly, quietly betraying just how much the mere mention of him affected her.

Nisha made Kashi stand in front of the vanity who knew Nisha would handle it all well, she always did it for her. Nisha's voice softened, steadier, almost reverent. "Proper ready karte hain... hamari ladki pure ek saal baad perform kar rahi hain"

And somehow, the room itself seemed to quiet down. Because this wasn't just dressing up anymore. This was ritual.

They began from the base—always the base.

Kashi changed into a tight cotton blouse and practice pyjama (salwar-style pants) first, the fabric plain, functional, meant to absorb sweat and hold everything in place. Over it came the stitched Bharatanatyam costume—silk, heavy, structured.

Shanaya lifted it carefully, wrapping it around her with practiced precision. The pleated fan at the front was adjusted again and again until it sat perfectly between her legs, aligned so that every araimandi (half-sitting posture) would open it into a clean geometric spread.

"Yeh galat hua na, pura look kharab ho jaata hai," she muttered, fixing one last fold. She whispers remembering a year ago how Kashi used to tie it on herself that it should not be messed.

Isha tied the back firmly, securing the hooks and strings so nothing would shift during movement.

"Hair first," Nisha said. "Makeup baad mein." Kashi's hair was dried first, still damp from the shower, before being parted sharply down the center with the end of a comb—the line straight and precise, no softness allowed here. A light layer of oil was smoothed over her scalp, keeping every strand sleek and perfectly in place.

Then came the braid. Tight. Pulled. Controlled. Extra hair extensions were added that were already in the vanity, to give it the required length and thickness, and once the braid reached her waist, Nisha secured it firmly.

Now came the traditional adornment—

A rakodi was fixed at the back of her head, round and gold, sitting like a crown at the base of the braid. Above it, along the parting, the nethi chutti (maang tikka) was placed, its central pendant resting exactly on her forehead.

On either side of her head, they fixed the chandran (moon) and suryan (sun) pieces—balancing ornaments that framed her face like something divine.

Finally, the braid itself was decorated with jadai alankaram, a series of gold discs running down its length, ending in a tassel. Fresh jasmine flowers (gajra) were pinned around the braid, their fragrance soft but grounding.

"Ab makeup." This wasn't subtle. It wasn't meant to be. Foundation was applied evenly, slightly heavier than usual so it wouldn't fade under stage lights.

Then the eyes—

Black eyeliner drawn thick and extended outward, exaggerating the natural shape. Kohl lined her waterline deeply, making her gaze sharper, more expressive.

Red and white accents were added at the corners, enhancing the abhinaya—the storytelling through expressions.

Her eyebrows were darkened, defined.

A bold red bindi was placed at the center of her forehead, and just above it, a small white design was added—traditional, precise.

Her lips were painted a deep red, clean-edged, deliberate.

"Alta now," Isha said softly. The room quieted again. Using a small brush, Nisha applied alta—that deep red liquid—onto Kashi's fingertips, staining the tips of each finger carefully, then tracing it along the edges of her palms.

Her feet were next—the toes, the sides, the heel edges—all painted in red. Every movement she would make on stage would now be visible. Every gesture, every step—amplified. Now came the jewellery.

Not decorative. Essential.

First, the choker (addigai)—tight around her neck.

Then the longer haram, resting against her chest.

The jhumkas were fixed carefully, followed by the maatal, the chain hooking them into her hair so their weight wouldn't pull.

The vanki (armbands) were secured on her upper arms, framing her posture.

Glass and gold bangles slid onto her wrists, the soft clinking already beginning to sound like rhythm.

Then Shanaya stepped forward with the odiyanam (waist belt).

She fixed it firmly around Kashi's waist, tightening it just enough to hold the costume perfectly in place.

"Ab  lag rahi hai na hamari Kashi" she said quietly.

And finally—

The ghungroo. 

Because these ghungroo were her lifeline—her haven, her safe place. Whenever she was left alone or hurt, they became her rescue.

No one spoke for a moment. Nisha picked them up with both hands, almost instinctively respectful. Rows of small brass bells tied onto thick cloth, worn, familiar, sacred in their own way.

She knelt down in front of Kashi.
"Pair aage karo."

Kashi did. Slowly. Carefully, Nisha wrapped the ghungroo around her ankles, tying them tight—secure enough that they wouldn't shift, loose enough that the sound would remain clear. Knot after knot.

With each turn of the thread, the room seemed to grow quieter.

Heavier.

Full.

Because this—

This was the moment that mattered.

When she wasn't just wearing the costume anymore.

She was stepping into it. When they were done, no one spoke immediately.

They just... looked at her.

Kashi stood there, fully adorned—not as someone pretending, not as someone playing a part, but as a Bharatanatyam dancer in her truest form.

Structured. Grounded. Expressive.

Whole.

Isha was the first to whisper, her voice softer than before.
"Jiji... ab sach mein lag raha hai... aap aap ho"

And this time—

Kashi didn't look away. She stared herself in the mirror for first time in a while she felt like she wasn't seeing a stranger but herself. Because somewhere between the ghungroo and the alta...

She had found a piece of herself again. ✨

Mahadevi Ki Kashi.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Minghao sat by the window, unmoving, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass where the sky stretched endlessly, but he wasn't really looking at it—not seeing it—because his mind was still trapped in the words his parents had thrown at him, each one echoing louder now in the silence than it had in the moment.

For the first time, it had settled in.

Not as anger. Not as defiance.

But as something far heavier.

Realisation.

Of how much he had let slip through his hands without even noticing—his children, his parents, an entire life that had continued moving while he had remained stuck in a grief he never allowed himself to step out of.

The image of his father's face wouldn't leave him—the way his voice had broken, the way those words had come out, sharp and final, speaking of his death as if it were something already written.

It made him feel sick.

Had he really pushed things that far?

Had he become so distant, so unreachable, that his own father had started preparing himself to lose him too?

And his mother...

He could still hear her crying.

That sound lingered, clinging to him in a way that made it hard to breathe.

All of it because of someone who wasn't even here anymore.

Someone he had buried with his own hands.

And yet...

A part of him refused to accept it.

Refused to let go.

Because somewhere deep inside, in that stubborn, aching part of his heart, he still believed she was out there. Somewhere. Waiting. Existing beyond what the world had told him was final.

His Pallavi.

His fingers tightened unconsciously as his gaze remained distant, conflict flickering in his eyes—a man caught between wanting to fix everything that had been broken and not knowing where to even begin, especially when it came to Minsheng, to the damage he had done there, the wounds he had left unattended for far too long.

He shut his eyes, the weight of it pressing down on him all at once, and the tears came again, quieter this time, slipping down without resistance.

It felt impossible.

Fixing this. Fixing anything.

Because how do you rebuild something you never even tried to understand?

He didn't know his own children.

Not really.

The thought alone made his chest tighten.

"Chandani... please, meri madad karo..." his voice broke softly in the empty room as his hand instinctively reached for the mangalsutra clutched tightly in his palm, the familiar weight of it grounding him in a way nothing else could.

It was the same mangalsutra that had once bound her to him, the one that had made her his wife, his everything—

And despite everything, despite the years, despite the silence...

He had never let it go.

He never would.

The door suddenly flew open, the sound sharp enough to pull him out of his thoughts, and before he could gather himself, Yunji and Jun stood there, slightly breathless as if they had run all the way, worry written clearly across both their faces.

Minghao stilled.

For a moment, he could only look at them.

His children.

His own blood.

And yet, strangers in so many ways.

They had grown up without him—not physically absent, but absent in every way that mattered—raised by his parents while he drowned himself in a grief that had left no room for anything else.

And now...

Now those same children were standing in front of him, looking at him with nothing but concern.

Jun stepped in first, followed by Yunji, both of them dressed in traditional clothes for Mahashivratri—Jun in a simple blue kurta, Yunji draped in a green saree that made her look older than he remembered, older than he had allowed himself to notice.

"Papa... aap theek hai?" Yunji asked softly, already kneeling down in front of him, her voice laced with worry that she didn't even try to hide.

Jun joined her, crouching beside her, the usual playfulness completely gone from his face, replaced by something steadier, something heavier.

Concern.

And in that moment, Minghao felt something inside him break just a little more.

Because these were the children he had never truly been there for.

Children who had every right to be distant, indifferent even—

And yet here they were, worried about him.

Yesterday they had found him at Pallavi's grave, burning with fever, shivering, barely conscious, and the truth he had hidden for years had finally come undone.

Kashi had seen him.

And now... everyone knew.

"Papa... kuch toh boliye," Yunji whispered again, her voice trembling slightly this time as her fingers wrapped gently around his hand, rubbing it softly as if trying to bring warmth back into him.

Her touch was careful. Familiar in a way that made his chest ache.

Minghao looked at her then—really looked—and the desperation in her eyes made everything worse.

Because all he wanted, in that moment, was to pull her into his arms, hold her close, apologise for every year he had failed her, for every moment he had chosen his grief over her presence.

But the words...

They didn't come.

Or maybe they did—but not the right ones.

"Haan beta... main theek hoon," he said quietly, forcing the sentence out, his voice steadier than he felt.

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Empty. Meaningless.

But what else could he say?

Yunji and Jun exchanged a quick glance before both of them let out a small breath of relief, as if that was all they needed to hear.

And somehow...

That hurt even more.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

The room settled into a quiet that wasn't entirely comfortable, but not suffocating either—something in between, something fragile, like it could break if any of them said the wrong thing.

Yunji still hadn't let go of his hand.

Her fingers moved slowly over his skin, as if reassuring herself more than him, as if making sure he was really here, really okay. Jun shifted slightly beside her, his gaze lingering on Minghao's face, searching for something—truth, maybe, or something deeper than the words he had just spoken.

"Fever ab kaisa hai?" Jun finally asked, his voice low, careful, as if he didn't want to push too hard.

"Theek hai..." Minghao whispered, the words barely leaving his lips as he tried—unsuccessfully—to steady himself, to make it sound normal, believable, something a father would say without his voice threatening to give him away.

Jun and Yunji exchanged a glance, quick but heavy, the kind that didn't need words.

They both knew.

He wasn't okay.

Not even close.

"Papa... it's okay, aap aaram kijiye," Jun said softly, pushing himself to stand, forcing a small smile onto his face before turning away, as if that would make it easier, as if leaving quietly would somehow not add to the weight already sitting in the room.

He walked out slowly, the door left slightly ajar behind him.

But Yunji didn't move.

She stayed right where she was, her eyes fixed on her father, her fingers curling slightly at her sides as if she was holding herself back from saying something she had buried for far too long.

There was so much she wanted to ask.
So much she wanted to say.

But where do you even begin... with someone who was always there, yet never really there?

She swallowed, her throat tightening.

Because the truth was—

She didn't know him.

Not the way a daughter should know her father.

Not even a little.

There wasn't a single memory she could hold onto—no moment where he had picked her up, no warmth of being held, no quiet comfort she could trace back to him—because she had been raised by her grandparents, just like Jun, filling the spaces he had left behind without ever questioning it out loud.

But that didn't mean the absence hadn't been felt.

It always had been.

Quietly. Constantly.

"I know, papa... cheeze theek nahi hai," she said finally, her voice soft but steady, even as she took a small breath to gather herself, as if afraid she might lose the courage if she waited any longer.

Minghao didn't look up.

He couldn't.

"Main aur Jun..." she paused, her fingers tightening slightly before she forced the rest of the words out, "...aapki bohot fikar karte hain."

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't dramatic.

But it landed heavier than anything else she could have said.

Because there was no accusation in it.

No anger.

Just... truth.

And care he didn't deserve.

Minghao's chest tightened painfully, his hand clenching against his knee as those words settled deep, making something inside him feel unbearably small.

Pathetic.

Because even now—

Even after everything—

They still cared.

And he had done nothing to earn it.

By the time he looked up...

She had already turned away.

Yunji walked out quietly, not waiting for a response, not expecting one either, the door closing softly behind her, leaving him alone once again.

But this time—

The silence felt different.

Heavier.

Because now it carried their voices too.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

KASHI'S BEDROOM

Minsheng stepped into the bedroom quietly, almost expecting—without admitting it to himself—to find Kashi there, maybe sitting by the mirror, maybe lost in her own thoughts the way she often was, but the room was empty, untouched, carrying no trace of her except the faint familiarity that lingered in the air.

He had just come from the mandir, more out of instinct than habit, his mind unsettled since morning, wondering—though he hadn't planned to—if she might need something, if there was anything he could do, even if he didn't quite know what that meant yet.

His gaze moved around the room once, slow, before settling nowhere in particular, his thoughts pulling him back to last night, to every word he had said, every line he had crossed without fully understanding how much weight it carried.

He didn't know if he was capable of being that man again. Because being that man meant something he had spent years avoiding.

It meant feeling. 

And in his world, feelings weren't just inconvenient—they were dangerous.

They made you predictable. They made you weak. They gave people something to use against you, something to exploit, something to destroy you with.

A man like him couldn't afford that.

Not with enemies watching, not with people waiting for the smallest sign of weakness to pull him down.

But at the same time...

He couldn't keep hurting her either.

That thought had begun to settle somewhere deeper now, refusing to leave, gnawing at him in a way he wasn't used to, and it made him restless, frustrated—angry, but not at her.

At himself.

Because how had he not seen it before?

How had he gone so long without realizing how much he had been breaking her, piece by piece, without even looking back?

And the worst part—

She hadn't blamed him.

Not once.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair, the tension in his jaw tightening as the thought returned again, sharper this time.

He wanted her to be angry.

Wanted her to lash out, to raise her voice, to hit him, to throw something at him—anything that would make sense, anything that would match the damage he knew he had done.

Or at least...

To hate him.

But she didn't.

And that only made it worse.

Because what was this?

Was it real?

Did she truly feel nothing like that, or was she just... choosing kindness over everything else?

The way she looked at him, spoke to him, treated him—it wasn't forced, it wasn't distant, it wasn't even careful.

It was warm.

And it made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

Because he didn't understand it.

Didn't know what to do with it.

It made him hate himself more with every passing second, the image of her standing in front of her family flashing in his mind—defending him, protecting him, building an image of a man he had never been, just so no one would look at him differently, just so his name, his reputation, would remain untouched.

And that was the moment it truly hit him.

The reality of it.

He had given her nothing.

Not time, not care, not even the basic respect she deserved as his wife.

Nothing.

And she—

She had given him everything.

Everything he hadn't earned.

Everything he didn't deserve.

Everything a man like him... a man who had spent years in a world of violence, of control, of calculated decisions and cold outcomes—shouldn't even have been allowed to witness.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides, his gaze dropping for a moment as that realization settled heavier than anything else.

And yet...

Despite all of it, despite every reason she had to walk away, to leave, to choose herself—

She had stayed.

For an entire year.

Waiting.

Not accusing. Not demanding.

Just... waiting.

And when he finally came back, she hadn't looked at him like he was something broken, something dangerous, something to be feared.

She hadn't looked at him like the man who had abandoned her.

She had looked at him like a wife looks at her husband.

Simply. Softly.

As if none of it had changed that truth for her.

She had cooked for him.

Taken care of him.

Stood by him even when she herself wasn't okay.

And Minsheng—

He didn't know what to do with that.

Didn't know how to repay something like that.

Because in his world, nothing came without a price, nothing was given without expectation, nothing existed without calculation.

Kindness like hers didn't fit anywhere in it.

It didn't make sense.

It wasn't something he had learned how to respond to.

All he knew...

Was the life he had built.

A life of control, of power, of violence carefully measured and executed. A life where emotions were buried before they could even take shape.

And now, standing there in a quiet room that still felt like her—

He realized, for the first time—

He didn't know how to exist in anything else.

Just then, the bathroom door flew open, the sudden sound pulling him sharply out of his thoughts, and as his gaze lifted—almost instinctively—it stopped.

Completely.

For a moment, it felt like something inside him had gone still, like even breathing had become secondary to what stood in front of him.

There she was.

Kashi.

The version of her that hadn't existed in his world for the past year, the version he had never really seen, never allowed himself to notice, and yet here she was now, standing in front of him as if she had always belonged like this, as if this was who she had been all along.

His eyes didn't move away. They couldn't.

They traced her slowly, almost unconsciously, taking in the way the Bharatanatyam costume settled on her body, the silk hugging her just right, not forced, not out of place, but like it had found its way back to where it was always meant to be.

Like it belonged to her.

Like she belonged to it.

His gaze dropped to the pleated fan set perfectly at the front, the structure of it resting between her legs, ready to open with every movement, every step she would take, and for a second, his chest tightened at the thought alone—because even standing still, she carried something so composed, so powerful, that it made it hard to look away.

God...

She looked like something else entirely.

Not just beautiful—

That word felt too small. Too ordinary.

There was something about her that felt... untouchable.

The makeup only made it worse, or maybe better—he couldn't tell. He didn't understand any of it, didn't know what had been done, what each detail meant, but the way her eyes were lined, the way her gaze seemed deeper, sharper, more alive—it made her look like someone he didn't recognize and yet couldn't stop staring at.

Like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

No—

More than that.

Because this didn't feel like something he had seen before, not in his world, not anywhere.

His eyes shifted lower, catching the red of the alta on her hands, her fingers stained in a way that made every slight movement stand out, and something about it stirred a faint memory—his mother, years ago, sitting quietly and applying the same color before some occasion he couldn't quite remember.

But this...

This was different.

On Kashi, it didn't feel like tradition alone.

It felt... divine.

His gaze moved again, slower now, almost hesitant, taking in the jewellery—the layers of gold resting against her skin, each piece sitting perfectly, not overwhelming her but completing her, like they had been made for her, like she had been made to wear them.

The jhumkas swayed slightly with the smallest shift of her head, catching the light, framing her face in a way that made her look almost regal, like someone who didn't belong in the same space as him, someone far above everything he was.

His eyes dropped further, noticing the armbands wrapped around her arms, the way they defined her posture, the strength in the way she held herself, and then the waist belt—tight, precise, holding everything in place, accentuating the structure of the costume in a way that made his breath catch for reasons he didn't fully understand.

God...

She looked—

Not human.

Not in the way he understood it.

She looked like something meant to be worshipped.

Like a Devi.

And for the first time in a long time, Minsheng didn't feel like the most powerful man in the room.

He felt... small.

Unworthy.

His gaze finally dropped to her ankles, to the ghungroo tied firmly around them, rows of small bells resting against her skin, and something about that sight made his breath hitch slightly.

He knew what those were.

Not in detail, not in meaning—but enough to understand that they weren't just ornament.

They were important.

Sacred, even.

A dancer's anchor.

Her rhythm.

Her identity.

The way he carried his weapons close, always within reach, always a part of him—

She carried these.

But where his world held violence, control, destruction—

Hers held rhythm. Expression. Devotion.

And standing there, looking at her like this—

Minsheng realized something he hadn't before.

He didn't just not understand her world.

He didn't even belong in it.

Kashi stepped out of the washroom, adjusting the edge of her costume slightly as she walked in, the faint scent of jasmine following her, and she halted just a little when she saw him standing there.

For a second, she didn't say anything.

She had been ready—completely ready for the performance. There was no nervousness, no last-minute panic, because she didn't need to rehearse anymore, not really. This wasn't something she had to force. The moment she would step onto the stage, her body would remember, her feet would move, her expressions would follow, like they always had.

That part of her had never left.

But right now—

She wasn't thinking about the stage.

She was looking at him.

Because he hadn't moved.

Not even a little.

He stood there as if something had caught him off guard so completely that he hadn't been able to recover from it, his gaze fixed on her, his expression unreadable but intense in a way that made her pause.

Like his breath had gotten stuck somewhere between seeing and understanding. Like he didn't know what to do with what he was looking at.

Her brows knit slightly, a hint of concern slipping through before she spoke, her voice soft, careful.
"Aap theek hai?"

The words snapped something in him.

Minsheng blinked, almost as if pulled back abruptly, the realization hitting him all at once—he had been staring.

For far too long.

"Fuck..." the thought hit him instantly, sharp and annoyed, his jaw tightening as he looked away for a brief second, dragging a hand across his face in frustration.

What the hell was he doing?

Losing control like this—over something as simple as... looking?

It didn't sit right with him.

It wasn't him.

And yet—

Even as he forced himself to look away, to compose himself, he couldn't deny the thought that lingered stubbornly in his mind.

She looked like a Devi.

Not just beautiful—

Something beyond that. Something he didn't have a word for.

He gave a short nod in response to her question, keeping his voice out of it for now, his jaw still tight, irritation directed entirely at himself. He had always been composed, always in control of where his attention went, what he showed, what he didn't—and right now, he didn't even recognize what he had just been doing.

Kashi noticed it.

The uneasiness. The shift in him.

Without saying anything further, she moved quietly toward the nightstand, picking up a glass and pouring water, the small, simple action done with a kind of ease that didn't match the way she looked right now.

Because as she moved—

She didn't just walk.

There was something in the way her body carried itself, in the way each step felt deliberate without being forced, like rhythm lived somewhere within her even in stillness.

Like she had stepped straight out of a mandir idol and into the room.

Alive. Breathing.

Minsheng tried—he really did—to keep his gaze away, to focus on anything else, the window, the wall, the floor—anything but her.

But it didn't last.

It couldn't.

His eyes betrayed him again, flickering back without permission, drawn in a way he couldn't control, couldn't justify.

"Fuck..." the thought slipped through again, quieter this time, almost disbelieving.

How could someone be this—

Mesmerizing... just by existing?

Just then he rememebered it. Fuck....it was their anniversary and he was standing like a fool instead of wishing her. But then the reality hit him - what was there to even wish?

Would she want to be wished? Would she be happy on one year milestone of a marriage where she had been giving nothing but pain and loneliness?

And there was the guilt again he had done it. Made her so miserable. Today he could the happiness was real on her face. Because this was real her.

Someone who wasn't miserable. This was just Kashi.

Kashi had been happy—quietly, gently at peace in a way she hadn't allowed herself to be for a long time.

Then her voice reached him. "Happy Wedding Anniversary," she whispered, so soft it almost felt like the words might dissolve in the air before they reached him, and before he could even register the faint blush warming her cheeks, she lowered her gaze instantly, as if hiding the very emotion she had just dared to show.

He froze.

Did she just... wish him?

God—she really did. And she didn't sound forced, didn't sound distant. She sounded... happy.

That meant she was happy. Right?

Hope flickered in his eyes, fragile and unfamiliar. Maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe she didn't hate this day—didn't hate them. He stood there for a moment longer, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to relief... and then, without saying a single word, he turned and ran out.

Kashi stood there, confusion settling first, and then something sharper, something heavier. He didn't wish her back.

God... he just left?

Her chest tightened as doubt crept in, slow and suffocating. Was he... going back to how he used to be?

Were all those words from last night... fake?

In a matter of seconds, her happiness crumbled, dissolving into something hollow and aching. Her eyes glistened, tears gathering without permission, and a bitter chuckle slipped past her lips as she sat down on the bed, her posture almost collapsing under the weight of her own thoughts.

She had been a fool.

A complete fool to think he would care.

"God, Kashi," she murmured to herself, her voice laced with self-mockery, "you should have known... why would you expect anything now? After an entire year..."

The hope she had dared to hold onto slipped right through her fingers, leaving behind nothing but the sting of her own expectations. She had really believed things would change.

That he would change.

And just then, the door flew open.

Minsheng stood there, slightly out of breath, holding a three-tier strawberry cream cake in one hand and a bouquet of jasmine mogra flowers in the other—the very flowers she loved, the ones she always found comfort in, their soft fragrance something she had never once been able to resist.

But the moment he stepped inside, he froze.

Because what he saw in front of him made something inside him drop.

She was sitting there, broken—her shoulders slumped, her face turned away, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

Panic surged through him, sudden and overwhelming.

God... what had he done this time?

Was this—again—his fault?

Without a second thought, he placed the cake and bouquet aside almost carelessly before rushing toward her, dropping to his knees in front of her. "Kashi," he called softly, his voice careful, uncertain, his hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know whether he was allowed to touch her... or if he had any right to anymore.

He knew he didn't.

Kashi hadn't even noticed what he had brought, too lost in her tears, but when she heard him, she looked up—and her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him kneeling there.

But it wasn't just that.

It was the look in his eyes.

The guilt. The softness. The way he already seemed apologetic, as if bracing himself for something he believed he deserved.

"Kashi... please, kuch toh boliye," he whispered again, his voice dipping lower, almost pleading now.

And that... that was the most jarring part.

Because this was Bai Minsheng.

He didn't plead.

He didn't apologize.

He didn't stand like this—vulnerable, uncertain, waiting.

Just a few days ago, he hadn't even known what he had done wrong.

And now, he was here—on his knees in front of her.

Because he knew.

Because the weight of his mistakes had finally opened his eyes.

Kashi took a shaky breath before she spoke, her voice uneven, fragile. "I... uh... maine aapko wish kiya... aur aapne kuch bhi nahi bola... aap bas bahar chale gaye..." The moment the words left her lips, her composure shattered again, and her tears fell freely, each one carrying the hurt she hadn't been able to hold back.

Minsheng stilled.

Her words sank in slowly—and then all at once.

His eyes shut tightly as realization hit him like a blow. "Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, the frustration turning inward instantly. "Fuck... fuck—"

Of course.

Of course she thought he ignored her.

Of course she thought he had gone back to being that same cold, distant man.

He shook his head immediately, guilt flooding his expression as he looked at her again. "No, Kashi," he said quickly, almost desperately. "See—look—I went to get the cake and the bouquet for you. I... I didn't ignore you."

Kashi froze. Her gaze followed his words, shifting slowly toward the side where he had left them—and that's when she saw it.

The cake.

Her favorite strawberry cream cake.

And the bouquet... jasmine mogra.

Her jasmine.

For a moment, she couldn't even process it.

Did he... really bring this for her?

How did he even know?

Her thoughts stumbled over each other, unsure, hesitant. Did he actually pay attention? Did he really remember? Were his words from last night... true?

"Kashi..." his voice softened again, pulling her back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel ignored... I just—I ran to get these for you."

And suddenly, the weight of her own reaction hit her.

She lowered her gaze, embarrassment creeping in, her voice turning small. "I... meri galti hai... mujhe itni jaldi react nahi karna chahiye tha..."

But Minsheng shook his head immediately, firm, unyielding. "No," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Kashi, please don't blame yourself. It's my fault. I should've told you before I left."

He drew in a breath, steadying himself, and when he spoke again, there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before—something steady, something certain.

"I need you to know, Kashi... that I meant everything I said last night." His voice didn't waver this time. "Please... all I need is 365 days. One year. Let me fix this. Let me make it up to you... and after that, you can leave me, you can do anything—you want. I won't ever stop you."

She froze.

Because there was no hesitation in him.

No doubt.

He meant it.

He really meant it.

Silence settled between them, heavy but no longer suffocating. Minsheng waited, his eyes fixed on her, searching, hoping.

Kashi looked at him, but the words wouldn't come. Her throat tightened, her vision blurred again—but this time, it wasn't from hurt.

It was from something warmer.

Something she had longed for.

He cared.

He actually cared.

And it filled her chest in a way she didn't know how to contain.

She had never imagined this day would come.

But it had.

And maybe... just maybe, there was still hope.

She nodded.

Just once.

Because if she tried to speak, she knew she would break down again—but this time, it would be from tears of something she hadn't felt in a long time.

Relief.

Minsheng felt it instantly—the shift, the permission—and hope surged through him so strongly it almost startled him. Without wasting another moment, he quickly pulled the table closer and placed the cake in front of her.

Her eyes fell on it.

"Happy Wedding Anniversary Kashi."

Her name stood there, written carefully.

Only hers.

Minsheng picked up the bouquet and handed it to her, his movements slower now, more careful. Kashi accepted it, her fingers brushing against the delicate petals as she brought it closer, inhaling the soft, familiar fragrance of jasmine.

It calmed her, just like it always did.

But then, a small frown formed on her face as she looked back up at him. "Uh... why does the cake only have my name?" she asked softly, her confusion genuine. "Wedding anniversary toh... do logon ka hota hai na..."

Minsheng's gaze dropped slightly, a hint of shame crossing his face, as if the words he was about to say were heavier than he expected.

"Kashi..." he began quietly, gathering himself before finally meeting her eyes again. "The one who is the reason this marriage is still alive... the one who held onto it when I didn't... the one who never gave up..."

His voice softened further.

"Only that person deserves to have their name on the cake."

A small pause.

"And that's you."

Kashi froze at his words, the weight of them settling somewhere deep, somewhere she couldn't quite ignore even if she wanted to, because a part of her knew—quietly, undeniably—that he wasn't wrong. She had been the reason this marriage was still standing, still breathing in whatever fragile way it knew how.

But that didn't mean it belonged to her alone.

"Aap meri baat suniye," she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady, her eyes lifting to meet his with a firmness that didn't waver even if everything inside her felt uncertain. "I know aap bohot guilty hai, but this cake... it does deserve your name too. You didn't run this time. You came back... and you stayed. And that is more than enough reason for your name to be here."

He tried to say something—anything—but she stopped him with a single look, one that carried just enough quiet authority to make him fall silent again.

"No more words, okay?" she added gently. "Tonight, on the cake... we'll put both our names." she refers to the cake they will cut at the party for them their family had arranged.

And just like that, he stilled.

Because she was giving him something he hadn't asked for, something he didn't think he had the right to hold anymore—a place beside her, not behind, not at a distance, but with her. And all he could think, in that moment, was how undeserving he felt of a kindness so simple and yet so impossibly vast.

Without saying anything further, Kashi placed the bouquet aside with careful hands before reaching for the knife resting next to the cake, her movements unhurried, almost deliberate, as if she didn't want to give herself time to overthink what she was doing.

Minsheng blinked, momentarily caught off guard, watching her as if trying to understand how she had managed to shift the air between them so quietly.

She glanced at him then, and there was something different in her eyes this time—a faint teasing softness, a lightness that hadn't been there before, not in a long time.

"Aap bas dekhte rahenge?" she asked, her voice low, almost playful in a way that felt unfamiliar and yet strangely natural. "Ya phir... cake cut bhi karenge?"

And there it was.

Not forgiveness, not completely. Not a clean slate, not something easy or whole. Because despite how much she loved him, she couldn't deny the hurt she felt. 

But something real.

A beginning that didn't pretend the past hadn't happened, but also didn't let it be the only thing that defined them anymore.

Something inside him eased at that, a quiet, fragile kind of relief spreading through his chest as he let out a soft breath that almost turned into a laugh—disbelieving, a little unsteady, but there nonetheless.

He stepped closer then, still careful, still carrying that hesitation like it hadn't quite learned how to leave him yet, and when their hands brushed as they both reached for the knife, neither of them pulled away this time.

They simply... stayed.

Together, they cut into the cake.

The moment itself was simple, almost ordinary if someone else had been looking at it, but it didn't feel empty, didn't feel like something that would be forgotten the second it passed.

When Kashi lifted a small piece, her hand paused for just a fraction of a second, the hesitation slipping through out of habit more than doubt, but she didn't retreat from it this time, didn't let it stop her as she held it out toward him.

Minsheng looked at her, something unreadable flickering through his eyes before he leaned forward and accepted it, the space between them closing in a way that didn't feel forced anymore.

And in that quiet, almost unremarkable exchange, something shifted again.

Not loudly.
Not all at once.

But enough.

Enough to know that whatever they had been standing in before—whatever distance, whatever silence—was no longer the place they were stuck in.

It was changing.

Slowly, carefully, uncertainly... but undeniably moving forward.

And for the first time since their marriage had begun, that felt like it might actually be enough.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Deewangi Writess