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Author's POV
The morning sun spilled through the tall glass windows of the villa's dining hall, golden light dancing across the long mahogany table set for breakfast. Plates of parathas, bowls of cut fruit, pitchers of juice, steaming cups of chai—all arranged neatly by the staff.
But despite the beauty of the spread, the air inside was heavy, tense, as though everyone was breathing the same thick weight of silence.
Alina walked in with Riyan's small hand tucked in hers. Luka followed closely, his presence like a shield, and the instant they entered, every conversation—or what little there was—died.
Her eyes swept across the table. Her parents sat stiffly together, eyes on her but saying nothing. Dhruv leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a storm brewing in his gaze. Ishika and Prisha sat side by side, their whispers cut short the moment Alain looked at them. And on the other side, Arjun, Arav and Ritvik—everyone there, but their usual warmth seemed fractured, pieces that no longer fit.
Alina guided Riyan to a chair beside her. He scrambled onto it with a grin, unbothered by the tension, and immediately reached for a buttered toast. Luka quietly sat at her other side, his hand resting lightly on the table near hers.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable. It was Dhruv who broke it.
"So this is it?" His voice was sharp, his jaw tight. "You vanish for five years. You come back with… with this—" he gestured toward Luka and Riyan— "and expect us to just smile and eat breakfast like nothing happened?"
Alina's fingers clenched around her juice glass, but she didn't answer.
Her mother, trying to soften, murmured, "Dhruv—"
"No, Ma," Dhruv cut her off, his voice rising. "I'm not going to pretend. She owes us answers."
"Watch your tone," Luka said quietly, his accent thick, his voice calm but edged like a blade. His hand had moved slightly closer to Alina's.
"And who are you to tell me that?" Dhruv snapped, turning to him with fire in his eyes. "Who are you to stand here in her place, as if you understand what this family went through?"
Luka's jaw flexed, but he didn't speak. Alina finally raised her gaze, steady but cold.
"Enough, Dhruv bhai," she said softly, but there was steel in her voice. "You don't get to demand from me. Not anymore."
"Not anymore?" Dhruv laughed bitterly, leaning forward on the table. "You think you can erase us that easily? We're your family, Isha. Or should I even call you that anymore? Alina?"
The name landed like a stone in the center of the room. Alina. The identity she had chosen, the mask she wore. Her parents flinched at it, her friends exchanged uneasy glances.
Alina's lips curved into a smile that wasn't a smile at all. "Call me whatever you want. It doesn't change the truth."
"And what is the truth?" Dhruv pushed. "That you're marrying him?" He jabbed a finger toward Luka. "That you've built a new life? Fine. But at least admit that you abandoned us. Admit that you let us think you were dead."
The words rang across the hall like thunder.
Riyan paused mid-bite, looking between the angry faces, confusion clouding his big eyes. "Mama?" he whispered, tugging her sleeve. "Why are they angry?"
Alina placed her hand gently on his head, smoothing his hair. "Eat, baby," she murmured. "It's nothing."
Arjun, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was low, rough, as if dragged out of him. "It's not nothing."
Every head turned toward him. His gaze was fixed on Alina, unwavering, pained.
"You can stand there and tell us this is your life now, that you're getting engaged, that the past doesn't matter. But it does matter." His voice cracked slightly, though he fought to keep it firm. "It mattered to all of us when we thought you were gone. It matters now because you're standing here but you're not here. You've built a wall around yourself so high, none of us can reach you."
For a heartbeat, Alina's mask faltered. Her fingers tightened around Riyan's hand, her throat working as if swallowing back words she didn't want to say.
"Maybe that's the point," she said finally, her tone sharp again. "Maybe I don't want to be reached."
The room went still.
Her father sighed, running a hand down his face. "This… this isn't how family speaks. Not ours. Not after everything."
Alina looked at him, her voice quieter, almost tired now. "Family doesn't ask me to bleed on command. Family doesn't demand answers I'm not ready to give."
Prisha, who had been silent so far, spoke up gently, her eyes soft. "But you are ready to leave us again. Aren't you?"
Alina's lips parted, but no words came. She looked away, her eyes burning though she didn't let tears fall.
The silence this time was different—heavier, suffocating.
Finally, Luka spoke, his voice measured. "We didn't come here to fight. We came to invite. To share our joy, not our scars. If you can't accept that, then at least respect her choice."
Dhruv scoffed, pushing his chair back so hard it screeched against the floor. "Respect? After five years of mourning her, of burying her memory, of living with the hole she left—now she asks for respect?" He shook his head, anger blazing in his eyes. "No, Luka. No."
And with that, he stormed out of the dining hall.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Alina sat rigid, Rian clinging to her arm, Luka's hand hovering near hers in quiet support.
Her parents's eyes never left her, though. And for the first time, she didn't dare meet them.
The clatter of Dhruv's chair still echoed faintly in the air even after he had disappeared from the dining hall. Everyone sat in an uneasy stillness, no one was quite willing to move or speak first. The smell of cardamom tea and freshly made parathas lingered, but the appetite to eat had vanished entirely.
Alina exhaled slowly, her eyes dropping to Riyan, who was pushing crumbs around his plate with a spoon, clearly sensing the tension that wrapped around the adults like smoke. She reached out, tucking a stray curl behind his ear before turning to face everyone else.
"Alright," she said finally, her voice calm but carrying that commanding tone that made everyone look up. "This isn't how I wanted the morning to go."
Her mother's eyes softened instantly, as if she wanted to say something, but Alina lifted her hand slightly. "Let me finish, please."
She stood up slowly, her chair scraping lightly against the marble. Her presence drew every gaze—her father, still rigid with shock; Ishika and Prisha, exchanging silent looks; Ritvik, watching her carefully; even Arjun, who hadn't taken his eyes off her since she entered the hall.
"I know," she began quietly, "that there are a hundred questions running through your minds. I can see it in your eyes. You all want answers… but right now, I don't have all of them to give."
"Then why come here?" her father asked gently, not with anger but weariness.
"To tell you what I can do," Alina said. "And I will. But not right now—not while half of us are angry and the other half are afraid to even speak."
Riyan looked up at her, blinking innocently. "Mama, you're angry?"
That simple question brought a flicker of softness to her face. She crouched beside him, brushing his cheek with her thumb. "No, baby. Mama's just… tired."
Riyan nodded, accepting that as a complete truth. Luka reached over to steady her, his hand hovering near her shoulder but not touching—he understood the delicate line she walked.
She straightened again, her tone firmer now. "Listen, everyone. By noon, others will come—those who should be here to hear what I have to say. Until then, I want all of you to rest. Please."
Her brother, Arjun, frowned slightly. "you want to tell us the truth in front of them? "
"They also play their part in my life, so, yess," Alina replied simply.
There was a murmur among them—soft whispers and exchanged glances. Arav and Arjun looked toward Luka, who remained unreadable, his expression calm, but the protectiveness in his stance unmistakable.
Ishika finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse but steady. "And what is it you plan to discuss, Ali-- isha ?" she hesitated on her name as though it burned her tongue. "Is this about him?" Her gaze shifted toward Riyan.
Alina's eyes met her for the briefest second before looking away. "Partly," she admitted. "There are things you need to know. But I won't speak twice, so I'll wait until everyone's here."
Ritvik leaned forward, his tone cautious. "You mean… about the boy?"
She nodded slightly. "Yes."
The quiet deepened again. Even the ticking clock on the far wall seemed louder.
Alina sighed softly and turned to her parents. "I know you're upset. I know this is a shock. But right now, Riyan needs peace, not this… tension. I'll explain everything by noon. Until then, please, just trust me."
Her mother stood up slowly, her eyes glistening. "We've always trusted you, Isha," she said quietly. "We just didn't know if you'd ever come back."
The name Isha made Alina freeze. It was such a simple word, but it pierced something deep inside her. She forced a small smile, fragile and tired. "Maybe I did come back," she said softly, "just not as the person you remember."
Luka rose beside her, sensing the weight of the moment. "We'll go prepare for the guests," he said gently. "You all can rest in the meantime."
Her father nodded reluctantly, and one by one, everyone began standing up, leaving their half-eaten plates behind. The elders exchanged polite but strained words before exiting the dining hall. Ishika and Prisha followed quietly, whispering to each other.
Only Arav stayed behind a moment longer. He watched Alina gather Riyan into her arms, the little boy resting his head against her shoulder. The sight was both beautiful and painful—because somewhere deep down, he could almost see the Isha he used to know, hidden behind the armor of Alina.
She looked at him once—just once—and said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, "You'll get your answers. Just wait until noon."
Then she turned, walking away with Luka at her side and Riyan in her arms, leaving Ritvik standing amid the untouched plates and cooling tea, feeling the cracks widening beneath his chest.
The morning had slowly melted into a lazy noon glow, spilling through the long curtains of the villa's grand windows. The golden light touched every corner of the hall, making the marbled floors shine, yet there was still a strange heaviness in the air—one that even the sunlight couldn't chase away.
After the uncomfortable breakfast, everyone had retreated to their respective rooms, some under the pretense of rest, others simply to breathe away the awkwardness that had hung like mist. The staff began clearing the plates, but Alina had already risen to her feet before they could even ask for instructions.
"Make sure everyone gets breakfast in their rooms," she said softly to one of the maids. "They didn't eat much. Warm it up again and serve it properly, not just plates sent on trays."
"Yes, ma'am," the maid replied with a polite bow.
Alina turned to Luka, who had been standing near the balcony, quietly observing her. "They won't eat otherwise," she murmured. "If I send it, they might at least take a bite."
Luka gave her a small, knowing smile. "You're trying to feed them because it's easier than talking to them right now."
She looked up, a faint sigh escaping her lips. "Maybe. Or maybe I just want to feel useful. I can't control their questions, but I can at least make sure no one goes hungry."
He chuckled softly, stepping closer. "That's still very you, Alina."
The sound of Riyan's laughter broke their quiet moment. From the far end of the corridor, the little boy ran across the floor with Ishika chasing him, his tiny feet tapping against the polished marble. "Mama! Look, Prisha bua made a tower!"
Alina turned, her eyes softening instantly. "Don't run too fast, sweetheart. You'll fall."
"I won't!" he declared with the unshakeable confidence of a child.
Prisha appeared behind him, slightly out of breath but smiling. "He's impossible, Al-- isha. He's been running in circles since morning!"
"Let him," Alina said gently. "At least someone's happy in this house."
Prisha caught the deeper meaning behind her words but said nothing. Instead, she sat down on the couch near the window, calling Rian over to play quietly.
Luka leaned closer to Alina again, his voice low. "You should sit for a while too. You've been standing since morning."
"I can't," she replied, crossing her arms. "The family will be here for lunch soon. Everything must be ready before they arrive. I can't let anyone feel unwelcome—not today."
He studied her carefully. "You're doing too much. You know you don't owe anyone this much control."
She looked at him for a long moment. "Maybe I do. Maybe it's the only way I know how to keep myself from falling apart."
Luka sighed, but his eyes softened with understanding. "You don't have to carry it all alone. Whatever's coming next, I'll be right here."
Her lips curved in a faint, grateful smile. "I know. And that's the only reason I'm still standing."
A few minutes later, the head cook came into the hall, his voice polite but hesitant. "Madam, what would you like for lunch? The pantry is stocked, and the staff is waiting for your instructions."
Alina turned toward him, her posture straightening as though she slipped on a mask of calm. "Make a full Indian spread today," she instructed. "Traditional dishes—dal makhani, paneer, naan, biryani, and something sweet. Maybe gulab jamun."
"Yes, ma'am," the cook replied. "For how many people?"
"For everyone," she said. "And… make extra. There will be more guests arriving soon."
The cook nodded and left, and the faint clatter of pots and spices began echoing from the kitchen. The aroma of simmering ghee and freshly ground masala slowly filled the air, wrapping the villa in a comforting warmth that contrasted the emotional chill hanging between its walls.
As Alina walked toward the window, her gaze drifted toward the garden where her parents were sitting under the shade of a tree. Her mother was quiet, hands folded in her lap, while her father occasionally said something, only to be met with silence.
Luka followed her gaze. "They're still hurting," he said quietly.
"I know," she whispered. "And I understand it. Their anger… it's justified."
"Do they know how much you've suffered?"
Her throat tightened. "No. And I won't tell them. They've already buried a daughter once. I can't make them live that grief again by telling them what I went through. It'll destroy them."
Luka took a step closer, lowering his voice. "But they deserve to know the truth."
"I'll tell them what I can," she said, eyes fixed on her parents outside. "Not everything—just enough to help them breathe again. Sometimes truth doesn't heal, Luka. Sometimes it breaks the pieces that are still holding together."
There was silence for a moment, broken only by the laughter of Riyan and Ishika playing nearby. Luka reached for her hand briefly, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Then tell only what your heart allows."
She nodded faintly. "That's the plan."
After a few minutes, she moved again, busying herself with little tasks—checking table linens, ensuring flowers were fresh, giving quiet instructions to the staff. She needed movement to stop her thoughts from swallowing her whole.
By the time she turned toward the staircase, she saw Riyan sitting with her parents and Prisha and Ishika, a picture book open on the table. She smiled faintly and whispered, "I'll be back soon, okay?"
Riyan waved without looking up, too absorbed in the colorful pages.
Luka watched her as she walked away toward the main hall. Her back was straight, her steps poised, but he could see the tremor in her fingers as she adjusted her dupatta. She was preparing for a storm she already knew was coming.
And just as the clock neared one, the first sound of engines approached from outside—their guests were arriving. The air shifted.
The staff moved quickly to the entrance, and Alina inhaled deeply, straightening herself once more. Luka walked beside her, his presence steady, quiet, like an anchor.
"They're here," one of the guards announced.
Alina nodded, her voice calm but her eyes sharp. "Bring them in. And make sure everyone gathers in the living area."
"Yes, ma'am."
As footsteps echoed toward the villa entrance, Alina looked once at Luka, who gave her a slow nod. She whispered under her breath, almost to herself—
"Time to face it."
And then, just as the grand doors opened, the next chapter of her truth began.
The hum of conversation dulled as the air inside the grand living hall thickened with unease.
When Shivansh entered, the scene in front of him almost froze him where he stood.
The entire space felt suspended — like time had stopped waiting for one person to speak.
Isha's parents sat together on the right side of the long sofa, her father's hands folded neatly in his lap, his face tense yet unreadable. Beside him, her mother's eyes flickered every now and then toward the staircase, as if expecting her daughter to appear any second.
Across from them sat Shivansh's own family — his father and mother, his aunt and uncle, and both grandparents. The aura around them carried the weight of generations; their posture regaled, their silence sharper than words. Aviyansh, Ranveer, and Shivansh himself stood slightly behind, while Dhruv, Ritvik, Arav, and Arjun entered just then, descending the staircase, their footsteps soft but echoing through the wide corridor that opened into the hall.
Ishika and Prisha were nowhere to be seen — and that absence was intentional. They were outside, playing with little Riyan, distracting him so that the room could be left for what was about to come — the truth.
Shivansh felt his chest tighten as he looked toward the entrance.
And there she was.
Isha — or Alina, as everyone here called her now — walked inside slowly, poised, her steps measured, her face calm but not detached. Her gaze didn't meet his, not even once. She simply walked toward the center, where the sunlight fell like a spotlight through the tall windows, her cream-colored outfit catching the light as though she were both illuminated and burdened by it.
She looked at the staff for a moment and nodded. "Bring water for everyone."
A few seconds later, glasses were being placed before each person. The sound of crystal touching the wooden table was the only sound in the room.
Once everyone had a glass, she folded her hands lightly and said, "Before anything else, I want to say something. Something important."
The room fell completely silent. Even Shivansh's mother leaned forward slightly, sensing that this wasn't just another conversation.
Isha took a deep breath. "You all have questions," she began. "And you deserve to have them answered. I know there have been… misunderstandings about Riyan. About me. So, before lunch, before anything else, I want to clear this up."
Her voice didn't shake, though her fingers trembled slightly against her dupatta.
"Riyan is not my child by birth," she said quietly. "But he is my child."
The words seemed to slice through the still air. Some faces turned confused, others stunned.
She continued, her tone steady. "He's not my child by blood. But he's the reason I'm still alive today. The reason I wake up every morning. The reason I remember how to breathe."
Shivansh's hand clenched against his knee. He could feel Ranveer's eyes flick toward him, but he didn't move.
Isha's mother whispered, barely audible, "Not your child?"
Isha nodded once, eyes soft but resolute. "No. He came into my life when I had nothing left to live for. When I thought… it was over. He was there. His little smile, his innocent eyes—they reminded me what it meant to love again, to care, to exist. Without him, I don't think I'd be standing here in front of you all."
There was a pause, a heavy one.
Her father finally spoke, his voice firm but trembling slightly. "Then… whose child is he?"
Everyone turned their eyes toward her again. The room seemed to hold its breath.
She looked at the floor for a second, then raised her eyes again, meeting each of theirs slowly. "Riyan's real parents are Luka's elder brother and his wife."
A murmur rippled across the room. Shivansh's mother exchanged a glance with his aunt. Ranveer leaned forward.
Isha continued, "They… they've always been kind to me. They never had a problem with me being in Riyan's life. For the last five years, Luka's family has been my family. They took care of everything—my health, my bills, every small thing I needed. They never let me feel alone. Luka's brother and his wife are the kind of people who see pain and don't turn away."
Her voice softened at the end, filled with a gratitude that could melt even stone.
Her father frowned slightly. "And where are they now?"
"They're on a business trip abroad," Isha answered calmly. "They'll be back in two days. Once they return, we'll finalize everything."
Her mother's brows drew together. "Finalize?"
Isha nodded slowly. "Our engagement."
The room fell silent again. Even the ticking clock on the far wall seemed too loud.
Ranveer blinked, trying to process it. "So… you're saying, you're really getting engaged to Luka?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "Yes."
There was a ripple of shock. Her mother covered her mouth, whispering her name in disbelief. Shivansh felt the world tilt for a second — the words sinking into him like shards of ice.
Her father finally managed to speak. "How did this happen, Alina? How did you meet his family? How did you meet him?"
She exhaled deeply, looking away for the first time. "That's a part of my life I'm not ready to share. Not right now. Not yet."
Her mother's tone softened, breaking slightly. "We're not outsiders, beta…"
"I know," Isha said, her voice almost breaking but her resolve unshaken. "But I can't. Not now. You're not ready to hear it—and I'm not ready to say it."
Her words echoed painfully through the stillness.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. Even the sound of the birds outside seemed to fade.
Finally, Shivansh's grandmother, who had been silent until now, placed her hand gently on her walking stick and said softly, "The child… sometimes the truth waits for time. If you can't speak now, speak when your heart lets you. No one should force pain out of you."
Isha's eyes softened. She folded her hands respectfully. "Thank you, Dadi sa."
Then she looked around the room once more, straightened her shoulders, and said quietly, "That's all I wanted to say for now. I hope you can all understand."
Her mother whispered, "isha…" but Isha had already stepped back, gesturing for the staff to begin serving water again, using the simple act of hospitality to mask her trembling emotions.
And across the hall, standing near the pillar, Shivansh could only stare — his face pale, his chest tightening with each passing second. Every word she had spoken echoed in his mind like thunder:
Not my child by birth… he's my child.
Luka's brother and wife are his parents.
We'll finalize our engagement.
He had never seen her this calm, this certain — and that frightened him more than anything else.
Ranveer placed a hand on his shoulder quietly, whispering under his breath, "Breathe, Shiv. She's doing what she has to. You need to do the same."
But Shivansh didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed on her — the woman he had broken, the woman who was now rebuilding herself, piece by piece, in front of everyone.
And for the first time in years, he wasn't sure if he had the right to stop her.
The atmosphere in the villa shifted again, quiet yet heavy, like a storm trying to breathe under control.
After a few moments of silence, Isha finally exhaled, her voice calm but composed.
"Let's… move to the dining area," she said softly, straightening the crease of her dupatta. "Lunch is ready."
The families obeyed almost instinctively. Chairs scraped gently against the marble as everyone began to rise, murmuring polite nothings—words meant only to fill the silence that had wrapped around them like mist.
The dining area was vast, sunlight spilling across the long mahogany table dressed with ivory linen and elegant cutlery. Silver dishes gleamed under the chandelier's soft light. The air smelled faintly of ghee, cardamom, and roasted spices—the kind of homely fragrance that usually meant warmth, laughter, togetherness.
But today, it was only a reminder of distance.
Isha walked ahead, Luka following just a step behind her, and little Riyan in between, clutching her finger. The trio moved in quiet synchronization—a sight that felt oddly complete, painfully complete—to those watching.
Shivansh followed slowly, his movements mechanical. Ranveer stayed beside him, though neither spoke.
From behind, Shivansh's eyes traced every small thing she did—how she bent down slightly to adjust Riyan's hair, how Luka leaned forward to whisper something to her, and how her lips curved faintly, the smallest ghost of a smile, before she looked down again.
It wasn't love that she was showing. It was peace. And that peace burned him more than her hatred ever had.
No one said anything as they took their seats. The elders sat first—Shivansh's grand father at one end, Isha's father across, and their mothers beside them. The others filled the remaining spaces in a half-circle of politeness.
Isha sat in the middle, between Luka and her mother. Riyan climbed into Luka's lap, small hands tapping the spoon against the edge of the plate.
A soft clinking sound filled the room. The quiet kind that comes when everyone's trying to seem okay.
Shivansh didn't sit right away. He stood a little to the side, half in shadow, watching her as the staff began serving.
Isha's voice was soft, polite, when she turned to her mother. "Please, Mummy, taste the paneer first. It's from the same recipe you used to make."
Her mother smiled faintly, though her eyes betrayed the tears she was holding back. "You still remember?"
"How could I forget?" she said quietly.
Her tone was gentle, but her eyes flicked away quickly—like she couldn't hold her mother's gaze for too long without the pain surfacing.
Across the table, Luka poured a glass of water for her. The gesture was small, intimate, practiced—something that comes from familiarity.
She nodded at him once in thanks, and he smiled lightly, touching Riyan's hair again.
And from across the table, Shivansh's hand curled unconsciously into a fist.
There was no sound in his world except that faint ring of metal against glass, the soft laughter Riyan let out when Luka made a tiny airplane out of a roti piece, the hum of low conversation from the others trying to mask the weight between them.
Isha didn't look at him once. Not when he entered, not when he sat down two seats away, not even when his chair accidentally scraped against the floor—a sound loud enough to make everyone's head turn for a moment. Everyone's but hers.
Her silence toward him was deliberate. Controlled.
Not the kind that came from anger, but the kind that came from having no strength left to feel anger anymore.
He watched how she gently helped Riyan hold his spoon correctly.
How she leaned toward Luka for a small whisper that made Riyan giggle.
How she smiled—softly, distantly, like a person who had learned to build her own peace from scratch.
And he sat there, looking at them, feeling like an outsider in a life that was once his own.
Ranveer leaned slightly toward him, whispering, "Breathe, Shiv. It's just lunch."
Shivansh didn't reply. His eyes didn't move.
In his head, every small sound became louder—the soft brush of her bangles when she reached for the bowl, the slight tilt of her head when she said, "Pass the rice, please," to Luka, the warmth in her tone when Riyan clapped at something silly.
Every sound, every glance, every breath was a needle.
And when Luka's hand briefly brushed against hers while taking the bowl, and she didn't pull away—his stomach twisted.
He looked down at his plate, his pulse loud in his ears, and for a moment he wondered if maybe this was how punishment looked when it came quietly.
No shouting. No crying.
Just the sight of the person you love finding happiness in someone else's shadow.
Riyan's voice broke through the silence, bright and innocent:
"Mama, I want more rice!"
Isha smiled, turning to Luka. "Give him a little more, but not too much. He won't finish."
Luka laughed softly. "He takes after you then."
Her lips curved again, faint but real.
And that was it.
That was the moment that made Shivansh look away completely.
He couldn't bear to see her smile like that — the way she used to smile at him, once upon a lifetime ago.
The rest of the lunch went in silence for him. Words floated in the air — polite talk, short questions, forced laughter. But he wasn't there anymore.
He sat at the table, surrounded by people he had known his entire life, watching a woman he had loved become someone's peace, and realizing that maybe, for her, silence had always been louder than his love.
When lunch ended, Isha stood, thanking the staff quietly and telling everyone, "We'll have coffee and dessert in the living room."
Her tone was warm, distant, formal.
And when she walked past him, her perfume brushed against his sleeve — familiar, faint, devastatingly so.
Shivansh didn't turn. He didn't need to.
The air behind her footsteps told him she was gone.
The clinking of cutlery faded one by one until the room slipped into quietness again.
Isha, still seated, placed her napkin beside her plate with a calm precision that could almost be mistaken for peace. Luka, seated next to her, leaned slightly to whisper something to Riyan, who was happily playing with a spoon. The boy's laughter broke the fragile silence for a brief moment — sweet, innocent, and utterly unaware of the storm coiled within the room.
"Shall we move to the living area for coffee?" Isha said, her voice steady but softer now, as if she was trying not to disturb something sacred that still hung in the air.
Her mother nodded immediately. "Yes, beta, that's a good idea."
Everyone stood up — chairs scraping against the floor, murmured thank-yous to the staff, the faint shuffle of footsteps moving from the dining area toward the wide living space.
The living room was bright, with sheer curtains letting in a river of sunlight that glowed against the cream walls. The aroma of coffee and cardamom wafted through the air as two staff members carried in trays — one with cups, another with small bowls of kheer and fruit pudding.
"Place it there," Isha said softly, gesturing toward the center table. She was composed, almost too composed, her every gesture deliberate, rehearsed — like she'd built this calmness piece by piece over years of chaos.
Luka gently placed Riyan on the sofa, fixing his little shirt collar. "Stay here with Prisha, champ," he said, smiling.
Riyan nodded and immediately ran to where Prisha and Ishika were already waiting with open arms, distracting him with silly faces and a small toy car.
Isha gave them a grateful glance — she didn't say it aloud, but they understood. This conversation wasn't for Riyan's ears.
Shivansh entered last. He hadn't spoken a word since lunch. His face was impassive, but his eyes... they betrayed everything. The room seemed to shrink when he stepped in, not because of his presence, but because of the way his silence demanded attention.
He took the seat opposite to where Isha sat — two armchairs apart, the coffee table between them, Luka beside her.
The rest of the families arranged themselves naturally — the elders near the center, Ranveer standing by the window, Arjun and Dhruv leaning against the far wall, quietly observing.
A moment of stillness stretched between them before anyone spoke.
"Coffee?" Isha asked politely, her tone neutral.
"Yes, please," her mother replied first, breaking the awkwardness.
The staff began pouring. Cups were passed around. Small, meaningless conversations started — light remarks about the weather, the decor, how good the lunch had been.
But beneath the surface, every eye occasionally drifted to Isha and Shivansh.
Luka's phone buzzed suddenly on the table, the sound slicing through the tension. He glanced at the screen and sighed lightly. "I'll just take this call," he murmured to Isha.
She nodded. "Go ahead."
He stood, gave her a reassuring look — one that said I'll be right back, you'll be fine — and walked out onto the terrace with his phone pressed to his ear.
As the door clicked shut behind him, the room seemed to change temperature.
Isha lifted her cup slowly, blowing gently at the surface before taking a small sip. Her fingers trembled just slightly — almost imperceptibly.
Across from her, Shivansh leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his cup untouched. His gaze was steady, fixed — studying her face like it was both familiar and foreign.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.
Just a fraction — enough for the air to tighten between them.
She looked away first, setting her cup down softly. "You should have your coffee before it gets cold," she said without looking at him. Her voice was measured, the kind used in formal meetings or polite gatherings.
He didn't respond. His jaw flexed once, his fingers curling around the handle of his cup, but he didn't lift it.
His mother noticed the silence, attempting to defuse it. "Isha, this coffee reminds me of the one you used to make before leaving for Delhi. You still use the same technique?"
Isha smiled faintly. "Yes, Ma-- I mean aunty. Luka brought some from the market a few days ago. He said it's close to what we had back home."
Shivansh's eyes flickered at the mention of Luka's name again. He said. He brought. He remembered.
The ease in her voice when she said it burned deeper than anger ever could.
From beside, Arjun tried to change the subject. "Riyan seems to be enjoying himself," he said with a smile, glancing toward the little boy, now giggling in Prisha's lap.
"He's always like that," Isha replied, her tone softening. "Easily happy. Easily content. I think children are like that — they don't expect, they just feel."
Her words hung between her and Shivansh like a quiet accusation — not expecting, just feeling.
Shivansh finally picked up his cup, his movements deliberate, his expression unreadable. "Children can forget pain faster than adults," he said quietly, almost to himself.
Her eyes flickered to him, but she didn't reply.
The others shifted uncomfortably, pretending not to notice the invisible thread tightening between the two.
Silence returned — heavy, thick. The kind that hums in your bones.
A minute passed, then another.
The soft clinking of spoons against porcelain became the only sound.
Isha's bracelet brushed against her wrist as she adjusted her dupatta, the faint metallic chime echoing in his head.
She looked toward the window, her expression distant. The sunlight caught in her hair, and for a second, Shivansh's heart betrayed him — remembering the way that same light once fell across her face when she laughed freely, when she belonged to him.
He blinked, and the moment dissolved.
When Luka returned a few minutes later, the atmosphere shifted again — lighter, but still fragile. He resumed his seat beside Isha, and her shoulders relaxed almost instantly, as if the air itself had grown safer again.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
She nodded once. "Yes."
Riyan came running in just then, giggling, his small footsteps echoing across the marble floor. He threw his arms around Isha's leg, laughing, "Mama, Ishika di said I can have two julab jamun's!"
Isha looked at him in surprise, her lips parting into the first real smile of the afternoon. "Two? Who said that?" she teased, bending down.
"I did!" Ishika said, laughing. "He earned it, he cleaned up his toy car!"
Everyone chuckled softly, even the elders smiling at the innocent chaos. The sound felt like a brief ray of sunlight cutting through an overcast sky.
For a few moments, the tension loosened. Laughter returned, tentative but real.
Isha scooped Riyan up into her arms, holding him close. The boy's tiny hands rested on her shoulders, and he kissed her cheek. "Love you, Mama," he murmured.
Shivansh froze.
The sight — her with that little boy in her arms, her face glowing with tenderness — it struck something deep and wordless inside him.
He looked away, blinking hard. His throat tightened, and he forced his gaze toward his cup, staring at the ripples in the untouched coffee.
Luka's arm brushed lightly against Isha's shoulder as he reached to take Riyan from her. Their movements were casual, but synchronized — practiced, as though this small rhythm of care had been theirs for a long time.
She smiled, whispering something Luka could hear but no one else could. He chuckled softly, and Riyan laughed again between them.
And in that laughter, Shivansh heard the echo of everything he had lost.
No shouting. No tears.
Just a quiet room, the sound of clinking cups, and two hearts that had once known each other sitting on opposite sides of peace.
Isha's arms tightened around Riyan as he buried his face against her neck, his small voice muffled in the fabric of her kurta.
"Mama, I want to sleep with you," he murmured, his eyelids drooping.
She smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You will, baby. Just for a while, Luka will stay with you till you sleep, okay?"
The boy shook his head, pouting. "No, I want Mama."
Luka, who had been standing beside them, chuckled quietly. "He's not going to let go of you today."
Isha met his eyes, a faint exhaustion in her expression. "It's okay. I'll take him," she said gently. "He's too clingy when he's sleepy."
"Alright," Luka nodded. "Let him rest for a bit. I'll be here."
Isha smiled, brushing a lock of hair from Riyan's forehead. "Come on, champ," she whispered, lifting him into her arms. His tiny fingers clung to her dupatta, already half asleep.
Everyone in the room watched her go — the quiet grace in her steps, the way Riyan's head rested on her shoulder, and how the faint hum of her lullaby followed her out.
Shivansh's gaze, however, never moved.
He watched her walk away through the archway, his hands gripping his knees as though holding himself in place. Every movement she made felt like a memory he wasn't allowed to touch.
Riyan's small voice faded down the corridor. Luka turned back to the elders, resuming a casual conversation about Jaipur, about the villa, about anything but what everyone silently knew — that Shivansh's eyes were still fixed on the empty doorway.
A few minutes passed. He stood up suddenly, too quietly for anyone to stop him.
"Where are you going?" Ranveer asked under his breath, his tone knowing but low.
Shivansh didn't look at him. "I'll just... check something," he said, an excuse too thin to convince anyone, but no one stopped him.
They all knew.
He left the room, his footsteps slow but steady, echoing faintly against the marble corridor. The scent of sandalwood and coffee still lingered faintly in the air — and somewhere down the hall, the sound of her voice, humming to Riyan, pulled him forward like gravity.
He hesitated near the door, hearing her soft words — "There you go, baby, close your eyes... good boy."
A pause. The rustle of fabric. Silence.
When he finally gathered courage and stepped inside, Isha had just placed Riyan on the bed. The boy's breathing was already slow and even. She tucked the blanket gently under his chin and stood there for a long moment, just watching him — her expression calm, but her eyes... distant, tired.
She turned slightly when she sensed someone behind her.
Her gaze froze.
Shivansh stood by the door, hands half-raised as though caught doing something he shouldn't. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing faint cuts and the white edge of a bandage around his wrist. The plaster from his forehead was gone, though a faint mark still traced the skin just above his brow.
"Shivansh," she breathed, her voice quiet, wary.
"I—" He started, then stopped, words tangling in his throat. "I needed to talk to you."
Her expression didn't change. "There's nothing left to talk about."
"There is," he said quickly, stepping forward. "There's a lot, Isha. You don't even know—"
"Don't," she cut in softly, holding up a hand. "He's sleeping."
Her tone wasn't angry, just... tired. The kind of tired that goes beyond exhaustion — the kind that comes from years of holding herself together.
He nodded slowly, lowering his voice. "Alright. Just... just hear me out once."
She sighed, glancing back at the sleeping child. "Make it quick, please."
He took another step toward her, every movement careful, uncertain. His breath hitched when he saw the faint gold chain around her neck — the same one he'd once given her years ago.
"I didn't come here to hurt you," he said quietly. "I came because... I had to. Because I couldn't stand knowing that I might never—"
"Don't finish that," she said sharply, her tone suddenly firm. "Don't make this harder than it already is."
He stopped mid-sentence, his voice faltering. "I'm not trying to make it hard, Isha. I just—"
"You just what?" she asked, turning fully toward him now. "Want forgiveness? Closure? Some chance that I'll look at you and pretend everything you did didn't happen?"
Her voice wasn't raised, but it carried the weight of every sleepless night, every moment she'd cried into silence.
He swallowed hard, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm just asking for one truth."
She frowned slightly. "Truth?"
He nodded, taking a hesitant step closer. "That you... that you still feel something. Anything."
For a long moment, she said nothing. Only the soft ticking of the wall clock filled the silence.
Her eyes flickered toward Riyan — asleep, peaceful, unaware. She shook her head slowly. "You think feelings are that simple?" she whispered. "You break someone, and years later you walk in and expect to find the same person waiting for you?"
"I never stopped waiting for you," he said hoarsely.
She exhaled sharply, as if the words had struck something deep. "You did," she replied softly. "You just didn't notice when you stopped."
He flinched. His gaze dropped.
Silence again.
Then, without warning, he took a step closer — too close — and before she could move away, his hand reached out. He didn't grip her arm, didn't pull her, but his touch hovered near her sleeve, trembling. "Please," he whispered. "Just one moment. I need to—"
She didn't resist when he finally wrapped his arms around her. It wasn't forceful — it was desperate, broken.
His face buried in her shoulder, his breath shaky, his body trembling as if holding back years of regret.
For a moment, she froze. Her hands stayed by her sides. Then, slowly, almost unwillingly, she let them rise — not to hold him, but to stop him from falling apart.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You shouldn't have come here, Shivansh."
He didn't answer. His tears soaked into the fabric of her dupatta, warm and silent.
"Isha," he murmured, his voice cracking. "I thought... I thought if I saw you, I'd find peace."
"Peace?" she repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her. "There's no peace left between us. Only pieces."
He tightened his arms slightly, as though afraid she would vanish. "Then let me hold the pieces for a moment."
Her throat tightened. For all her resolve, her own eyes burned — not out of love, but out of the cruel nostalgia that never truly leaves.
When she finally spoke again, her voice trembled just enough to betray her calm.
"I don't hate you, Shivansh. But I can't love you anymore."
The words hung there — final, fragile, and true.
He drew back slowly, his hands falling to his sides. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I know," he said quietly. "But you're still everything I ever wanted."
She shook her head, wiping a tear from her cheek quickly before it could fall. "You wanted me when it was easy. Not when it mattered."
That silenced him completely.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Outside, the faint call of a peacock echoed from the gardens. The sunlight shifted, falling across Riyan's face.
Isha looked at him again — her son, her strength, her reason. Then back at Shivansh, whose world seemed to crumble silently before her.
"Go," she said gently. "Before someone sees you here."
He didn't move immediately. Just looked at her one last time — memorizing the curve of her face, the peace that wasn't his to touch anymore.
Finally, he nodded. "Take care of him," he whispered, glancing toward Riyan.
"I always have," she replied quietly.
And with that, he turned and left — his footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving behind the faint scent of regret and the echo of what could never be again.
Isha stood there long after he was gone, staring at the empty doorway — her heart pounding, her mind silent. Then she turned back to Riyan, brushing his hair gently.
"You'll never know how much strength you gave me, my little one," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "You saved me when no one else did."
The house was quiet again — the kind of quiet that comes after a storm, when the heart is too tired to cry anymore.

Shivansh's POV
The corridor was silent.
Too silent.
Each step I took echoed against the marble floor like a cruel reminder of how hollow everything had suddenly become. The door behind me clicked shut — the same door where moments ago I'd watched her, my Isha, comforting another man's child, another man's family, another man.
I should've walked away sooner.
I should've left before it burned this much.
My hand brushed over the bandage near my temple — the one that was already loosening. I tore it off without care, throwing it aside. The sting on my skin was nothing compared to what was twisting inside my chest. I could still hear her voice in my head — soft, protective, trembling as she called Rian her "life."
She never said my name like that.
I pressed my back to the wall, sliding down slowly until I was sitting on the cold floor. My hands were shaking — maybe from anger, maybe from something else. The kind of pain that makes your ribs ache.
For a second, I let it all fall — the mask, the arrogance, the calm composure.
I bent forward, resting my forehead on my knees.
And I cried.
Not loudly, not dramatically — but the kind of silent, broken sob that you don't let anyone see. The kind that feels like you're choking on every breath you take.
"She's gone," I whispered to myself.
"She's gone… and she's not coming back."
The words scraped out of me like glass.
"Isha," I murmured again, my voice breaking mid-way, "you… you didn't even look at me today. Not once. You smiled for him. You smiled for his child. But not for me."
A laugh escaped — bitter, dry, hollow.
"Maybe I deserve it, right? For lying… for cheating… for making you hate me when all I wanted was to protect you."
I slammed my fist against the wall beside me.
It didn't help. Nothing did.
"I did everything," I muttered. "Everything for her. And now she looks at him like that— like that look used to be mine."
The corridor lights flickered slightly. My breath grew uneven, heavy — the air around me almost stifling. I tried to steady it, but my throat burned with unshed words.
"She'll never know," I said quietly. "Never know why I did it. Never know that the monster she sees is the man who saved her. The man who… who would've burned the whole damn world if it meant keeping her safe."
A voice cut through my thoughts.
Low. Calm. Familiar.
"Then why are you sitting here like a loser?"
I looked up — Ranveer. Leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, eyes cold but knowing. He looked at me for a long second, then walked closer, crouching in front of me.
"What the hell happened to you?" he asked quietly.
"You look like you just buried yourself alive."
I didn't answer.
He sighed. "Let me guess — you saw her with that guy. The so-called perfect gentleman. The one who's now raising that kid you thought was hers?"
My jaw tightened.
"Don't," I said through clenched teeth.
Ranveer smirked slightly. "Why not? It's true, isn't it? You stood there, watched her smile for someone else, and you did nothing. The great Shivansh Rathore, silent. That's new."
I turned away. "You won't understand."
"Try me."
My breath came out in short bursts.
"I loved her, Ranveer. I still do. But what can I do now? She's moved on. She's… happy."
"Happiness built on lies doesn't last," Ranveer said firmly.
"Then why can't I tell her the truth?"
He stared at me, his eyes narrowing. "Because you're scared."
I looked up sharply. "I'm not scared."
"You are," he said flatly. "You're scared that if you tell her the truth, she'll still walk away. That you'll lose her all over again. So instead of fighting for her, you're sitting here crying like a damn fool."
"Ranveer—"
"No, listen to me," he snapped, grabbing my collar. "You're not some storybook hero, Shivansh. You never were. You're a king who takes what's his. You think heroes wait? You think they sit and weep while someone else walks away with their queen? No. They fight. They claim."
I stared at him — his words hitting something raw inside me.
He continued, his voice rising, rough with emotion.
"You love her? Then why the hell are you letting her go? Why are you watching her slip away and calling it love? You think she belongs with someone else? No! You don't get to decide that. You don't get to walk away like a coward."
I tried to push his hand away, but he tightened his grip.
"You want to protect her? Then protect her! Tell her the damn truth. Make her hate you, scream at you, curse your name — but don't let her walk away thinking you never cared."
My chest heaved.
I couldn't speak.
Ranveer's voice softened slightly, almost like a whisper, "You're a monster, Shivansh. But at least you're her monster. Don't turn into a ghost."
He let go of my collar slowly, staring into my eyes.
"Because if you let her go now, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. And she… she'll never know that the man who destroyed her heart did it to save her."
The silence stretched again.
And in that silence — I realized he was right.
Every word of it.
I wasn't the hero.
I never was.
I was the man who could burn everything just to keep her close — even if it meant she'd hate me for eternity.
I looked up, my eyes still wet but steady.
"She hates me, Ranveer."
"Then let her," he said simply. "Let her hate you. But make sure she hates you standing right in front of you — not walking away into someone else's arms."
A slow, bitter smile curved on my lips.
"That's the most dangerous advice you've ever given me."
He shrugged. "You're not built for peace, Shivansh. You're built for war. And this… this is your war."
I looked down the corridor, toward the room where she had gone.
My fists clenched slowly.
She might hate me.
She might scream.
But I couldn't let her go again.
Not this time.
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