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The next morning arrived wrapped in silence. The kind of silence that doesn't comfort, but stretches across time like fog.

Rukmini blinked awake slowly, the stiffness in her limbs reminding her that she was still in the hospital. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mingling with the morning light spilling through the blinds.

She didn't realise she'd been staring at the ceiling again until a familiar voice cut through the haze.

"Rukmini?"

It was Revati—calm, competent, and just a little exasperated as always.

Rukmini blinked and slowly turned her head. Revati was standing at her bedside with a clipboard in hand, eyeing her with a raised brow. "I've asked you twice already. Do you want to stay another day, or do you want to be discharged?"

Still no reply.

Revati reached over and lightly shook her shoulder. "Rukmini?"

"Hmm?" Rukmini's voice finally emerged. "Oh. No—I want to leave."

That answer was firm. Quiet, but not wavering.

Revati sighed. "You sure?"

"Yes."

There was no room for argument, and Revati knew better than to try. She scribbled something on her clipboard and mumbled, "Fine. But don't blame me if you pass out on the way home."

Just then, the door opened and Subhadra popped her head in with a grin. "Room service! I'm here to pick up our most stubborn patient."

Rukmini sat up slowly, brushing her hair back. "Where's Ram? Krishna?"

"They went with Draupadi to meet Arjun. Something about planning that press meet or whatever." Subhadra stepped fully into the room, holding up a tote bag. "So I figured I'd come get you. Your actual emotional support human."

"You didn't have to skip university," Rukmini said gently, slipping her feet into her sandals.

"I wanted to skip university," Subhadra corrected with mock pride. "I need a reason to bunk, and you being sick is the best one I've had in a while. Besides, it's boring anyway."

Rukmini cracked a tired smile. "You're unbelievable."

They both laughed softly as they left the hospital together.

Back home, Rukmini stood quietly inside her room. It felt still, almost unfamiliar, like she had returned to a place that had gone on living without her.

She set her bag down and without thinking, began doing what she always did—organising. Cleaning. Adjusting the smallest things like they mattered.

But as she reached her desk, her hand froze.

There, scattered across the surface, were notes... clippings... documents... all pointing toward Draupadi. The investigation she had initiated. The girl they were trying to protect. The woman Krishna had personally brought home.

Rukmini slowly sat down, her fingers brushing the edges of the papers.

They're managing just fine without me, aren't they?

She didn't mean to think it. But the thought came anyway. Persistent. Sharp.

What am I even doing? She huffed out a frustrated breath. I'm not the glue holding anything together—I'm the extra piece. The one nobody needs but everyone's too polite to throw away.

Her gaze drifted to the corner of her room. There, taped on the wall, was a photo—faded, old—but it meant the world to her.

Aditya.

The boy from the charity home her family supported. He was just sixteen. Bright. Gentle. He loved stars and used to build constellations out of buttons. He also had autism, and once told Rukmini she was his "anchor."

And then... one night... men tied to Jarasand had taken him.

Rukmini's chest tightened.

They called it a murder. But she knew better.

He wasn't just a victim. He was a symbol of everything that was wrong with the system. And there were more like him. So many more.

That's why I started this. Not for Krishna. Not for approval.

For them.

Tears stung her eyes before she could stop them. She looked away, biting her lip, trying not to let any fall. But the weight in her chest felt like too much to hold.

A soft knock startled her.

She blinked rapidly and rushed to wipe her face before opening the door.

The maid stood there— with gentle eyes and trembling hands. And next to her, the tall butler, as stiff and proper as ever, though his eyes were red-rimmed, tissue in hand.

The moment Rukmini opened the door, the maid gasped, and without hesitation, wrapped her arms around her.

"My child..." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "We thought we'd lost you. Don't do this again. Not like this."

Rukmini stiffened for a moment, surprised by the intensity of the embrace. But something about it felt... grounding.

The butler cleared his throat awkwardly. "Welcome back, Miss Rukmini. Shall I prepare something for you? Juice? Light tea? Anything?"

Before Rukmini could even answer, Subhadra's voice rang out behind her.

"Okay, okay, stop right there. If you crush her again like that, she will land back in the hospital."

The maid pulled back instantly, laughing through her tears. "Sorry, sorry! It's just... it's been hard."

Rukmini gave a small smile, a little dazed by the sudden wave of love. "I missed you both too."

"Of course you did," Subhadra said, flopping onto the nearby couch. "We're irresistible."

Rukmini gave a short laugh, then looked around her room again. The files. The memories. The promises.

And though her heart still ached, and her mind still wandered back to Krishna and Draupadi and whatever it was she couldn't name yet... for this moment, she felt something solid.

She was home. And she had work to do.

The clock on the wall ticked faintly—its sound lost in the rustle of pages, the scratch of Rukmini's pen, and the steady hum of her thoughts.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by open books, case files, and handwritten notes. Her fingers were ink-smudged, her hair slightly messy, and her brows furrowed in intense concentration as she flipped through another dense passage.

Her body ached from the hours she'd spent hunched over, but her mind refused to stop. She had to understand this. Had to do something. For Aditya. For every kid like him. For herself.

"Okay, okay, enough," came a familiar voice from the doorway. Subhadra leaned against the frame, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed in mock-scolding. "You've been at this for six straight hours, and I'm pretty sure you're forgetting what food and sleep are."

Rukmini looked up and gave her a tired smile. "I'll stop in a bit. I just want to finish this chapter."

"You said that an hour ago," Subhadra muttered, clearly unimpressed. "Fine. Just... don't pass out again, okay? I'll be in my room."

"I will," Rukmini promised gently.

The moment Subhadra left, Rukmini sighed and turned back to her notes. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly, her mind piecing together information like a thousand-piece puzzle. She didn't notice the soft sound of approaching footsteps behind her, nor the slight shift in the air.

It was only when a shadow fell across her desk and someone leaned in beside her that she startled.

She turned quickly—and there he was.

Krishna.

Leaning over slightly, peering at the papers with a thoughtful expression. A little too close. His presence filled the space like it always did—effortlessly.

Rukmini's heart skipped a beat.

"You're going to fry your brain at this rate," he said, voice laced with that familiar teasing tone. "Is this your plan? To take down Jarasand with sleep deprivation?"

Rukmini looked at him, then quietly responded, "Maybe."

Krishna blinked.

No snarky comeback. No stubborn protest. Just... agreement.

That wasn't like her.

He straightened up slightly, brows lifting in surprise. "You're agreeing with me now? Wow. Are you sick again?"

Rukmini didn't reply. She simply started gathering her papers, slowly and methodically.

Krishna's eyes narrowed just a little as he tried again, this time with a playful smirk. "Look, I know you think you're some warrior of justice, but even warriors need to sleep."

Still nothing.

Only a short nod before she stood and brushed off her kurti.

"I'll rest," she said softly. "You're right."

And just like that, she walked past him, her steps quiet but firm. Krishna turned slightly, watching her leave, confused by the calm indifference in her tone. It wasn't like her to surrender so easily—not to him.

His gaze followed her as she reached the door.

But before she could exit, Rukmini paused.

Subhadra was standing there.

The younger girl hadn't made a sound. She stood frozen just outside the room, hand resting lightly on the doorframe, as if caught in the middle of deciding whether to come in or walk away.

Their eyes met—Rukmini's and Subhadra's—and something silent passed between them.

There was a flicker in Subhadra's expression. Not surprise. Not curiosity. Something quieter. Uncertain.

Rukmini held her gaze for just a second, then stepped past her without a word.

She didn't look back.

Rukmini quickly slipped into her room, the door shutting behind her with a soft but final click. Her hands moved in a rush, tossing her books onto the desk and shrugging off the shawl that had rested gently across her shoulders. Then—almost without thinking—her fingers curled into the fabric above her chest, clutching it tightly as if she could physically hold back the emotions swirling in her.

"What is this?" she muttered under her breath, a furrow digging deep between her brows.

Her thoughts raced, refusing to be quiet. Why am I distancing myself? From Subhadra, from Ram... and especially Krishna?

Krishna—he hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. He was just... there. Living his life. Smiling, helping, fighting battles with that annoying charm that left people flustered and a little speechless. He wasn't to blame for the strange tug in her chest, for the flutter of unease that followed every interaction, or for the way her mood seemed to teeter on edge whenever she caught him talking to someone else. Especially Draupadi.

It wasn't his fault.

If anything, it was hers.

She had let herself feel too much. Or maybe... she had imagined too much. Woven feelings out of fleeting moments, carved meaning into glances that probably meant nothing at all. And maybe this—the sudden urge to pull away, to become distant, to be cold—was just her way of dissolving those unspoken feelings before they grew into something unmanageable. Something real.

Rukmini sighed and let herself fall back onto her bed, the mattress creaking under her. She stared up at the ceiling, arms spread out beside her like she had given up trying to hold anything together. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Not for this. Not for him.

"I'm being stupid," she whispered to the empty room.

But the silence didn't argue back. It just wrapped itself around her as if in quiet agreement.

Her mind wandered—to the moments that now felt too loud in her memory. Krishna's light teasing, the smirk he always wore when he caught her off guard. The way he looked genuinely curious when he asked her things, like he wanted to know more. And worse... the way he looked at Draupadi. Not in any dramatic way. But enough to sting. Enough for Rukmini to feel like she was standing outside a moment she had once dreamed of being inside.

"Ugh," she groaned, pulling a pillow over her face. "I hate this."

She didn't hate Krishna.

She hated this feeling—this uncertainty, this sudden vulnerability that had nothing to do with the actual battles they were fighting and everything to do with the chaos inside her.

After a few moments of lying there in a haze of frustration, she slowly turned her face to the side, peeking out from under the pillow. Her desk was still cluttered with notes and files. There were people relying on her. There were battles that still needed to be fought. Aditya's face flashed in her memory, and a fresh wave of determination replaced the ache in her chest.

This wasn't the time to lose herself in confusion.

But even as she tried to will the feelings away, her heart beat just a little faster at the thought of Krishna walking through that door again, smiling like he always did, saying something utterly annoying and charming, completely unaware of the storm he stirred in her chest.

Maybe distancing herself wasn't the solution. But right now, it was the only shield she had.

And she wasn't ready to put it down.
Not yet.

Rukmini had been quiet for days.

Too quiet.

The kind of silence that didn't scream, but simmered—low and heavy, like something brewing in a storm cloud just before the downpour. Everyone around her started to notice. Conversations in the house were softer, glances were exchanged more often, and people treaded gently around her as if afraid to ignite something volatile. Even Ram—who normally had a sarcasm meter that worked on autopilot—had toned himself down.

Subhadra stopped teasing.

The butler started bringing her favourite snacks without being asked.

The maid offered to iron her already-ironed clothes twice.

No one said anything directly, but the tension had become thick enough to slice through.

But only Krishna... only he seemed to know where the storm was truly centred.

He didn't confront her. He never asked. But he acted.

Every morning, Rukmini would find her coffee cup on her desk—hot, perfectly sweetened, exactly how she liked it. And every time, there would be a sticky note on the rim, written in the unmistakable scrawl of the man she was trying so hard to forget.

"Don't ignore this. Or me."
— K

Another day, he left her a box of chocolate-covered biscuits she'd once mentioned during a random late-night group discussion. The note this time?

"For your 3 a.m. overthinking sessions. You're welcome."

Once, he even dropped off a flower—not fancy or dramatic. Just a single white mogra with a short note tucked under it that simply said:

"Still waiting."

And Rukmini... didn't know what to do with any of it.

Her chest ached with the guilt of her silence. It was growing heavier with every kind gesture, every note, every look Krishna gave her in passing that she pretended not to see. She knew she couldn't keep going like this—not with the way her emotions were tying themselves into messy knots inside her.

She had to end this quiet war.
She had to talk to him.

And that's when Subhadra entered her room—quietly, cautiously, as if she was stepping into sacred ground.

"I've been thinking..." Subhadra began, breaking the silence as she stood near the door, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized T-shirt. "You've been thinking a lot too. I can see that."

Rukmini blinked, sitting up straighter on the bed.

Subhadra continued, "I... I think this might be about something I said back in the hospital." Her eyes lowered. "You know, about Krishna... and Draupadi?"

Rukmini's breath hitched—but only for a moment. "No," she said, forcing a small smile. "It's not that. Don't worry, Subhu. I'm fine."

Liar.

It was about that—at least partially. But the last thing Rukmini wanted was to make Subhadra feel guilty for something so complicated, something so deeply hers to figure out.

"I mean it," Rukmini said gently. "Don't overthink it. I've just... been in my head too much. But I'm going to talk to Krishna. Soon."

Subhadra's face lit up like a Diwali lamp. "You are?"

Rukmini nodded.

"Finally," Subhadra groaned dramatically, flopping down beside her. "Do you know how much he's been sulking? He hides it so well, but I've known him forever. He's all 'stoic-and-silent' on the outside, but inside? Total drama king."

Rukmini let out a soft laugh—her first real one in days.

"He's on the terrace right now," Subhadra added, nudging her shoulder. "Doing that thing where he stares at the sky like it personally betrayed him."

Rukmini smiled faintly. Her heart was thudding again, betraying her in its usual rhythm. But this time, it wasn't fear.

It was decision.

She was done hiding. Done second-guessing. Whatever this thing was between her and Krishna—this strange, tender, infuriating pull—it deserved to be faced head-on.

And she was finally ready.

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