Kiara turned on her heels with a sharp, deliberate motion, her movements crisp and unyielding. Her shoulders were rigid, drawn back in a posture that screamed control, but beneath the surface, her heart thundered. Her head remained high, chin lifted with pride and dignity, not to hide her pain, but to command it—refusing to let it show.

Each step she took away from him echoed through the quiet temple courtyard, her gait poised and confident, as if she were walking into a future she had chosen for herself. But Abhir knew better. He could feel the unspoken heartbreak in every determined footfall.

He stood there, unmoving, his eyes following her retreating figure with a hollow gaze. She wasn’t just walking away from a sacred place—they’d both stood there once, full of hope and dreams—she was walking away from everything they had shared, and from him. From his life. And he was letting her.

His chest tightened, the ache almost unbearable, but he forced himself to stay composed. Their families stood nearby, watching the scene unfold in heavy silence, and he could feel their gazes, their judgments, the weight of expectation pressing on his shoulders.

He finally turned away too, trying to mask the turmoil brewing inside him. But the control he had clung to for so long cracked in that moment. The tears he had been holding back spilled over, hot and relentless, like floodgates finally giving way. They streamed down his face, silent witnesses to the pain he could no longer hide.

This is what he wanted. Or so he had told himself. That she would leave. That he would push her away for her own good, for his peace, for whatever reason he had convinced himself of. But now that she had actually done it—now that she had chosen to walk away—it hurt more than he ever thought possible. The finality of her departure carved through him like a blade.

Why did it ache so much?

Wasn’t this what he wanted?

Then why did it feel like he was losing a part of himself?

Charu stood still, her heart a battlefield of guilt, longing, and regret, as she looked between the man she had once loved—Abhir—and her sister, Kiara, who was now his wife.

The same Abhir who had once looked at her with wonder, whose presence had once quickened her breath. But that was a different lifetime, a different story—one that should’ve ended long ago.

And yet, here they all were, entangled in a mess that had rewritten every bond between them.

Her gaze lingered on Abhir for a moment longer, watching the way he stared at Kiara’s retreating back like a man who had just realized what he had lost. He looked hollow, as if something essential had been carved out of him, and only now was he beginning to feel the emptiness. But Charu’s attention shifted quickly—almost painfully—to her sister.

Kiara. The one she had betrayed.

Charu’s throat tightened as she took in the image: Kiara walking away, her spine straight, her steps graceful and unwavering. Her head held high, not from pride, but from a refusal to let the world see her break. Yet Charu could feel it—Kiara’s heartbreak, the shattering silence between each footstep. It reverberated through the air, a pain too familiar, one that Charu knew too well.

Because once, she had walked away like that too.

Once, she had been the woman holding back tears with trembling lips and a forced smile. Once, she had tasted the bitterness of sacrifice gone unnoticed, of love unreturned, of efforts that only led to silence. She had felt the sting of being left behind.

And now, watching her sister—her strong, loyal sister—leave with that same ache buried beneath layers of strength, Charu’s heart twisted with a guilt that words could never redeem.

She had been the cause of this. Whether directly or not, she had played a part in Kiara’s downfall. And still, Kiara walked away with dignity, not blaming anyone, not begging for anything—just... leaving. Leaving them all to face the consequences of what they'd allowed to happen.

Charu blinked back her own tears, swallowing the apology that would never be enough. The one person who had loved her unconditionally had walked away—again.

And this time, Charu wasn’t sure anyone deserved to follow her.

..........

"Tune accha nahi kiya, Abhir," Manish’s voice cracked through the heavy silence, filled with disappointment and sorrow. His eyes, usually soft with affection for his grandson, now burned with restrained anger. "Kya tujhe uss bacchi ka pyaar kabhi dikha hi nahi? Kitni takleefein uthayi usne tere liye—har waqt, har mod par. Lekin ek baar bhi usne shikayat nahi ki. Ek ‘uff’ tak nahi ki usne."

He paused, his voice trembling with emotion. "Tune uss bacchi ka dil todkar bohot galat kiya hai."

The words echoed in the room, bouncing off walls heavy with unspoken truths. Everyone around had fallen silent, sensing the weight of the moment. But Abhir didn’t respond. He didn’t argue. He didn’t even flinch.

He just stood there, silent and still, as though rooted to the ground by the gravity of his own mistakes. His eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance—unmoving, unfocused—as if he could still see Kiara’s figure fading away. A dull ache pulsed in his chest, but he said nothing. What could he say now that would make any difference?

Manish stepped closer, the pain of watching his family crumble etched deeply into his features. He had tried everything—spoken, pleaded, even shouted at times—to make Abhir see the truth. To remind him of the girl who had given him everything without expecting anything in return. The girl who had loved him selflessly, protected him fiercely, and walked away silently when all he gave her was silence in return.

But Abhir’s lips remained sealed, his jaw tight, and his eyes clouded with unshed tears. The remorse was there—it was written all over his face. But it had come too late.

Kiara was gone.

And this silence—this unbearable silence—was his punishment.

.....

Abhir sat motionless under the steady stream of the shower, fully clothed, soaked to the bone. The water poured over him—hot, relentless—but he felt nothing. Not the scalding burn on his skin, nor the chill of the marble floor beneath him. His body was numb. Detached. As if all his senses had shut down, except one—the ache in his chest.

In his trembling hands, he clutched Kiara’s mangalsutra.

It lay coiled between his fingers, its gold chain cold and lifeless now, just like the space she had once filled in his life. The same sacred thread that once symbolized their bond, their marriage, now mocked him with its silence.

Her words echoed through his mind on a loop, each syllable like a knife carving deeper into his soul.

“I hate you, Abhir.”

He had seen the fire in her eyes, the pain behind her anger, and the way her hands had trembled when she tore off the mangalsutra and flung it at him. That moment—the sharp sound of it hitting the floor, the finality in her voice—was the moment something inside him broke.

She hated him.

The girl who had once looked at him with unwavering love, who had sacrificed her happiness for him time and again, who had never demanded anything but his presence—she now hated him.

And that was what truly mattered.

Not the arguments. Not the distance. Not even her walking away.

It was her hatred that burned through him, hotter than the water pounding against his skin.

He pressed the mangalsutra to his forehead, his tears mixing with the shower stream, indistinguishable from the water that drenched him. But inside, he was breaking—quietly, completely.

She had left.

And she had taken everything with her.

He wished he could go back in time and undo everything.

Every word he didn’t say. Every moment he let her feel unloved. Every time she stood alone while he turned away. If time could be rewritten, he would go back—not to the day they got married, not even to the day she fell in love with him—but to the first time he looked at her and chose silence over truth.

He would hold her hand tighter.

He would choose her louder.

He would never let her carry the weight of love alone.

But now, all he had was a handful of memories and the mangalsutra that no longer held meaning. Just a hollow chain and a heart full of regrets. He tightened his grip around it, as if holding it hard enough might somehow bring her back.

But she was gone.

And wishing for the past wouldn’t bring her back. Just like love unspoken, it was always a second too late.

The water finally slowed to a trickle, but Abhir still sat there, soaked and shivering, as if time had forgotten him too. The bathroom was silent now, except for the faint clink of the mangalsutra in his hand. His fingers had gone numb, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

He leaned his head back against the cold marble wall, eyes closed, heart pounding with everything he should’ve done.

Should’ve said.

Should’ve felt when it mattered.

Flashes of her face came unbidden—smiling softly in the early mornings when she’d bring him tea; waiting up for him, night after night, just for a glimpse, a word, a touch. The little sacrifices she made so effortlessly. The ones he never acknowledged. The moments he brushed her off, the times he let silence stand where comfort should have.

And then her final words. Her voice breaking as she screamed, “I hate you, Abhir!”
He had never known words could slice through bone.

For the first time, he whispered aloud, to no one but the air:
"I broke her. And in doing that... I broke myself too."

The bathroom door creaked open, the sound barely audible over the steady stream of water.

Abhir didn’t look up—his head hung low, eyes fixed on the floor, the weight of his guilt anchoring him to the cold marble. He heard the footsteps, slow and deliberate, approaching him with quiet intensity.

“Upar dekhiye, Abhir,” the voice came—gentle, steady, and heartbreakingly familiar.

He lifted his gaze.

And there she was—Kiara.

The woman he had broken.

She stood before him, soaked in the falling water, her saree clinging to her frame, her hair damp and cascading down her shoulders. But it was her eyes that held him still—eyes filled with a storm of emotions: pain, betrayal, longing, and something dangerously close to love... or what remained of it.

He stood, slowly, almost mechanically, as if his body moved only because she willed it to.

Without a word, she stepped forward and closed the distance between them. Her hand pressed flat against his chest, grounding him with that single touch as she pinned him lightly to the wall behind him. The water soaked them both, but neither flinched.

“Kyun kiya aapne aesa?” she asked, her voice heavy with grief, her breath growing uneven. Her eyes searched his face for answers he hadn’t yet found the courage to give.

She rose onto her toes, trying to meet his height, refusing to be small in this moment. Then she leaned in, gently pressing her forehead to his, her touch trembling with emotion.

“Kya sach jaanne ka haq nahi tha mujhe?” she whispered, the crack in her voice echoing louder than any scream could.

As she moved even closer, Abhir reached out instinctively, his hands wrapping around her arms—firm yet gentle—afraid she might slip away again. Her other hand rested on his chest now, over his heart, as if trying to feel something still beating there, something that once belonged to her.

They stood like that—two souls soaked not just in water, but in everything left unspoken—lost in the weight of what had been broken between them.

And then, something inside her snapped.

Without warning, she began to hit him—soft, frantic punches landing on his chest, over and over, as if trying to make him feel even a fraction of the pain that had consumed her. Her small fists trembled with every strike, her body shaking, her breath uneven.

Tears poured down her face, uncontrolled, raw, and full of betrayal. Her voice cracked as she tried to speak, each word a battle against the storm choking her.

“Kyun nahi bataya aapne...” she cried, her voice breaking under the weight of emotion. “Kyun nahi bataya ki aap...”

But she couldn’t finish. The words refused to come out. Her throat tightened, her lips quivered, and for a moment, only the sound of her sobs filled the air.

Finally, with every ounce of strength she had left, she looked into his eyes—eyes that mirrored her pain—and whispered the truth that shattered her.

“That you are suffering from cancer?”

Abhir looked at her, stunned—completely frozen. Her words hit him harder than any slap could have.

Cancer.

She knew.

His breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected this. Not here, not now, not like this. The secret he had guarded like a fortress, the pain he had buried under silence and distance—was now out in the open, spoken aloud by the very person he was trying to protect.

This… this was the reason he had pushed her away.

The reason he had built walls between them, one harsh word at a time.

The reason he had never told her he loved her—truly, completely, hopelessly.

Because he did. God, he did. He loved her more than she would ever know.

And that love had terrified him.

He didn’t want her to see him fade into a shadow. He didn’t want her to spend her days in hospital corridors or watch him weaken day by day. He didn’t want her smile to dim with the weight of caregiving. So, he chose the cruelest path—he broke her heart so that she would walk away, hate him, forget him.

That way, she could live.

Free. Unburdened. Whole.

But now... she knew.

And instead of hating him, she was standing right here, drenched, sobbing, fists pounding weakly against his chest—not because she hated him, but because he had taken away her right to choose. Because he had shut her out of the darkest battle of his life.

How did she find out?

His mind scrambled for answers even as his heart cracked open under the weight of her pain.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came.

He wanted to tell her he was sorry.

He wanted to scream that he loved her.

He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness.

But all he could do… was stare at the woman he broke, and wonder how he’d ever earn her trust again.

Flashback

Kiara walked into her small, dimly lit flat, the soft click of the door closing behind her echoing in the silence. She didn’t return to the Poddar mansion that day—she couldn’t. Not after what had happened. Not after the storm Abhir had thrown her into without warning, without explanation.

Her steps were slow, almost heavy, as if each one carried the weight of everything left unsaid between them. Her heart still ached, bruised and raw, the pain from their confrontation pulsing through her chest like a fresh wound. It felt eerily similar to the day she had handed him the divorce papers—when her world had collapsed in quiet devastation.

She dropped her bag onto the sofa, the strap slipping from her shoulder with a dull thud. Her eyes were tired, red from holding back tears she didn’t want to shed anymore. But her mind wouldn’t rest. Something had felt off—more than just his silence, more than his coldness. There was pain in his eyes that wasn’t aimed at her. Pain he was hiding.

She wandered into the kitchen, mechanically poured herself a glass of water, but didn’t drink it. Instead, she just stood there, staring blankly at the wall, her fingers tightening around the glass.

A sudden restlessness took over.

“Kiara!”

The voice came from the hallway—soft but urgent. Familiar. Unwelcome.

Her fingers, still trembling, tightened instinctively around the glass in her other hand. That voice—her voice—was the last one she wanted to hear right now.

Charu.

The woman who was once her everything—her sister, her best friend.

Now the face behind the deepest betrayal she'd ever known.

A second later, Charu appeared at the doorway, slightly out of breath, her eyes wide with concern as she looked at Kiara standing frozen in the middle of the room.

But Kiara didn’t move.

Her expression hardened, her tears forgotten in the sudden blaze of betrayal and rage that surged through her chest.

“Kyun aayi hai aap yahan, Charu di?” she asked, her voice cold and sharp, slicing through the silence.

Charu opened her mouth to respond, but Kiara raised her hand to stop her, her knuckles white around the glass she was still holding.

“Mujhe aapse koi baat nahi karni,” she said, more forcefully this time, her voice trembling with fury. “Please… chali jaiye yahan se.”

Charu’s face crumpled with pain. She stepped inside, cautiously, as if every step forward might shatter the fragile remains of their bond.

"I'm sorry, Kiara… bas ek baar meri baat sun lo,” Charu pleaded, her voice shaking, hands folded in front of her.

But Kiara didn’t turn. Her shoulders stiffened, her jaw clenched. She had no interest in apologies that came too late.

Without a word, she turned her back to her sister.

“Kiara, please…” Charu’s voice dropped to a whisper, a desperate, trembling breath.

But Kiara had started walking away—toward her bedroom, toward the silence, toward the place where she could scream without anyone hearing.

And then—
“Kiara, Abhir is suffering from cancer.”

The words landed like thunder.

Kiara stopped in her tracks. The silence that followed was deafening. Her breath hitched as if her lungs had forgotten how to breathe.

Charu stepped forward, her voice breaking.
“He needs you, Kiara. Doctor ne kaha hai… uske paas sirf do hafte bache hain.”

Time slowed.

The glass Kiara had been holding slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor. The shattering sound echoed through the flat, but she didn’t even flinch.

Her eyes widened, unblinking, fixed on the empty space ahead of her.

Two weeks?

Only two weeks?

Her heart squeezed so tightly she thought it might stop altogether.

Charu took another hesitant step forward, tears streaming down her face. “He didn’t tell you not because he doesn’t love you… but because he does. Bohot zyada.”

“He loves you, Kiara. Sirf tumse.”

The dam Kiara had been holding back for days finally cracked.

Her lips trembled, her knees gave out, and she sank slowly to the floor—surrounded by broken glass and truths she hadn’t been ready for.

“He didn’t want you to know the truth, Kiara,” Charu said, her voice shaking with the weight of the confession. “That’s why he came to me and asked for something no one should ever have to ask.”

She paused, her eyes searching Kiara’s tear-stricken face.

“He wanted us to pretend… to act like there was something going on between us. As if we were having an affair behind your back.”

Kiara's breath hitched, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

“He knew that if you thought we were betraying you, if you believed he had fallen out of love… you would leave him,” Charu continued, her voice cracking. “And that’s exactly what he wanted.”

Charu stepped closer, her eyes pleading for Kiara to understand. “Not because he stopped loving you—never that. But because he couldn’t bear the thought of you watching him wither away, day by day.”

She swallowed hard, tears running freely now. “He thought pushing you away was the only way to protect you from the pain. The only way to give you a life beyond his illness.”

“He loves you, Kiara,” she said softly. “He always has. So much that he chose to break his own heart—and yours—just so you wouldn’t have to carry the weight of his suffering.”

Charu slowly reached into her bag, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled out a thin, worn file. The corners were bent, the edges slightly frayed—as if it had been opened and closed too many times by someone who never wanted to read its contents in the first place.

Without saying a word, she extended it toward Kiara.

Kiara looked at it, then at Charu, confusion flickering in her tear-soaked eyes.

Charu’s voice was barely above a whisper. “These are his medical reports. The truth he didn’t have the courage to tell you himself.”

Kiara hesitated, her fingers trembling as she took the file from her sister’s hands. Her heart pounded in her chest, dread curling in her stomach. She opened it slowly, her eyes scanning the pages—blood test results, chemotherapy prescriptions, oncology department headers… and Abhir’s name printed clearly at the top of every document.

Stage II cancer. Limited response to treatment. Time-sensitive care.

Her fingers tightened around the edges of the paper.

The words blurred as fresh tears welled in her eyes. She pressed her lips together to hold back the sob building in her throat.

Charu’s voice broke through the silence. “He didn’t want to burden you with this. He thought pushing you away would protect you. But Kiara… he’s running out of time. And the one thing he wants—whether he’ll admit it or not—is you.”

Kiara stood still, the file pressed to her chest like it might hold the last pieces of him she could save. For a long moment, she said nothing—only the soft sound of her breath and the distant ticking of the wall clock filled the room.

And then, she moved.

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

Flashback ends

The memories unraveled inside Kiara like a storm she had tried to outrun. Every word Charu had said, every page of that file, every breath she'd taken since—flooded her all over again.

And now, here she was.

Standing in front of him, drenched from the shower, her heart thundering louder than the water crashing around them. Her saree clung to her like a second skin, but she didn’t care. Not about the cold, not about the tears, not about anything—except the man standing in front of her.

Abhir.

The man who had shattered her.

The man who had loved her so much, he chose to break her just to save her.

Her hands moved without thought, rising to rest flat against his chest. She could feel the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat, echoing the chaos inside her own. His forehead rested against hers, his grip still gentle on her arms—like he was scared she’d disappear if he held her any tighter.

She could see it all in his eyes now.

The guilt.

The fear.

The unbearable ache of a man who had tried to carry a storm alone and failed.

"You idiot…" she breathed, her voice soft but filled with a depth of pain and love that made him flinch. "You thought I’d want to live without you?”

Abhir’s eyes closed for a moment, as if her words hit him harder than anything else ever could.

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, but her voice didn’t break this time. It carried strength—the kind born from heartbreak, from clarity, from love that refused to die.

"You thought hurting me would make it easier for me to walk away?” she whispered. “You thought if I hated you, it would hurt less when you were gone?”

His eyes opened again, glassy and red, and he slowly nodded, unable to speak.

Her hands slid upward, cupping his face now, tender but trembling. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Abhir.”

Her voice cracked then. “I would’ve walked with you through every hospital corridor. Sat beside you through every chemotherapy session. Held your hand every time you felt weak. And you robbed me of that.”

He lowered his head, ashamed. But she didn’t let him look away.

“I don’t want freedom from you,” she said. “I want time. Whatever is left. Two weeks. Two days. Two minutes.”

A sob escaped him then, and he finally pulled her into his arms—tight, desperate, broken. She buried her face in his shoulder, her hands clutching his back as though trying to hold his soul in place.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I was scared.”

“So was I,” she whispered back. “But I was never scared of your sickness, Abhir. I was scared of losing you without knowing the truth.”

They stood like that for a long moment, clinging to each other under the falling water, letting the silence say everything they hadn’t dared to before.

And in that fragile, painful, honest moment—
They chose love again.

Even in the face of time running out.

“But you deserve freedom, Kiara… you deserved better than—”
His voice cracked mid-sentence, the guilt choking him before he could finish.

But she didn’t let him.

She didn’t need more explanations, more apologies, or more words soaked in pain.

In one swift, aching heartbeat—Kiara closed the distance between them and crashed her lips onto his.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was fierce, desperate, trembling with every emotion she had buried for weeks—grief, anger, longing, and above all… love.

The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was messy. Her tears mixed with his, their mouths moving with the kind of hunger only heartbreak could create. Her hands slid up into his hair, fisting tightly as if afraid he would slip away again.

And for a second, just one second, time seemed to pause.

There was no cancer.

No betrayal.

No ticking clock.

Just them—two broken souls clinging to each other in the middle of a storm.

Abhir responded like a dam breaking, his arms wrapping around her with so much force it made her gasp against his mouth. It was as if he was trying to memorize the shape of her, the taste of her, the feeling of having her in his arms again.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, foreheads resting together, his eyes filled with disbelief.

“You still love me?” he whispered, barely able to believe it.

She smiled through her tears, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “I never stopped.”