The pooja had finally concluded. The air was fragrant with the scent of incense and fresh flowers, the chants still echoing faintly in the background as everyone began to relax.

 All the rituals had been performed with devotion, and now the house was filled with a sense of peace and quiet celebration.

Kiara, who had been fidgeting for quite some time, looked towards Swarna with wide, eager eyes. Her stomach had been rumbling halfway through the aarti, but she'd stayed patient—well, almost. 

She leaned in, barely able to hide her excitement, and asked in a hushed but eager voice, "Badi maa, pooja ho gayi naa? Ab toh mein khana kha sakti hoon, please?"

Swarna looked at her with amused affection. Before she could respond, a ripple of laughter spread through the room. 

Everyone, from the elders to the younger cousins, burst into chuckles at Kiara's earnest question.

Manisha, Kiara's mother, shook her head with a dramatic sigh, though her eyes twinkled with affection. "Yeh aaj kal ki ladkiyaan bhi naa," she said playfully, folding her arms. "Dieting ke liye toh poora din bhookhi reh sakti hai, lekin vrat rakhna ho toh jaan pe ban jaati hai!"

As the last echo of laughter faded into the hushed reverence of the post-pooja calm, Kiara's smile faltered. 

Her gaze, once bright with teasing mischief, now clouded over. Her posture stiffened, her fingers curling slightly at her sides as she turned to look directly at Abhir.

There was no mistaking the sudden shift in her energy — the playfulness had drained from her face, leaving behind a brittle calm. 

Her jaw tightened ever so slightly, and when she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but laced with quiet bitterness.

"Saari rasme main hi nibhaao?" she began, her eyes locked on him — not accusing, but searching. "Poore din ka vrat rakha, pooja ki har vidhi mein hissa liya,  Sab kuch theek se kiya... kyunki maante hain na ki yeh sab rishte nibhaane ke liye hote hain. Par kya main hi akeli hoon is rishte mein?"

"Kuch farz toh pati ko bhi nibhaane hote hain..." she finished, her voice barely above a whisper now, but it struck deeper than any raised voice could.

The room was silent — no one dared to break it. Swarna looked away, discomfort etched into her expression, while Manisha gently placed a hand on her chest, taken aback by her daughter's vulnerability laid so bare.

Abhir opened his mouth as if to say something — but no words came out.

The room was still reeling from the weight of Kiara's words. Her voice had settled, but the tremor it left behind was unmistakable. 

She stood with her back partially turned, the soft rustle of her saree the only sound in the heavy silence. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath — all eyes flicked between her and Abhir, waiting for something... anything.

Abhir, standing just a few feet away, stared at her — eyes wide, lips slightly parted, but not a single word managed to find its way out.

 He looked stunned, like someone who had walked into a storm thinking it was just a drizzle. His phone was still in his hand, forgotten, his thumb hovering mid-air as if even his body didn't quite know what to do.

Then, trying to cut through the thick tension like a knife through cake — albeit clumsily — came Samrat's voice from across the room.

"Heyyy, cotton ball, chill!" he said with forced cheer, flashing his trademark goofy grin, the nickname rolling off his tongue in an attempt to pull her out of the storm cloud.

 He always called her that — cotton ball — because of how she'd once shown up to a family function in a ridiculously fluffy white sweater and had sulked when everyone teased her.

But this time, the nickname didn't land the way it used to. The room didn't burst into laughter. Kiara didn't smile.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes briefly flickering toward Samrat, then back toward Abhir. Her face had softened just a little — but not with amusement, rather with the tiredness that settles in when you've said too much and still feel unheard.

Abhir's stare hadn't broken. He looked at her like she was speaking a language he hadn't learned yet — like he was trying to understand, but didn't know where to begin. His throat moved as he swallowed hard, emotions bottling up behind that silence, but still... no words came out.

The silence was thick — awkward, unspoken, and clinging to the walls of the room like the lingering smoke from the incense burner. Kiara stood still, her shoulders stiff, and Abhir remained frozen, speechless and unmoving. It felt like time had stalled for a beat too long.

And then, cutting through the tension like a bright slash of color through grayscale, came Krish's upbeat voice.

"Okay, okay, guys — chill!" he said, throwing up his hands in exaggerated surrender, his voice laced with charm and the kind of irreverent energy only he could get away with. "Let's not let this turn into an emotional soap opera, yeah?" he added with a wink, trying to break the heaviness hovering in the room.

All eyes turned to him, grateful — even if momentarily — for the interruption. His playful grin was infectious, and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the kind that always preceded one of his unpredictable ideas.

"Look, since we've already done the pooja and all the rituals like good, obedient desi kids," he continued, clasping his hands in mock sincerity, "why not spice things up a little? Let's add a modern twist to this ancient festive vibe!"

Kiara blinked, caught off guard. A small exhale escaped her lips — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, but something in between. The sharp edge of her expression softened just slightly.

"Let's play..." Krish paused dramatically, raising his brows. "Partner Switch Dance!"

There was a brief pause before a few heads turned toward one another, puzzled but intrigued.

"Partner switch... what?" Manisha asked, half-confused, half-curious.

Krish clapped once and spun around. "Simple! We play some upbeat music, everyone grabs a partner, and at random intervals we switch — new partners, new moves, new fun! It's like musical chairs, but with extra sass and no fighting over seats."

A beat passed, then a chorus of "Ooooh!" and "That actually sounds fun!" filled the room. 

........

The music began to pulse through the Goenka villa, transforming the sacred calm of the pooja space into a vibrant swirl of color and movement. 

Soft yellow fairy lights blinked along the walls, casting golden glows on smiling faces, and the rhythmic thump of a dhol remix filled the air, bouncing off the marble floors and echoing down the hallways like a heartbeat reawakening the house.

In the center of it all, Abhir and Kiara stood facing one another — paired by sheer coincidence or perhaps fate's gentle nudge. Their hands moved in sync with the beat, steps rehearsed from years of family functions and cultural nights, but their eyes told a different story.

hey were locked — not in love, not in longing — but in something stranger. Something unfamiliar. Awkwardness. Distance. A silent conversation that neither knew how to finish, let alone begin. 

Abhir's gaze flickered, unsure, like he wanted to say something but hadn't yet found the right words. Kiara, meanwhile, kept her expression carefully composed, dancing not just to the rhythm of the music, but also to the rhythm of restraint.

Their movements were smooth, graceful even — but lacked the effortless harmony they once shared. The space between them, though small, felt vast, like a dance floor scattered with unsaid apologies and unresolved questions.

Not far away, Samrat spun in place with exaggerated flair, paired — much to both their surprise — with Charu. 

He tried to keep the mood light, throwing in playful steps, nudging her shoulder with his, and winking every now and then. But Charu wasn't paying full attention.

She moved robotically, her smile fixed like a mask that didn't quite reach her eyes. While her body followed Samrat's lead, her eyes often drifted — past him, toward Abhir and Kiara. She watched them dance with a look that was hard to decipher.

 It wasn't jealousy, exactly, nor was it anger. It was something more complex — a cocktail of curiosity, hesitation, and a strange sense of distance that had crept into her heart unnoticed.

he music pulsed around them, a heady blend of beats and tradition, but for a moment, Kiara could barely hear it. 

The world had shrunk down to just the two of them — the subtle thud of her heartbeat, the electric distance between her and Abhir, and the hum of everything unspoken lingering between their eyes.

And then, without warning, Abhir moved.

In a single, smooth motion, he reached for her hand and spun her gently. Kiara's breath hitched as the room blurred around her, her dupatta fluttering in the air like a ribbon caught in the wind.

 She barely had time to catch her balance before her back landed firmly against his chest — not harsh, but enough to jolt her.

Her breath escaped in a soft gasp.

In one seamless movement, his arms slid around her waist — slow, deliberate, like muscle memory he hadn't forgotten. 

His palms rested lightly on her stomach, fingers splayed, drawing her into the circle of his hold. It wasn't a passionate grip, nor was it possessive. It was something far more complicated — cautious, protective, and silently desperate.

Kiara went still, the rhythm of the music replaced by the rhythm of her pulse, loud in her ears. She didn't lean back, didn't relax, but she didn't move away either. She stood frozen in his arms, caught between memory and present, pride and vulnerability.

For a moment, he didn't say a word. His chin hovered just beside her temple, his lips parting as if to speak, but nothing emerged. His fingers gave the slightest, almost imperceptible squeeze, like he was trying to hold on — not just to her, but to something slipping away between them.

And Kiara?

She kept her eyes ahead, fixed on a point beyond the crowd, her expression unreadable. But beneath her composed exterior, her thoughts raced — back to all the times he'd held her like this, and all the times he hadn't when it mattered.

The music played on.

Kiara stood still in his arms, the world around her moving like a carousel of blurred lights and laughter. The music swelled, drums beating like a second heartbeat, but her body ignored it. Her breath hitched, caught between the present and something far older, more fragile — the ache of everything she once hoped their love would be.

She closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.

Maybe, if she shut out the room, the noise, the weight of everyone's eyes — she could feel it again. That spark. 

That elusive flicker of connection she'd been chasing in their marriage like a shadow slipping through her fingers. She wanted to remember what it felt like to be seen by him. Held not just in body, but in spirit.

She tried.

Tried to lean back into him, to surrender, to feel something — anything — besides the stiffness between them. She focused on his arms around her waist, on the rhythm of their bodies almost aligned, on the warmth of his breath near her cheek. Maybe this was a beginning. Maybe things could still be salvaged.

But just as she began to open herself to the possibility, like a cruel twist of fate, her mind betrayed her.

The memory came uninvited.

Unannounced.

Clear as daylight — like a dagger veiled in silk.

Abhir...
In that quiet corner of the garden...
Arms wrapped around Charu.

Not in a friendly pat. Not in a distant, polite embrace.

But close. Intimate. His hand gently cupping the back of Charu's head, her face buried in his chest. His eyes soft, filled with something Kiara hadn't seen directed at her in months. The kind of embrace that wasn't casual. The kind that held secrets.

Kiara's eyes snapped open, the ghost of that memory burning brighter than the lights around them.

The warmth of his hold turned cold in an instant.

Her body tensed in his arms, no longer suspended in the fragile dream of "what if," but grounded sharply in the painful certainty of "what was." Her hands, which had started to lift toward his, now dropped quietly to her sides.

And in that moment, she wasn't in a dance anymore.

She was in a war. With her heart. With her expectations.

With a man who held her like he was trying —
but who had already once held someone else when she needed him most.

The song came to a slow, haunting end — its final note lingering in the air like a question left unanswered. Around the room, laughter returned in waves, and someone from the younger crowd shouted, "Switch!" with a burst of excitement, triggering a round of playful chaos.

The music picked up again, this time lighter, flirtier, faster — a remix of an old Bollywood classic with a cheeky beat and teasing rhythm. The mood in the room shifted along with it. But for Kiara, the switch was anything but playful.

She felt Abhir's hands loosen around her waist, his arms slowly unwrapping as if unsure whether to hold on or let go. Kiara didn't wait. She stepped forward, out of his touch, and into the movement of the crowd, forcing her legs to follow the steps, even as her heart dragged behind.

Just as the tempo lifted, Samrat landed in front of her, swept along by the rhythm and the rules of the game. He gave her an exaggerated bow and flashed a smile that almost masked the flicker of concern in his eyes.

 His voice carried a playful lilt, "My lady, may I have this round of emotional recovery with a touch of swag?" Kiara felt her lips twitch upwards into a small, almost reluctant smile at his over-the-top theatrics. 

She let him take her hand, and as his fingers closed around hers, she couldn't help but notice the stark contrast to the hold she had just shared with Abhir.

 Samrat's hand was warm but light, not pressing her into his space, just holding her there for the dance, giving her the freedom to move without expectation.

 As they began to dance, she allowed herself to relax into the rhythm, focusing on the beat and the movement rather than the confusion and hurt still simmering beneath the surface. 

She laughed quietly at his witty comments, grateful for the distraction, but no matter how much she tried to lose herself in the music, her thoughts kept drifting back to Abhir.

The moment Samrat spun her around, Kiara's eyes inadvertently flicked to the other side of the room. Abhir was now with Charu. She felt the breath catch in her chest before she could even stop herself. They were dancing.

As the music pulsed on, Kiara's eyes remained fixed on Abhir and Charu across the room. Her body was still in motion, turning with Samrat, but her mind was far from the present moment. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the pair in front of her. 

It was as if, despite the chaos of the celebration around them, everything slowed down just for her to witness this quiet, undeniable shift.

At first, they seemed clumsy, a little awkward as they tried to adjust to the rhythm of the dance. But then, something subtle began to happen. Abhir's hand, gently but confidently, found Charu's back, guiding her with a softness Kiara hadn't felt in months.

 Charu's movements became smoother, less hesitant. She leaned into Abhir's guidance, responding to him with a kind of grace that Kiara hadn't seen in her since their marriage.

Kiara blinked, trying to steady herself, to remind herself that this was just a dance. A partner switch.

 Nothing more. But as she watched them, she couldn't ignore the natural chemistry between them — the unspoken ease, the synchrony that came effortlessly between the two of them.

 The way their bodies seemed to align without effort, their steps flowing together as if they'd practiced for hours. It wasn't just the physicality that stood out. There was something deeper, something unspoken in the way they moved together.

 It was as though the dance wasn't just a game to them; it was a reflection of a silent bond, a compatibility Kiara hadn't realized she craved until this very moment.

Kiara tried to focus on the dance with Samrat, but every time she looked at Abhir and Charu, the pit in her stomach deepened. 

She couldn't look away. She couldn't ignore the ache that had begun to grow, an emptiness she hadn't been willing to face before.

 Samrat's voice broke through her thoughts, his words light and teasing as he cracked another joke, but they felt distant, hollow. Kiara smiled politely, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Abhir's eyes flickered briefly over to Samrat and Kiara. The room seemed to slow for a heartbeat as he watched them dance, the way Samrat's hand held Kiara, the easy, carefree smile she wore as she moved with him.

 There was something in the way Samrat held her — not possessively, but with a quiet confidence, a kind of ease that Kiara seemed to respond to without hesitation. The way they moved together was effortless, their steps in sync, their laughter light, as if there was no weight between them at all.

Abhir felt an unexpected twinge in his chest, something dark and bitter. It wasn't just the sight of Kiara in Samrat's arms. It was the realization of what he had lost, what had slipped away from him, and how easily Samrat had seemed to fill that space.

A strange, unwanted wave of jealousy washed over him, sharp and uncomfortable. It was a feeling he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge for so long — the jealousy of someone else getting the attention, the joy, the ease that he once had. He had once been the one to hold Kiara like that, the one who made her laugh in a way that seemed to come so naturally, the one who felt like home to her.

But somewhere, over time, he had lost that. The space between them had only grown, and now, watching her with Samrat, the jealousy felt like a cruel reminder of everything they had lost. The intimacy that had once been his, the easy camaraderie, the simple touch of her hand in his, were now just memories — memories he could never go back to, no matter how hard he tried.

 Kiara, caught in the swirl of movement with Samrat, suddenly misstepped. Her foot twisted awkwardly, and her body lurched off balance. 

For a second, it felt as though time itself had frozen. Her eyes widened in panic as she stumbled, her arms flailing instinctively to grab onto anything that would stop her from falling.

Abhir's heart skipped a beat. His instincts kicked in before his brain could even process what was happening. Without thinking, he tore his gaze away from Charu, the rhythmic dance they had been attempting now forgotten.

 His eyes locked onto Kiara, her body swaying dangerously, her foot caught in the wrong position. A flash of fear ran through him — a fear he hadn't felt in a long time. Without a second thought, Abhir pushed Charu aside, his steps fast and sure as he rushed toward Kiara.

No, no, no... His mind screamed as he sprinted across the room, every part of him focused solely on Kiara, the woman he had once promised to protect, the woman he had failed to support in so many ways. As he moved, the world blurred, his only thought to reach her before she hit the ground.

But in the split second before he could reach her, a different pair of hands caught Kiara. Samrat, faster than Abhir had anticipated, was already there. 

His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her securely just as her knees buckled beneath her. With a smooth, practiced motion, he steadied her, pulling her upright and holding her close, preventing her from crashing to the floor.

Kiara blinked, disoriented, as Samrat's arms supported her. Her breath hitched for a moment, the shock of the near fall still rattling her. 

She looked up, meeting Samrat's concerned eyes. His expression was gentle, filled with genuine worry. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low and soothing, as he made sure she was steady on her feet.

Kiara nodded quickly, still trying to regain her balance. But all the while, her mind raced. She had felt Abhir's presence — had seen him rushing toward her — but it was Samrat who had caught her.

Abhir stopped in his tracks just a few feet away, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the rush of adrenaline. His face was tense, his expression a mix of frustration and helplessness. 

He had seen the moment unfolding — had felt that familiar sense of urgency to protect her. But it wasn't him who had been able to do it this time. Samrat had been faster, more in tune with the situation, more present. The bitter taste of jealousy mixed with a lingering guilt settled in his gut.

Samrat looked over at Abhir, his brow furrowing slightly as if sensing the shift in the air. His protective instinct had kicked in, but now, there was something else between the three of them — something unspoken. Kiara, still recovering from the shock, offered a faint smile, trying to brush off the situation as a mere accident. "I'm fine. Thanks, Samrat."

Charu had been dancing, her movements stiff, her focus on Abhir's every gesture. She wasn't oblivious to the tension between him and Kiara, the way their bodies had once moved together so effortlessly but now felt distant, strained. 

The coldness between them was palpable, a silent presence in the room that only seemed to grow as the night wore on. She'd noticed it before — how Abhir would glance at Kiara when they were near each other, the flicker of something complicated in his eyes, something Charu couldn't quite place. 

Was it regret? Guilt? Or perhaps just the weight of the growing distance between him and his wife? She couldn't be sure, but she could feel it, like an undercurrent in the air.

But now, her attention was drawn elsewhere.

As the music continued, Charu's gaze was caught by Kiara and Samrat. She had seen the playful, light-hearted dance between them, but her focus shifted when Kiara, misstepping, suddenly lost her balance. Charu felt her own heart lurch in her chest as Kiara began to fall, her body tilting dangerously. The crowd around them gasped, and Charu's breath caught in her throat. In that split second, her gaze flicked to Abhir.

His face tightened, his body tensing. Without a second thought, he started to move toward Kiara. Charu had been focused on the dance steps, but now she couldn't look away. She saw the raw panic in Abhir's eyes, the same panic she had felt countless times when she had feared for him or someone she cared about. He was running — running toward Kiara without a thought for himself, his instinct to protect kicking in before anything else.

But before he could reach her, Samrat was there. His arms wrapped around Kiara, steadying her, pulling her up with an ease that Abhir hadn't managed.

Charu's eyes followed the sequence of events with a growing sense of unease, her focus divided between the dance and the unfolding moment between Abhir and Kiara. 

Everything had happened so quickly — the misstep, the sudden loss of balance, the flash of panic in Kiara's eyes as she teetered dangerously.

 But it was Abhir's reaction that caught Charu off guard. She had seen him rush to Kiara's side without a second thought, his body moving as if on instinct, as if nothing else mattered but getting to her, protecting her, before she hit the ground.

The way Abhir ran — so urgently, so completely focused on Kiara, as if she was the only person in the room, made a sharp pang of something unfamiliar twist in Charu's chest.

For a split second, she almost wanted to reach out and stop him, to make him look at her, to remind him that she was there too. But she couldn't. She couldn't deny what she saw — his focus wasn't on her. 

It wasn't on the woman who had always been there for him, the one who had cared for him, supported him. No, it was Kiara — the woman he was still bound to, the woman he had never called his own.

The commotion had just begun to settle. The music had faded into a softer, slower beat, and the crowd had started to turn their attention elsewhere.

 But Kiara's mind was still spinning. Her fall had been minor, just a misstep during a spin, but the aftermath lingered — not just in her mind, but now pulsing in her ankle with a dull, insistent ache.

She took a cautious step forward, hoping to shake it off, to prove to herself and everyone watching that she was fine. 

But the moment her weight shifted onto her right foot, a sharp, piercing pain radiated from her ankle, shooting up her leg. Her breath hitched. Her face tightened, and she stumbled slightly again, biting her lower lip to suppress the cry of pain that nearly escaped.

Samrat reached out instinctively, still standing by her side, but before he could touch her again, another presence emerged from behind him.

Abhir.

Without hesitation, without asking, without a single word, Abhir stepped forward, pushing past whatever invisible line had formed between them. His eyes locked onto Kiara's face — the way she winced, the way she tried so hard to look unaffected. 

But he saw through it. He always had. And in that moment, there was no awkwardness, no audience, no broken history between them. There was just her — hurt — and him — the man who still, despite everything, couldn't bear to see her in pain.

Without waiting for another second, Abhir bent down and carefully scooped Kiara into his arms, one hand securely behind her knees, the other supporting her back. She gasped quietly at the sudden gesture, her fingers instinctively gripping the fabric of his kurta. 

Her body tensed — not just from the pain radiating through her ankle but from the proximity, the way his heartbeat echoed against her side, steady and unshaken, like it used to.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the guests, their eyes trailing after the couple as Abhir stood tall, cradling Kiara effortlessly. 

The weight of his hold wasn't just physical — it was emotional, a wave of protectiveness washing over him as he looked down at her face, still pinched with pain despite her brave front.

Samrat, who had been by her side only moments ago, stepped slightly back, his hand still hovering in the air, unsure whether to offer help or stay away.

Abhir's gaze didn't waver. His jaw tightened just enough to be noticed. And then, with his voice low but unwavering, he said, "I'm her husband. I can take care of her."

The words cut through the air, subtle but firm — a declaration layered with many things: pride, possessiveness, pain. It wasn't a challenge, but it wasn't just a statement either. It was a reminder. A line being drawn.

Samrat didn't respond immediately. He met Abhir's eyes with a calm neutrality, but there was something flickering behind it — something unreadable.

 He gave a small nod, the kind that acknowledged both the truth and the distance. He stepped aside without protest, though the tension lingered between them like smoke after a flame.

Kiara felt the shift too — not just in their postures, but in the air, in the energy that passed like a current from Abhir to Samrat and back again. Her eyes moved from one man to the other, then dropped to Abhir's collarbone, where she focused to calm the racing of her heart.

She hadn't expected him to say it. I'm her husband. The words shouldn't have meant anything — not after everything that had happened between them — but they did. They meant something because, in that moment, they didn't sound like duty. They sounded like a claim. A truth he still held onto, whether or not he admitted it out loud.

Abhir adjusted his grip, holding her closer as he turned, his eyes still scanning her expression for signs of discomfort. 

"Let's get you off that foot," he said gently, his tone softer now, for her ears only. And without another glance at anyone, he carried her out of the room, leaving behind a silence filled with shifting emotions, questioning stares, and hearts beginning to crack.

Behind them, Samrat stood still, his arms falling to his sides slowly. And a few steps away, Charu watched everything — the way Abhir had looked at Samrat, the way he had claimed Kiara in front of everyone, and most of all, the way he hadn't once looked back at her.

,,,,,

As night settled over the Goenka Villa, the lights glowed warm and golden, spilling across the marbled halls and casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the ones creeping into everyone's hearts. 

The Poddars had decided to stay the night, given the hour and Kiara's injury. Swarna had insisted, and even Manisha had nodded in agreement, masking concern behind her usual fussing. No one had objected — not even Kiara.

Dinner was being served in the grand dining room, the long table dressed in rich, embroidered runners and fine crockery. The aroma of freshly made dal makhani, jeera rice, and soft phulkas filled the air, mingling with the chatter of extended family trying to ease the tension left behind by the earlier events.

Then came a pause. A gentle hush.

All eyes turned to the hallway as Abhir emerged slowly, his tall frame walking with deliberate care — not for himself, but for the woman beside him.

Kiara.

She leaned against him, her hand resting lightly on his forearm, while his other hand was placed protectively on the small of her back. 

She wasn't limping anymore — because Abhir made sure she didn't have to. He matched her every step with quiet precision, guiding her forward with the kind of focus that spoke volumes louder than words ever could.

He walked slightly ahead, shielding her subtly, as though the very walls might bump into her. Kiara didn't speak, but her eyes flickered upward toward him now and then, trying to read his expression. He was calm, composed — but something had changed. His silence wasn't distant anymore. It carried a weight. A purpose.

The guests parted instinctively to make way for them.

At the dining table, Swarna stood first, smiling gently, trying to lighten the moment. "Aajao beta, yahaan baith jao," she said, pointing to the cushioned seat pulled out specially for Kiara.

Abhir guided her down with utmost care, crouching slightly as she sat, making sure her injured foot was properly supported. Once she was settled, he sat beside her — close enough that his arm brushed hers every time he moved.

From across the table, Samrat looked up — his spoon paused midair. His expression didn't falter, but his eyes held something different now. Observant. Quiet. Watching. While next to him, Charu stirred her glass of water without drinking, her smile practiced, though her thoughts were miles away.

The dinner table buzzed softly with conversation — distant laughter, clinking cutlery, and murmured exchanges between relatives. But for Kiara and Abhir, the noise around them felt strangely muffled, like they were sitting in a bubble of their own stillness.

Kiara sat upright, her posture poised despite the faint ache in her ankle. She had managed to keep her discomfort masked behind small smiles and the occasional sip of warm dal. Abhir, still seated beside her, had remained attentively quiet, glancing at her every few moments — not intrusively, but watchfully. As if keeping count of every breath she took, every wince she tried to hide.

After a while, he leaned in slightly, just enough that his voice wouldn't carry beyond her ears. His tone was gentle, careful, yet strangely formal. "You're fine now, Kiara?" he asked, not quite meeting her eyes — not because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't sure how much of her he was still allowed to read.

There was something in the way he said her name — a strange softness wrapped in unfamiliar distance. Kiara turned her head slightly, eyes flickering to his before quickly looking down at her plate. A pause stretched between them — a pause that felt heavier than it should have.

She gave a small nod, her voice steady, even graceful. "Ji," she replied.

Kiara didn't look at him again. Instead, she reached for her water, sipping it slowly, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular. But inside her, everything churned. The word had slipped out more out of instinct than design, yet the moment it left her lips, she had felt the impact. And judging by the silence that followed, so had he.

Abhir sat back slowly in his chair, his eyes now on the bowl of rice in front of him, but his thoughts miles away. The formality stung more than he wanted to admit — not because she owed him warmth, but because he had once been the man she used to speak to with familiarity, with laughter, with spark. And now, he was just a formality.

.............

The villa had slowly sunk into a hushed calm. The clatter of dishes had faded, laughter had died down, and the flickering diyas that once danced in every corner now cast mellow shadows across the hallways. 

Guests had retired to their rooms, the sounds of slippers against marble floors disappearing one by one. The air was thick with the residue of the evening — joy, tension, longing — all woven together in silence.

Abhir walked down the corridor, his steps slow but deliberate. He wasn't headed anywhere specific — just away. Away from the room where Kiara had been seated. Away from the eyes that had watched him carry her. Away from his own thoughts, which now refused to be silenced.

He hadn't expected the night to unravel the way it had. Kiara's fall. His instinct to run to her. The way she'd looked at him. The way he'd felt. And the weight of Charu's lingering silence ever since.

But he didn't get far.

"Abhir."

Her voice came from behind him, quiet but sharp enough to stop him in his tracks. He turned slightly, and there she was — Charu. Still dressed in her light pink silk suit, her earrings gone, her hair slightly loosened now. The softness of her appearance didn't match the edge in her voice.

He stood still, not saying a word, waiting. Charu walked up to him slowly, her eyes searching his face — for what, even she didn't know.

A part of her had rehearsed this confrontation in her mind, but now that she was standing in front of him, words came out raw, unrehearsed.

"Kya kar rahe ho, Abhir?" she asked, her voice calm but hollow, like something inside her had been quietly breaking all evening.

"Kya kar rahe ho, Abhir?" she asked, her voice low, flat, stripped of its usual warmth. "Kya ho gaya tumhe aaj?"

He didn't answer right away, his brows knitting slightly as he tried to read what lay behind her calm exterior.

Charu stepped forward, her eyes searching his face, her voice gaining weight. "Kiara ki itni fikar kyun? Tum toh kehte the ki tum uske liye kuch feel nahi karte... Yaad hai? Tumne khud kaha tha. Toh aaj... woh sab kyun? Uske aas-paas tumhara andaz badal kyun jaata hai?"

Abhir stood rooted to the marble floor, his breath caught somewhere between guilt and confusion. Charu's question still lingered in the silence between them, like a candle flickering in a windless room. "Kiara ki itni fikar kyun? Tum toh kehte the ki tum uske liye kuch feel nahi karte..."

He didn't move. Didn't speak. Because the truth was — he didn't know what to say.

Not because he was hiding something, but because he didn't understand it himself.

Why had jealousy flared in his chest like a silent fire when Samrat held Kiara? Why had he instinctively run to her, as if pulled by something deeper than logic? 

Why had his heart clenched the moment he saw her in pain — as if it wasn't her ankle that had twisted, but something inside him? The confusion churned within him, a whirlpool of emotions he had long buried under the illusion of closure.

Abhir's gaze remained lowered, his jaw tight, his hands restless at his sides. The silence between him and Charu stretched long and thick, broken only by the distant hum of night and the weight of things unspoken. 

His throat worked to form words — an excuse, an explanation, a denial — but nothing came out. Nothing honest, at least.

Charu stood in front of him, eyes shimmering with an emotion too tangled to name — part hurt, part love, part helplessness. Abhir looked so lost, so torn, as if he were drowning in a sea of feelings he couldn't name or control. And despite the ache clawing at her heart, despite every instinct telling her to turn away, to protect her own pride — she stepped forward.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him.

It wasn't a sudden movement, or a dramatic one — it was slow, hesitant, as though even the embrace was asking for permission. Her arms slipped around his waist, her cheek resting gently against his chest. He didn't move at first. His body remained stiff, shocked by the touch. But she held on anyway — not demanding a response, only offering a moment of stillness in the storm raging between them.

Abhir's arms remained by his sides, but his chest rose sharply, the weight of her gesture sinking into him. There was no anger in her hug. No accusations. Just silent questions. Don't you see me? Don't you feel what I feel? Am I the only one still holding on?

Her voice, muffled against him, came out in a whisper — broken and soft. "Main bas... tumhe khone nahi chahti, Abhir."

That single sentence pierced through him deeper than any confrontation could.

As Charu held him, her arms soft and pleading, something flickered in the back of Abhir's mind. It was like a whisper — faint, but impossible to ignore. "Kya main aapke liye kuch nahi hun, Abhir?"

His heart skipped a beat. The words weren't hers, not really, but they felt like they were. He heard Kiara's voice so clearly in his mind — fragile, vulnerable, tinged with that old sadness. He could almost picture her standing there, the same way she had so many times before, waiting for him to acknowledge her. Waiting for him to care.

But she wasn't here. She hadn't spoken those words just now. It was all in his head, a memory, a haunting echo of their past. The question, so simple and yet so heavy, made his chest tighten painfully. It was as though Kiara had never truly let go, even if he had.

He felt Charu's arms around him, felt the warmth of her presence — yet, it was Kiara's voice that seemed to drown out everything else. Why do I care so much about her pain? Why does her absence affect me like this?

Abhir pulled back slightly from Charu, his breath unsteady. His eyes, lost and searching, scanned the empty space as if expecting Kiara to step out of the shadows. But there was no one. Just the quiet, the stillness, and the ache inside him that refused to fade.

"Kiara..." he whispered under his breath, his voice laced with regret and confusion.

Charu didn't hear it. Or maybe she did, but chose to remain silent, sensing something had shifted — something deep inside him that was no longer easy to ignore. Her arms fell away, and she took a small step back, giving him space.

Abhir felt the weight of both women in his life pressing down on him. He had no answers to give Charu, no clarity to offer. But Kiara's voice, her question, it hung between them — loud and haunting.

Why did he feel like he was losing something he hadn't even known he was holding onto?

 ..................

Abhir stood there, staring at the empty space before him, as though he could somehow will Kiara to appear. Her voice — faint, yet so clear — continued to reverberate in his mind, leaving an ache he couldn't explain. He rubbed his temple, a sense of dread creeping into his chest, as though something was breaking inside him that he wasn't ready to confront.

Charu, sensing his withdrawal, took a cautious step back, her eyes watching him with a mixture of concern and hurt. The quiet between them stretched longer, thick with unsaid words. She hadn't expected him to pull away like this, but something about the way he whispered Kiara's name had pierced through the carefully constructed walls of their relationship.

Abhir stood there for a moment longer, his mind spinning with thoughts he couldn't catch, emotions he couldn't name.

But none of it mattered in that moment. All he could feel was the restless confusion, the ache that had been building ever since he'd seen Kiara stumble, seen her pain. And he didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know how to reconcile the past with the present, the hurt with the hope, or how to silence the voice inside him telling him that something was missing.

Without another word, without acknowledging Charu's presence, Abhir turned on his heel and walked away.

His footsteps echoed down the corridor, each step louder than the last, and with every inch of distance between them, the weight of his silence seemed to deepen.

Charu watched him go, her heart sinking with every passing moment. The finality of his departure hit her hard, like a cold slap in the face. 

She had expected so much — answers, reassurance, maybe even a glimpse of the man she thought she knew. But what she was left with now felt like betrayal.

She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected him to walk away from her so easily, as though their conversation meant nothing at all. 

Her hands trembled slightly as she stood still in the hallway, staring at the empty space he had just vacated. The ache in her chest grew, and with it came the sharp sting of realization — maybe, just maybe, she wasn't the one he was running toward. 

Kiara.

Standing behind the pillar, her eyes wide, filled with a mixture of emotions too complicated to name. She had witnessed everything. Every word, every silence, every step Abhir had taken away from Charu.

The silence between them felt too loud, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air. Abhir's retreating figure was like a physical blow — a reminder of everything she had tried to ignore, everything she had tried to bury beneath the surface.

Her eyes followed him as he disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, his back turned, his posture stiff with confusion and something else — something she couldn't quite place. Charu remained frozen for a moment, her face unreadable, before slowly retreating into the silence as well, the air thick with the quiet aftermath of what had just transpired.

Kiara, unable to bear witnessing any more of it, took a step back, her movements careful and deliberate, ensuring she wouldn't be noticed.

 Her chest ached as she turned to leave, the weight of what she had just seen settling heavily on her shoulders. As she walked away, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, none of them clear, none of them easy to understand.

But there was one feeling that stood out, clear and unmistakable. It was the same feeling she had experienced days ago when she had seen Abhir and Charu together, laughing, smiling softly at one another — a bond that she could never quite touch, a connection that seemed to pull Abhir further away from her with each passing moment.

 It was the same feeling she had buried deep within her heart: the quiet, suffocating realization that Abhir was slowly slipping away from her life.

She knew that Charu felt it too. The ache that lingered in the silence after Abhir's departure wasn't just hers alone. It was something both of them shared — a feeling of loss, of separation, of realizing that someone you once thought would always be by your side was no longer truly there.

Kiara's steps grew slower as she reached her room, each footfall echoing with the same emptiness she had felt when she saw Abhir with Charu. That hollow ache, like a void inside her, seemed to grow with every passing day.

 And no matter how hard she tried to hold onto the past, to cling to the love that once felt so real, it seemed to slip through her fingers like sand.

The door to her room clicked shut behind her, but it did little to silence the storm inside her. She leaned against the door, her chest tight with the weight of the emotions she couldn't quite make sense of.

...............

Abhir sat in the garden, the cool night air brushing against his face, but it did little to soothe the storm raging inside him. 

His gaze wandered aimlessly over the manicured lawn, the soft rustling of the leaves almost mocking the confusion swirling in his chest. He could hear the faint sounds of laughter and chatter from inside the villa, but they felt distant, far removed from the chaos in his mind.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there. The night seemed to stretch on, each minute heavy with unanswered questions and emotional exhaustion. 

His thoughts, like a broken record, kept replaying the same scenes over and over — his moments with Charu, his moments with Kiara, the way both of them had shaped his life in ways he couldn't even begin to understand.

Charu...

She had been his first love, his anchor before everything had fallen apart. He had loved her with an intensity that had consumed him, believed in a future that had seemed so certain. But life, as it often did, had other plans. 

Charu had left him, walking away at the most crucial moment. And while it had shattered him, it also created a gap — a void that needed to be filled.

Kiara had entered his life after that. She wasn't supposed to be the one to heal him, to fix the broken pieces that Charu had left behind.

 But somehow, over time, she had. She had been there when he needed someone, when he was at his lowest, and though it hadn't always been easy, Kiara had stood by him. She had given him space to heal, allowed him to find his footing again. 

And even when things had been difficult between them, when the distance between them seemed too wide, she never truly gave up.

Kiara had made the effort. She had tried. In ways he hadn't even seen at first, she had given him her time, her patience, and her love. She had stood by him, even when it was easier to walk away.

And yet, when Charu came back into his life, when the past resurfaced like a wave crashing on the shore, Abhir found himself caught between two worlds. Charu was his first love, the woman he had thought he would spend his life with. 

She was the one who had held his heart before everything went wrong. And when she returned, when she reached out to him again, something inside him shifted. The emotions that had been buried deep within him for so long began to resurface.

Kiara had always been there, steady, unwavering. But Charu? Charu was different. She was the woman who had first captured his heart. The one he had been willing to fight for, the one he had thought he could never live without. And now, standing at the crossroads of the past and the present, Abhir made his choice.

He chose Charu. He chose the familiar ache of the past, the uncertainty, the warmth that had once existed between them. He chose to betray the one person who had shown him nothing but love, nothing but devotion.

Kiara.

He didn't see it then — how much his decision would hurt her, how much his betrayal would scar her. She had trusted him, had given him all of herself, and in return, he had chosen the past.

 He had kept her in the dark, never truly explaining his feelings, never truly telling her the truth. Instead, he had let her believe that everything was fine, that they were moving forward, when in reality, he was already slipping away from her, consumed by the pull of the past.

When Kiara stopped trying — when she stopped making those efforts, when she pulled back and started to build walls around her heart — that's when he saw it. 

That's when it hit him so clearly, so painfully. He saw the distance growing between them, the hurt in her eyes that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. He had chosen Charu, but in doing so, he had lost Kiara. And now, she was walking away from him, piece by piece, just as he had walked away from her in silence.

The truth stung more than he could have imagined. He had never seen the depth of Kiara's love until she stopped showing it. He had never realized how much she had invested in him, in their relationship, until it was too late.

 Until she had given up. And now, when he looked at her, he saw a stranger — someone distant, someone who had once been so close, but now, was pulling away in the quietest way possible.

Abhir's heart twisted in agony as he thought about the moment when he had chosen Charu. He had known it would hurt Kiara, but he hadn't understood the extent of the pain. He hadn't understood how much it would shatter the trust between them, how much it would change everything. 

Now, it was all too clear. He had betrayed her — not just by choosing Charu, but by letting her believe in something that was never real. By allowing her to love him, while he had been somewhere else all along.

Abhir lay curled up on the grass, his body tense, his mind too loud with thoughts to quiet the turmoil inside him. The night air bit at his skin, but it didn't matter. The cold seemed like a distant echo to the storm raging within him. 

He could feel the weight of everything — his decision, his betrayal, the aching emptiness that now surrounded him. His heart felt heavy, like it was drowning in regret and confusion, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to rise, couldn't bring himself to face what he had done.

A single tear slipped from his eye, falling silently onto the grass beneath him. He didn't want it, didn't want to feel this way. 

He had tried to convince himself for so long that he had made the right choice — that his love for Charu was something that couldn't be denied. But now, lying there in the cold, alone with his thoughts, the truth felt different. The truth felt raw.

He wasn't sure what hurt more — the pain of losing Kiara, or the realization that he had chosen the past over a future that could have been so much more. In his mind, he had never expected things to turn out this way.

 He had always thought he would be able to fix everything, to somehow make things work with Charu, and in the process, push away the one person who had loved him unconditionally. The one person who had never given up on him, but now was giving up.

His chest tightened, and the tear fell without permission, streaking down his face. It was a tear of regret, of sorrow, of everything he had lost and everything he had failed to protect. He closed his eyes, but that only seemed to make the ache deeper, sharper.

...........

Meanwhile, Kiara stood by her window, her gaze fixed on the figure lying in the garden below. The cold night air brushed against her skin, but it did little to numb the ache inside her chest. She watched him — Abhir — curled up on the grass, as if the world around him didn't exist.

 Her heart clenched as she took in the scene, and something inside her shifted. She had never expected to see him like this. He looked broken, fragile in a way she had never seen before.

The truth she had been avoiding, the truth that had been settling in her heart for days, suddenly felt too real to deny. 

She had known, deep down, that Abhir was struggling with something — that he was torn between her and Charu. But seeing him like this, seeing the weight of his choice crashing down on him, brought a strange sense of clarity to her own feelings.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of the curtain as she watched him. She had stopped trying to reach him, stopped making the effort to fix something that he clearly didn't want fixed. 

But seeing him now, lying there in the dark, she wondered if he was starting to realize what he had lost. 

She had given him everything — her love, her trust, her heart — and in return, he had chosen someone else. Someone from his past. And yet, here he was, broken and lost, his own feelings tangled in a way that mirrored her own.

Kiara's heart ached as she stood there, her eyes fixed on Abhir's form in the garden below. She couldn't quite understand the conflicting emotions that stirred within her.

 A part of her told her that he deserved this — that he needed to feel the weight of the betrayal he had caused, to understand the depth of the pain he had inflicted on her. She had longed for him to feel what she had felt, to grasp the reality of her heartbreak and confusion.

And yet, seeing him curled up on the grass, so vulnerable, so lost, made her chest tighten in ways she hadn't expected. She wanted to be angry, to feel vindicated in her suffering, but instead, all she felt was an overwhelming wave of sympathy for him.

Her thoughts were a tangled mess. Why does this hurt so much? she asked herself. Why do I feel this way after everything he's done? She had been the one who had tried to give him everything — love, trust, support — and in return, he had chosen someone else. He had left her in the shadows, cast aside, even as she had stood by him through everything.

But now, seeing him in this state, seeing him as broken as she had been, something inside her softened. This isn't how I wanted him to feel, she thought quietly.

A lone tear slipped down her cheek, a tear she hadn't meant to shed, a tear that reflected her confusion and the pain she still carried. She had told herself over and over that she was strong, that she could walk away from him without looking back. 

But in this moment, seeing him lying there in agony, she couldn't ignore the part of her that still cared, the part of her that had loved him so deeply and still wasn't sure how to let go.

..................

As Kiara stood by the bed, her fingers clutching the edge of the blanket, her conscience stirred — firm, resolute, louder than the storm of emotions inside her.

"He needs to apologize, Kiara," it whispered, almost like a voice from deep within her chest. "Don't back down now. He needs to understand what he's done."

She froze. The voice was steady, a reflection of all the strength she had gathered over the past weeks. 

Every tear she had cried in silence, every night she had lain awake wondering why she wasn't enough, every moment she had smiled in front of others while breaking inside — it had all led to this point. She had swallowed her pain, made excuses for his indifference, convinced herself that perhaps her love had just come at the wrong time.

But no more.

Kiara exhaled shakily. She had almost gone to him. Almost opened the door, walked down the stairs, and kneeled beside him like she used to — always the one to pick up the pieces, always the one to put him before herself. But something had shifted tonight. Something deep and final.

She realized she didn't want him to just feel her pain. She wanted him to understand it. To face it. To earn the right to be forgiven — if that day ever came.

She deserved an apology. Not one wrapped in guilt or hesitation, not one out of pity or realization too late — but one born from true accountability. From him finally looking at her, really looking at her, and seeing the woman who had loved him without measure — and whom he had taken for granted.

"Don't go to him, Kiara. Not this time," the voice echoed within her again, gentler now. "Let him come to you. Let him walk through the fire you once crossed alone. Let him feel the distance he created."

A tear slid down her cheek, but this one was different. It wasn't for him — it was for her. For the woman who had finally stopped bending just to be seen. For the woman who now stood tall, even if her heart still trembled.

She pulled the curtain shut softly and stepped away from the window, choosing, for the first time, not to chase him. Not to fix what he broke.

Tonight, Abhir would sit with his choices. And maybe, just maybe, he'd begin to understand the true cost of losing someone who had loved him through it all.