Meanwhile, downstairs…
Khushi stepped into the living room slowly, almost cautiously, as though the house itself might question her presence. The air felt heavy—quiet in a way that pressed against the chest. When Bhoomi noticed her, surprise flickered across her face, quickly softening into gentle concern.
"Khushi…" Bhoomi said after a beat, her voice warm but tired. "My dear… why have you come here so suddenly?"
Khushi clasped her hands together, fingers tightening. She lowered her gaze before lifting it again, eyes filled with apology.
"Aunty… I couldn't stay away. Ever since yesterday…" She paused, searching for the right words. "Kiaan was scolded because of me. He lied to help me get that job, and Mr. Yuvaan…" Her voice trailed off, weighed down by guilt. "I came to say sorry. To you. To him."
As she spoke, her eyes wandered around the room.
The decorations lay scattered—ribbons torn, balloons deflated, bits of color dulled against the marble floor. What should have been laughter and music felt like an echo that never arrived.
Khushi's brows knit together. "It looks like… a birthday was planned," she said softly.
Bhoomi inhaled slowly, as if steadying herself.
"It was," she replied. "Today… today is Kiaan's tenth birthday."
Khushi froze.
"Tenth?" she repeated, disbelief and wonder mixing in her voice. "Double digits already…"
She smiled faintly, eyes misting as she spoke again. "Aunty… when a child turns ten, it's different. A mother feels it differently. It's like watching her little one grow up right in front of her eyes. There's pride… happiness… a silent prayer that the world stays kind to them."
Bhoomi stared at her, something aching and familiar stirring within. A sad smile curved her lips.
"You speak just like her," she whispered. "Just like Kiara."
Khushi followed her gaze instinctively.
The garlanded photograph.
The calm smile. The eyes that seemed alive despite the stillness.
"Is this… Kiara?" Khushi asked, her voice barely audible.
Bhoomi nodded, her hand trembling slightly as it rested against the frame. "Yes. Kiaan's mother." A pause. "She had dreamed of this birthday. Planned it in her heart long before time could take her away."
"If only…" Susheela murmured quietly from behind them. "If only Kiaan and Yuvaan hadn't fought today."
Khushi's chest tightened. She hesitated, then asked carefully, "Was it… because of me?"
Bhoomi turned toward her at once, cupping her arm with reassuring firmness.
"No, beta," she said gently. "This pain was already there. You didn't create it."
Khushi nodded slowly, though the weight in her heart remained.
Above them, the house stood still—holding broken decorations, unspoken grief, and a birthday that had lost its celebration… waiting for something, or someone, to bring it back to life.
Meanwhile, in the corridor…
Aakash stood near the window, his back resting against the cool wall as the phone glowed softly in his hand. The noise from downstairs felt distant here, muffled, as though the house itself was holding its breath. On the screen, Riddhi's face appeared—calm, familiar, yet lined with concern even from miles away.
"So… this happened today?" she asked gently.
Aakash nodded, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. "Yes. Kiaan… Yuvaan… everything just exploded. It was supposed to be a birthday." His voice dropped. "Instead, it turned into a battlefield."
Riddhi exhaled slowly. "After bhabhi Kiara's death, Aakash… everything fell apart," she said. "She wasn't just holding the family together. She was holding their hearts together."
Aakash's jaw tightened. He looked away from the screen for a moment, staring down the empty corridor. "She sacrificed herself to save the world," he said quietly. "And in return… we lost ours."
Riddhi's eyes softened. "That's exactly it," she replied. "The world survived, but this family didn't."
There was a pause. Long. Heavy.
"If Kiara were here," Riddhi continued, her voice almost a whisper now, "she would have fixed this. She always knew how to bring Yuvaan back from the edge. How to calm Kiaan without crushing him."
Aakash gave a bitter smile. "But she's not here, Riddhi," he said. "That's not possible anymore. She's… gone."
Riddhi tilted her head slightly, studying him through the screen. "Is it really not possible?" she asked softly.
Aakash frowned. "What do you mean?"
She leaned closer, her voice gaining a strange certainty. "Think about our lives, Aakash. Witches exist. Demons exist. Dark realms, curses, prophecies—we've seen it all. The world says these things are impossible, yet we live with their truth every day."
Aakash swallowed.
"Our own cousin," Riddhi went on, "Yuvaan himself was once a warlock king. Power beyond imagination. And yet people still talk about impossibilities."
She paused, eyes glistening. "So tell me… what is truly impossible in our lives?"
Aakash didn't answer.
"I just…" Riddhi sighed, a fragile hope slipping into her voice. "I just wish Kiara could come back. Even for a moment. To fix what's broken. To bring the father and son back to each other."
The screen reflected Aakash's silence—his clenched jaw, his damp eyes, the weight of a truth he was afraid to name.
Outside the corridor window, the wind stirred faintly… as if listening.
To be continued…