By the time Anshuman gathered the courage to speak the truth, the temple had already filled with the presence of the entire Poddar family. The air inside was still, heavy with unspoken questions and growing tension. The ringing of the temple bells in the background seemed distant now — muffled by the weight of what was about to unfold. Anshuman turned to Abhira, his eyes moist, voice quivering as he said, “Maira hi aapki pookie hai.” And just like that, the world around her came to a crashing halt.

Abhira stood frozen, as though the floor beneath her had been snatched away. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out every other sound. Her eyes blinked, once, twice, trying to absorb what she had just heard — but her mind refused to accept it. Pookie? No. It couldn't be. “Aisa nahi ho sakta, Anshuman…” she whispered, her voice barely escaping her lips.

Then louder, more broken, “Armaan mere saath aisa nahi kar sakta… Woh jaanta tha… woh jaanta tha ki main apni pookie ke liye saalon se tadap rahi hoon. Main har roz ek nayi umeed ke saath jeeti thi… woh meri bacchi mujhse kaise chheen sakta hai?” Her voice cracked, a tear rolled down her cheek as she clutched her dupatta close to her chest, like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Her knees buckled slightly under the weight of the truth, and she took a stumbling step back, the temple walls spinning around her.

But before anyone could speak, another voice emerged from the silence — calm, composed, and devastating.

“Anshuman sach keh raha hai, Abhira.”

It was Kaveri. Her voice echoed in the temple, steady but filled with something deeper — sorrow, perhaps guilt. The moment the words registered, Abhira slowly turned toward her, as if her body could no longer process any more shocks. “Dadi sa…” she breathed, the words catching in her throat like broken glass. Her eyes searched Kaveri’s face, begging her to say something — anything — to take back what she just said.

But Kaveri remained still, her silence louder than anything else in that moment. And in that one unbearable heartbeat, everything collapsed for Abhira. Her trust, her memories, her motherhood — all shattered into pieces she didn’t know how to gather again.

Abhira's eyes remained fixed on the temple floor, but her soul had already drifted back—back to the darkest chapter of her life. That night still lived within her like a wound that never truly healed. She remembered the dim lights, the deafening silence, and the deafening beat of her own heart as she placed her infant—her pookie—inside a simple cardboard box.

Not because she didn’t love her, but because she loved her too much. Chaos was erupting around her. She had been threatened, hunted, forced into decisions no mother should ever face. And in that moment of desperation, she believed the box would shield her child from harm. It was a hiding place, a temporary shell to protect the most precious piece of her soul.

“Bas thodi der ke liye… main aati hoon… main waapas aake aapko le jaungi, tab tak aap mumma ka yahi wait karna pookie.” she had whispered, placing a trembling kiss on her baby's forehead.

But that later never came. Fate never gave her a second chance. She was dragged away, locked out of the very life she was trying to protect. And when she returned — breathless, frantic, wild with grief — the box was gone. Her baby… gone. The image of that discarded cardboard box, stained with helplessness and silent screams, had haunted her every day since. In her dreams, she saw that box over and over again — not just as an object, but as a coffin for the love she was forced to abandon.

And then, seven long years later, it happened again.

Another box. Another child.

She could still remember that day so clearly — the day she found a little girl huddled inside a worn, rain-dampened cardboard box behind a community hall. That child had run away from home, desperate to attend a dance competition that no one had allowed her to go to.

She had grit in her eyes, defiance in her voice, and bruises on her knees. But what shook Abhira the most was the strange ache she felt the moment she pulled the child out of that box. Her arms had instinctively wrapped around her, her heart tightening like it had known her all along. The girl had said her name was Maira.

Abhira had smiled through her confusion, wiping the girl's tears, thinking it was maternal instinct or maybe just a trick of her memory. Not once did she imagine that this small, brave, rebellious girl… was her. Her pookie. The very child she had once hidden in a similar box. The one she had lost, mourned, and kept alive only in her prayers.

And now, as the truth finally surfaced — in the very mandir where destinies seemed to be tied and untied — Abhira’s heart collapsed beneath the weight of it.

“She was right in front of me…” she choked, barely able to speak through her tears. “Usi tarah ke box mein chhupi hui… saat saal baad… fir se… par main usse pehchaan bhi nahi paayi…” Her voice broke, her body trembled. “Woh ro rahi thi… aur main usse sirf ek anjaan ladki samajh baithi… main maa hoke bhi… usse apni bacchi kehne se reh gayi…”

She clutched her heart, gasping for breath as sobs shook her to the core. Everyone around her stood still — the temple, the family, the gods — everything frozen in grief as a mother remembered the two moments she met her child… once to lose her, and once to unknowingly find her.

Abhira’s voice cracked as the pain inside her twisted into something deeper — something sharp and unbearable. And then, through her tears, his name slipped from her lips like a wound reopening.

“And Armaan…” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief, “he saw me... saw me crying for my child, saw me breaking down while searching for my pookie. He watched me fall apart, day after day, never once telling me the truth.”

Her voice grew louder, filled with disbelief and betrayal. “He saw me holding her in my arms — my own daughter — and still… still he kept silent.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she barely noticed them. “The same Armaan who once promised to bring me the moon and stars… he ripped the very ground from beneath my feet,” she said, her voice breaking. “He took away my right to be a mother. He let me live as a stranger to my own child — the same child I prayed for, cried for, breathed for.”

She staggered slightly, the weight of her heartbreak crushing her from within. “Why?” she asked, almost pleading with the empty space around her. “Was I not worthy? Or did he think a mother’s love was something too fragile… too inconvenient to be trusted?”

The temple was silent. Not even the bells dared to interrupt her pain.

Abhira’s voice trembled, each word slipping out like shards of glass cutting through her throat. “He took away my motherhood… twice,” she said, her eyes hollow with grief.

“Every time he betrayed me. First with my BSP… he never told me the truth — that my son was stillborn. He didn’t even let me hold him… not even for a moment. I carried that child inside me for nine months, and all I wanted was to see his face once… to say goodbye. But Armaan took that from me. He decided for me.”

Her chest heaved as fresh tears streamed down her face. “And now… now with my pookie — my baby girl, the one I craved for, prayed for, waited for every single day of my life. The one whose name I whispered in every breath… she was right there. In front of me. And he still kept quiet.” Her voice broke. “He let me live like a stranger to my own blood… he watched me love her, protect her, and still never told me the truth.”

She looked around the temple, as if searching for something to hold on to — but there was nothing but the weight of what had been stolen from her. Twice.

A bitter laugh escaped Abhira’s lips — dry, broken, and soaked in sorrow. It wasn’t joy, it wasn’t madness… it was the helpless laughter of someone who had lost too much, too often, in the same place. Tears continued falling endlessly from her eyes, even as she laughed at the cruelty of her own fate. “Of course…” she whispered through trembling breaths. “Of course it had to be here…”

Her gaze slowly lifted to the sacred walls around her — the mandir that once held her prayers, her hopes, her faith. “This place…” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, “this very temple… this is where I was told the truth about my BSP. This is where I found out that the child I raised wasn’t mine… and that the son I gave birth to… never even opened his eyes.” Her voice cracked, and her lips curled into a pained smile. “I thought no heartbreak could ever hurt more than that day.”

She took a staggering step forward, her fingers brushing the cold pillar beside her as if it could steady her spinning world. “But I was wrong,” she breathed. “Because today… in this same mandir… I lost again. My pookie… my baby girl… the one I waited for with every heartbeat, the one I would have died to hold once… she was here. With me. Living, breathing, smiling… and I didn’t even know.”

Her knees threatened to give way again, but she stood there — broken yet standing, grieving yet breathing — as the walls of the temple echoed with silence. A silence that knew too much. A silence that had seen her shatter before… and was watching her shatter again.

Abhira’s hand flew to her mouth as another realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her voice shook, choked with disbelief. “She came to me…” she whispered, her eyes widening in horror. “Wearing pookie’s clothes.” The memory unfolded vividly in her mind — Maira twirling around in those tiny old frocks Abhira had once packed away, too painful to look at, yet too precious to throw. “She even joked about it… said she was pookie... called me mumma… and I—” her voice broke, her knees wobbling under the weight of her regret, “I scolded her. I told her not to joke like that.”

Her shoulders trembled as she covered her face with both hands. “How stupid I was…” she sobbed. “How blind… my own daughter was trying to tell me the truth, even if she didn’t know it. She called me mumma, she called herself pookie... and I shut her down. I laughed it off. I pushed her away when I should’ve pulled her into my arms and never let her go.”

Each tear that fell now wasn’t just grief — it was guilt, years of missed signs, unspoken love, and a mother’s unbearable realization that the child she had longed for had reached out… and she hadn’t recognized her.

“I want to meet my pookie,” Abhira said, her voice quivering but full of resolve as she turned to Anshuman. She reached out, clutching his hand tightly with one hand while using the other to wipe away her tears. The touch was desperate, almost childlike, as if she needed someone to anchor her in that moment of raw truth. Her eyes searched his face, brimming with an ache only a mother could understand. “Anshuman… where is she now?”

Anshuman hesitated only for a breath before answering, softly but honestly, “Armaan took her back… to Mount Abu.”

A silence settled for a moment, but only on the surface — because within Abhira, something had ignited. She lifted her head slowly, her expression shifting from broken to determined. The helplessness in her gaze was gone, replaced now with a fire that could burn down everything standing in her way. “Then let’s go there,” she said firmly, her voice steady and strong. “I will not let Armaan snatch what is mine again.”

With those words, she turned toward the deity she had always believed in — the one to whom she had cried for years, begged, pleaded for the return of her child. Her eyes welled with fresh tears, but there was no fear in them now, only fierce devotion. She folded her hands, and her voice trembled with sacred fire. “Main apni bacchi wapas lekar rahungi,” she vowed aloud, her words echoing off the temple walls like a sacred promise.

Then, with a sudden surge of emotion, she reached up and rang the temple bell — once, firmly, its loud, echoing chime slicing through the heavy silence like destiny being set into motion. Her hands folded again in prayer, this time not in desperation, but in strength — in faith that the gods would finally return what had always been hers.

Abhira walked out of the temple with fire in her steps, her saree trailing behind her like a silent echo of all the pain she had endured. Her eyes no longer searched for answers — they had found their purpose. Beside her, Anshuman followed quietly, protective yet giving her the space she needed to lead this journey. There was a storm behind her and a mission ahead — and she was no longer afraid of either.

The Poddar family stood frozen near the temple steps, watching her walk away. No one dared to speak. No one tried to stop her. The weight of truth hung heavily over all of them, pressing down like an invisible burden that no one knew how to lift.

It was Vidya who finally broke the silence, her voice soft but layered with pain — not just for Abhira, but for the woman walking away with shattered pieces of motherhood held tightly in her heart. “Abhira spent years living in guilt,” she murmured, her eyes moist, “believing it was her fault… that she and Armaan lost pookie because of something she did.” Her voice cracked slightly as she looked at the temple floor, unable to lift her head. “But the truth is… only Abhira lost her. Only she was kept away from her daughter. Only she lived with that emptiness.”

Her words fell like stones into the silence, heavy and true. There was no defense. No excuse strong enough to undo what Armaan had done. And Vidya, though his mother, could no longer deny the weight of it.

“I raised a son,” she whispered, “but Abhira… she raised a wound she never understood.”

As Abhira disappeared into the distance, no one spoke. The bells had stopped ringing, but their echo still hung in the air — along with the echo of a mother’s vow.

.........

The road stretched ahead in endless curves, the late afternoon sun casting golden shadows across the windshield. Trees blurred past, the silence inside the car growing louder with each passing mile. Anshuman gripped the steering wheel tightly, sneaking glances at Abhira every now and then — she sat rigid in the passenger seat, her hands clenched into trembling fists, eyes fixed straight ahead but clearly lost somewhere else entirely.

Her breath came in uneven bursts, like she was holding back a flood with nothing but willpower.

“Abhira,” Anshuman said cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper, “I think you should calm down first. Please…”

The words hadn’t even finished leaving his mouth before she turned to him, her eyes glinting with unshed tears and unfiltered rage.

“Calm down?” she echoed bitterly. “Do you really think I can calm down right now, Anshuman?” Her voice rose, a mix of pain, fury, and desperation. “I just found out my daughter — my Pookie — was right in front of me, and I didn’t even recognize her. I scolded her. I told her not to joke. She called me ‘mumma’, Anshuman, and I... I pushed her away.”

Tears finally broke free and streamed down her cheeks, but her voice didn’t falter.

“I’m not going to calm down until I meet her,” she continued, each word sharper than the last. “Until I hold her, and she knows who I am — not as some stranger or aunty, but as her mother. Until I look her in the eyes and say, ‘You were never lost to me, beta… they just kept you hidden.’”

She turned her gaze back to the road, her jaw tight.

“And until I confront Armaan — the man who let me cry every single night for a child he knew was alive. The man who robbed me of my right to grieve for my son and love my daughter.”

"UNTIL I TELL HIM HOW MUCH I HATE HIM"

Anshuman didn’t respond. He just tightened his grip on the wheel and pressed a little harder on the accelerator, as if speeding up might help her reach her closure a little faster.

For a long moment, only the sound of the tires on the asphalt filled the silence. And then Abhira whispered, almost to herself, “No more lies. No more stolen years. This time, I’ll fight for what’s mine.”