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Isha's POV
"Rani sa, sambhaliye apne aap ko, please," Aarya whispered shakily, pulling the car to a halt on the side of the quiet road.
( Rani sa, please take care of yourself, )
My breath was already jagged, like the world had caved in on my chest, but his voice—his pleading voice—was the only reason I didn't collapse into myself right then and there.
My fingers clenched into the seat, trying to hold on, trying to breathe, but the ache was too loud.
He had let me go.
He let me go.
And now I am gone.
Aarya glanced back, his voice firmer, " Rani sa, we reached the airport."
I nodded weakly, my hand already on the door handle, desperate to escape the suffocating silence of the car. I pushed the door open and stepped out. Or, tried to.
But the moment my foot hit the pavement, I froze.
There—right in front of me—stood him.
Shivansh.
Chest heaving.
Face soaked with sweat.
Hair ruffled like he'd run through a storm just to reach me.
His eyes—God, those eyes—were filled with a desperation I had never seen before. Raw. Panicked. Wild.
For a second, I couldn't move. I just stood there, staring. My tears were still fresh, my heart still cracked open, but the sight of him—the man I'd just left behind—felt like the ground beneath me was shifting again.
Behind me, Aarya stepped out too, but Shivansh didn't even blink at him. Instead, he moved—fast. His palm flew up in command, his voice low and sharp:
"Aarya… go."
Just one word. That's all he said.
But the weight in his tone... it made Aarya pause, hesitate. He looked at me for one last moment, worry written all over his face, but finally—he gave in. With a slow nod, he stepped back into the car and drove away.
And then, it was just us.
Just him and me.
I didn't speak. I couldn't. My throat was too tight, my heart too wounded.
But something inside me shattered all over again when I felt his hand on mine. Gentle. Shaking. Real.
"Isha…" he whispered, voice breaking like glass, "Please come."
And that was it.
I collapsed into him.
I didn't think.
I didn't resist.
I just fell—like every part of me had waited for this exact second to come undone.
My arms wrapped around him in a storm, clinging to his shirt like I was holding onto life itself. And he held me back. Tight. Like he'd never let go again.
He led me, silently, away from the road, around the bend where his private car was waiting in a shadowed corner. It was empty, quiet, isolated from the world. Like a small pocket of stillness in our chaos.
He opened the back door, and I climbed in, dragging him with me.
And then… I broke.
I cried.
No—I sobbed.
Uncontrolled, aching, animal sobs that echoed against the glass.
"It's too much…" I gasped between breaths, "I can't do this, I can't…"
He sat beside me, pulling me into his lap, holding me with trembling hands. One hand on my waist, the other rubbing the side of my face, over and over again, gently wiping away the flood of tears that refused to stop.
"Shhh…" he whispered, "Main yahan hoon. I'm here."
I shook my head violently, punching my fists into his chest—not to hurt him, but to stop myself from feeling too much.
"You hurt me," I said between sobs. "You killed me in that moment… How could you say that to me? How could you let me go? You stood there! You didn't even stop me! You just watched!"
His jaw tightened. His eyes turned glassy.
"I didn't mean it," he whispered hoarsely. "I was angry. I was… hurting."
I hit him again, softer this time. "So you punished me for your pain?!"
He didn't respond.
Because he couldn't.
Because he knew I was right.
"I left. I ran. I was going to leave everything," I said, voice cracking, "and you just—stood there! You let me walk out!"
He held me tighter.
"I came back," he said softly. "I ran to you. Because the moment you turned away, I realised I couldn't breathe. I couldn't live with the idea that you might never look at me again."
I sobbed harder, pressing my face into his chest.
I didn't want to forgive him.
But my heart was already melting.
I was still angry.
Still broken.
Still unsure of us.
But in that moment, in his arms, with the world outside the car fading into quiet…
I let myself feel him again.
I let myself be small.
Be real.
Be his.
"I hate you," I whispered. "I hate how much I love you."
He buried his face in my hair, his breath shuddering.
And for once, he didn't say anything.
He just held me.
Like he would never let go again.
For a few seconds… maybe minutes… I didn't even know what was happening around me.
His arms were around me. His breath warm against my hair. The car was silent—only our heartbeats echoed in the small space between us. Mine was frantic, chaotic. His… steady, like he was trying to hold everything together.
And I let myself breathe.
But it didn't last.
Because something inside me snapped.
Like a dam had broken open and all the flood I'd been holding back—grief, guilt, anger, shame, fear—rushed in.
And I couldn't stop it.
I suddenly pushed against his chest, hard. I pulled away from his arms, my breathing turning shallow. Fast.
"Isha?" he said, confused. "What's wrong?"
I sat up straight. My hand brushed my hair back from my face, my fingers trembling. I wiped at my tears, not with care but with a desperate sharpness. Like I wanted to erase the evidence of my collapse. Like if I could just clean the tears away, the feelings would go too.
"I need to go," I said, my voice hollow.
"What?" Shivansh's voice was careful now. Concerned.
I turned to him, my eyes wild and unfocused. "I need to go from here. Right now."
He reached toward me, hesitantly. "Isha—"
"I said I need to go!" I barked, louder this time. "I want to leave. From here. From this road. From this car. From this city—everything."
His hand landed gently on my shoulder. "Isha, breathe—"
"No! Don't touch me right now!" I jerked back, voice breaking mid-sentence. "I want to go away from all this! I can't stay here. I can't be in Delhi. I can't go back to my house. I don't want to face anyone! I just want to disappear. Run. Vanish."
His brows furrowed as he tried to stay calm. "Isha, listen to me—"
"No, you listen!" I cried. My hands were shaking now. I was rubbing them over my thighs, over and over, pacing within the space of the car seat, breathing like I couldn't get enough air.
"I can't go back there, Shivansh. They'll see my face. My mom… she'll know. She always knows. I can't lie to her. And if I don't say anything—they'll marry me off to someone else. Someone I don't even know! Just because I look okay. Just because I pretend I'm okay. But I'm not!"
He moved closer again, this time gripping both my shoulders with steady hands. "Isha. Look at me."
I didn't.
I couldn't.
My chest tightened further.
"I need to go. I need to leave. I need to get out." I kept repeating it like a mantra, the words tumbling out between shaky sobs.
He raised his voice—not with anger, but with a raw force. "Isha!"
And that jolted me.
My eyes finally snapped up to his.
He cupped my cheeks, his voice barely a whisper now. "You're having a panic attack. You hear me? Just breathe with me, baby. Just breathe with me. Right here."
I shook my head. "I can't. I can't. It's too much. It's all too much. I hate this. I hate how I feel. I hate that I let myself care. I hate—"
"Isha," he interrupted again, this time firmer. "Give me your eyes. Look at me. Right here. I'm not going anywhere."
And then… he began counting.
"One… two… three…"
I blinked.
"Four… five… take a deep breath with me…"
I inhaled. Or tried to.
My throat burned. My chest felt like it would burst.
"Six… seven…"
Tears slipped down again, silently this time.
"Eight… nine…"
My fists had curled into his shirt again.
"…Ten."
I was breathing. Barely. But I was.
He gently brushed the wet strands of hair from my forehead, his thumb caressing the hollow of my cheek. "You're okay. I've got you. You're okay."
I swallowed hard, my voice no louder than a whisper. "I'm not okay…"
"You will be," he replied instantly, like it was a promise stitched into his soul.
I looked at him, my voice broken and raw, "I can't face anyone, ansh, Not even for a second. I can't go home. I can't explain this to anyone. I don't want to explain this. I'm not ready. I don't even know what this is."
He exhaled deeply, but his hand stayed on mine.
I continued, rambling now. "And if I go back, if I don't tell them what happened—they'll think everything's fine. They'll move on. They'll talk about the next rishta, the next function, the next guy. And I'll just be sitting there—smiling—dying inside!"
He froze.
And in that second, something shifted in him too.
He saw it.
Not just my pain—but the helplessness beneath it. The kind that comes when everything you thought you understood about your life suddenly feels like a lie.
"Isha," he said, carefully, "I will never let that happen to you."
I shook my head, still mumbling. "I just need to go away. Somewhere no one knows me. Just for a while. Please. Don't stop me. Don't tell anyone. Just let me go…"
He wrapped both arms around me again, his breath shaking this time.
"I can't let you run from this. But I will stand with you. Every step. Wherever you want to go… I'll go."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because my body was drained, my mind exhausted. But somewhere, in that tight circle of his embrace, I finally let myself lean again.
And even if it was just for a moment… I believed him.
There was a strange silence inside the car.
Not the kind that settles between people, but the kind that stretches between you and yourself.
Like you've left your body behind somewhere.
I didn't realize when I stopped crying.
Or when I started breathing normally again.
Or when the world outside the window shifted from Delhi's chaos to quiet open stretches of nothing.
I was somewhere far… and yet nowhere at all.
I stared out the window, but I wasn't really seeing anything. I was lost… deep in a world I wasn't sure was real. A place stitched together by memory and imagination. A space where my heart was louder than reality.
In that place, everything felt too close.
Too vivid.
Too loud.
Too soft.
I imagined myself running.
Running barefoot across empty railway tracks.
Running down a narrow street in a town I didn't recognize.
Running across an airport terminal, holding nothing but a passport and pain.
And for some reason, I felt lighter.
Like if I could just keep imagining myself escaping, I wouldn't feel the weight anymore.
That aching pressure behind my ribs.
But that was the trick.
The mind plays these games—
It gives you escape in the form of illusion.
It gives you freedom in the form of fiction.
And just like that—
The world came crashing back in the blink of an eye.
The car slowed.
Then… stopped.
My body jolted slightly with the shift in motion. And suddenly, it was as if my entire mind had been pulled—violently—out of its imaginary cocoon and tossed back into the present.
The engine went silent.
I blinked.
The windows showed something I didn't expect. Not home. Not some empty highway. Not a quiet, hidden road.
It was… the airport.
I blinked again, my hand moving slowly to unbuckle the seatbelt I hadn't remembered putting on in the first place.
"Rani sa," his voice broke the silence, low and unreadable.
But I didn't look at him.
I couldn't.
I opened the door.
Stepped out.
And for the first time in what felt like hours—maybe days—cold air hit my face.
It didn't clear my mind.
It numbed it.
I wrapped my arms around myself as I walked a few steps toward the terminal, unsure what to do, unsure what I was even doing here. Did I ask him to bring me here? Did I beg to run?
My thoughts felt like whispers in the wind—there, but ungraspable.
And then—
I stopped.
Because I saw them.
Not just a person.
A group.
Standing by the pillar, in the shade of the building, was a small crowd. They weren't holding signs. They weren't waving. But their posture… their presence… it felt like they were waiting.
And then it hit me.
I knew those faces.
Or I almost knew them.
They weren't clear. Not fully.
One of them stepped forward. A girl—slightly older than me, maybe. She had sharp eyes and an expression that was too calm. The kind of calm that unsettles you.
Next to her stood a boy—leaning against the wall like he didn't care, but his eyes were trained only on me.
And just behind them—two women, dressed too perfectly to be random strangers.
I froze.
My fingers curled into fists.
Who were they?
And why did it feel like… they knew me?
The girl with sharp eyes walked a little closer. She stopped a few steps away, tilted her head slightly, and said, "Did you think you'd leave without someone noticing?"
Her voice was soft. Dangerous.
I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing came out.
She glanced back at the group, then returned her gaze to me. "You were never meant to run alone."
Another one, a boy now, walked up. He had a slight smirk on his face. "So dramatic," he said lightly, eyeing my suitcase—though I didn't remember picking it up. "Running away from royalty, responsibility, and relationships in one go? That's a new record."
"I—" my voice cracked. "I don't know who you are."
"Don't you?" the girl asked. "Or did you forget us like you forgot yourself?"
And then, something even stranger happened.
A younger girl stepped forward from the group. Her eyes… my eyes.
She didn't speak.
She just stared.
Until it hit me—
That wasn't someone else.
That was me.
A version of me.
A younger me.
Staring at me like I'd disappointed her.
Like I'd given up.
My knees weakened.
I turned around instinctively—toward the car—toward aarya
But he wasn't there anymore.
Only the empty car. The door left open. The seat cold.
I was alone.
I fell to the pavement slowly, knees to the ground, my breath hitching. My palms flat on the stone tiles beneath me.
"I just wanted to disappear," I whispered.
The sharp-eyed girl knelt beside me.
"You don't get to disappear," she said gently. "You get to survive."
I shook my head. "I don't want to."
"You already did," she replied.
Then I blinked—
And they were gone.
All of them.
The girl, the boy, the child, the whole eerie gathering.
Gone.
As if they were never there.
My eyes burned.
The loudspeaker announced a flight departure.
People bustled around me.
And somewhere far behind me, I finally heard a familiar voice call softly—
"Isha?"
I turned.
He was there.
Dhruv bhaiyu, At the edge of the pavement. Watching me with wide eyes, his chest rising and falling too fast.
"Isha bachhe," he said again, this time running toward me. "Are you okay? I just came and looked for y—"
I didn't wait.
I got up and threw myself into his arms again.
And finally whispered, "Take me anywhere… but not home. Not yet."
He nodded into my hair.
"Okay," he said. "Anywhere you want."

Author's POV
She stood there… stuck between two realities.
The one inside her—loud, echoing, unpredictable.
And the one outside—flickering with airport lights, announcements, and the faint brush of wind.
That girl's voice—her own younger voice—still rang in her ears.
"You don't get to disappear. You get to survive."
She hadn't moved.
Not even when the hallucination—if that's what it was—faded.
Not even when the real world slowly started resuming around her.
A child cried somewhere in the terminal. A wheelie bag rattled past. Shoes clicked on tiles.
But inside her—stillness.
She wasn't in her body yet.
Just watching it. From somewhere above.
Like a ghost inside her own skin.
Until—
Footsteps.
Fast.
Urgent.
Real.
Then—his voice. Rough. Loud. Desperate.
"Isha!"
It wasn't in her mind. This wasn't part of the imagination.
This was flesh and sound and chaos.
She blinked slowly as he came into view.
Dhruv.
Not in his usual, perfect posture.
Not calm.
Not collected.
He was running—his hair slightly messed, his chest heaving, and his eyes—his eyes—wide with fear.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," he breathed, almost broken.
"You can't just disappear on me like that."
He didn't ask for permission.
He just pulled her into him.
And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes,
She let herself go, let her bones melt, Let her weight fall into him.
Let her eyes close and her breathing sync with his heartbeat.
His arms wrapped tightly around her—possessive, protective, and trembling just slightly, like he had been scared too.
Then, softly, barely even a breath against her ear—
"You're safe."
That was all.
Not "What were you thinking?"
Not "Why did you come here?"
Not even "Talk to me."
Just those two words.
Enough to make the ache in her spine release.
She buried her face in his chest.
Felt the warmth of him. The realness.
It wasn't a dream.
He was here.
And somehow, he had found her again.
Again.
Like he always did.
But her heart didn't stop aching.
Not yet.
Because even though she was wrapped in everything safe—
Even though her fingers clung to his jacket like a child afraid to let go—
She still needed to go.
She still wasn't done.
She still hadn't fully broken.
"bhaiyu" she whispered into the silence between them.
He didn't move.
"I still want to go."
There was a pause. A long one.
His hands stilled against her back.
His breath faltered for a second.
Then, he leaned back slightly to look at her. His brows pulled together—not angry, just… trying to understand.
"Anywhere specific?" he asked, his voice hushed like a lullaby.
"Or just away?"
She shook her head slowly.
"Just away."
He nodded once.
No lecture.
No guilt.
No holding her back.
Just—
"Okay."
Like he meant it.
The world had quieted after the chaos, After the tears. After that trembling collapse into dhruv's arms.
But peace hadn't come.
Not the kind she wanted.
Not the kind that would make her stay.
Her eyes drifted off, unfocused, as if her soul had already packed its suitcase and was halfway to somewhere else. She slowly stepped back from his arms, her body still heavy with exhaustion but her voice suddenly steady.
"I need to go away from here."
It wasn't a plea.
It wasn't a whisper.
It was a decision.
Dhruv looked at her, as if trying to process, but before he could say anything, he stepped closer—alert, concerned, but not interrupting.
Isha's voice was firmer now, like a flickering flame finding shape.
"I need to start again. I need to… I don't know. Just leave. Get out of here. Everything is so… loud here."
Dhruv nodded slowly, his hands folded in front of him, trying to stay calm, present, useful.
"Okay," he said. "Where do you want to go?"
"London," she said immediately, as if she'd been holding the answer inside all this time. "There's a conference starting tomorrow evening. For young professionals and leaders. I got an invite weeks ago. I didn't even reply."
She looked down at her hands. Then up again.
"But I think… I think I should go. I think I need to go. I'll spend a few days there, just until I feel okay. Until I can come back and actually say things. You know?"
Dhruv didn't question her. He simply said—
"Done. I'll book your flight."
But Isha shook her head. A faint scoff escaped her lips.
"There's a problem," she muttered. "My sling bag—my passport, phone, ID—everything was in it. And I dropped it back there, on his penthouse."
She couldn't say Shivansh's name right now. Not aloud.
Her hands curled slightly. Her lips trembled with the mix of fear and anger she was swallowing.
"I'm not going back there. And I'm not stepping foot inside his jet again, Dhruv bhaiyu. I'm not starting anything again from his property. Not even this."
Dhruv held up a hand.
"Wait. Wait, I picked up your bag. When I saw it left behind, I took it. Everything's in my car—your passport, your phone, wallet. Everything."
Isha blinked at him, then whispered—
"Really?"
"Yeah. Just… let me book the ticket first, okay?"
He pulled out his phone and called his PA.
"Hey. I need a ticket to London—Jaipur to London, business class—on Isha's name. Tonight or tomorrow morning, the earliest one available. Send me the details."
Isha stood beside him, arms folded tightly across her chest, watching every second pass like it was years. She didn't ask anything. Didn't even nod.
Once he hung up, he gave her a small smile.
"Done. We'll go to the car, get your bag, and then we head back to the airport."
The doors unlocked with a soft click.
The streetlights shone down gently, casting long shadows around them.
Dhruv opened the backseat and pulled out the familiar cream-colored sling bag.
He handed it to her wordlessly.
And she took it like it held her entire life.
The first thing she did—without even blinking—was unzip the front pocket, take out her phone, and unlock it.
Within seconds, her fingers were moving fast.
Muscle memory.
Finality.
She deleted his number.
She blocked him everywhere—Instagram, WhatsApp, email.
She went even further.
She disabled her social media accounts. No goodbye stories. No dramatic captions.
Just silence.
She didn't want to be seen.
She just wanted to disappear.
Then she opened her messages.
Typed out one, short, crisp note to Ishika:
"I'm going to London to attend a conference. Please handle things here. I'll be back when I'm ready."
No emojis. No signs of tears. No explanations.
Sent.
No reply came.
Maybe Ishika was busy. Or maybe she understood and gave space.
Either way, Isha didn't wait.
She looked up at Dhruv, her fingers still wrapped around her phone like it was the only weapon she had left.
"Thank you," she said.
Two simple words.
But they meant everything.
They meant trust.
They meant you didn't ask questions.
They meant you gave me a way out when I couldn't breathe.
Dhruv just nodded, eyes soft.
"I'll drop you at the airport myself," he said. "No one will know until you're already gone."
She gave a weak smile, one corner of her mouth twitching slightly.
And then she said, so quietly that it got lost in the wind—
"I don't want to be found. Not yet."
The airport lights glinted above them like artificial stars — cold, bright, watching.
Everything around them moved — trolleys rolled, families rushed, announcements echoed, but Dhruv and Isha stood still in the middle of it all, like a calm center in a storm of chaos.
Her boarding gate was just past the glass doors.
But this moment was heavier than the journey itself.
Isha turned to Dhruv, holding her sling bag tight to her chest like armor. Her face was unreadable — almost too calm, too still, and that's how Dhruv knew she was barely holding herself together.
"Dhruv bhaiyu," she said softly, barely over a whisper, "take care of my family."
He looked at her, expression serious.
"You know I will."
"Not just that," she added, stepping closer, "don't tell them anything. About what happened. About me and…"
She paused. She couldn't say his name.
Her voice dropped, "About him. "
Her eyes searched his.
"Please, don't tell my parents. his parents. Not Arjun. Not Ishika. Not Prisha. Not even Ritvik bhaiya, or ranveer bhai sa, No one. If they find out everything that happened… if they see me like this—broken—"
Her voice cracked slightly,
"—they'll never forgive him."
Dhruv's eyes softened. He understood. Not just the words—but the pain behind them.
"I won't tell anyone," he said. "I promise."
But Isha stepped even closer now. So close that her eyes locked into his with the full weight of her truth.
"No," she whispered. "Promise me on me. Swear on me."
There was a pause.
Even the air seemed to still.
Dhruv swallowed. His throat tightened. But his hand rose, and he placed it gently over his heart.
"I swear on you, Isha. I won't say a word to anyone. Not about what happened. Not about how you left. Nothing. It stays between us."
For a second, her lips trembled — not from fear, but from the depth of trust she had placed in him.
She nodded slowly. Then stepped back.
And for the first time, her voice sounded almost like goodbye.
"Thank you, Dhruv bhaiyu. For being the only one I could trust right now."
He gave a small, broken smile. The kind of smile you give when you're proud and heartbroken all at once.
"Come back when you're ready," he said. "Not before."
Isha inhaled slowly.
Then turned away.
She walked toward the entrance, where the security guard waited.
Dhruv watched as she opened her sling bag, took out her passport and ticket, and showed them to the guard. The scanner beeped green. They nodded and waved her in.
She turned one last time.
Their eyes met.
There were no waves. No smiles.
Just that gaze.
Like two souls saying goodbye without lips.
She disappeared into the terminal.
Frozen
And Dhruv stood there.
Still.
Not breathing. Not blinking.
Frozen.
It wasn't the goodbye that held him there.
It was the weight of it all. The silent burden she left in his hands.
He had watched her walk away, not like a girl going to a conference, but like a soldier retreating from a battlefield — quietly wounded, carrying secrets that no one else would ever see.
His fingers curled slightly into fists.
Not from anger.
But from helplessness.
He whispered to himself, almost like it was meant for no one but the wind—
"Take care of yourself, Isha... Just come back whole."
But somewhere deep in his chest, something had shifted.
A stillness. A crack.
Because for the first time since she'd come into his life — he had no idea when she would come back…
Or if she'd ever be the same again.
On the other hand,
The clock had just struck 12:03 a.m. when the living room lights glowed again. The silence of the night was broken not by chaos, but laughter, warmth, and quiet conversation.
Isha's friends—Prisha, Ishika, Arav, and Ishika's brother Ritvik—were already there, lounging comfortably with cups of hot cocoa. Moments later, the front door opened and Isha's parents entered, followed by her younger brother, Arjun, carrying a small cake box.
"We brought her favorite," Arjun said casually, placing the cake on the table. "Red velvet. She better not complain this time."
Her mother devika laughed softly, slipping off her shawl.
"She never complains, she only does drama. Big difference."
Everyone chuckled.
Her father Vikram looked around, frowning slightly.
"Where is Isha though? I thought she would be jumping around the house by now, ordering us all to play with her."
Prisha exchanged a glance with Ishika.
"Um... she's not here," Prisha said carefully, setting down her cup.
"She went to Jaipur," Ishika added quickly. "To surprise Shivansh. It's his birthday... So she thought to surprise him."
There was a beat of silence. Then Vikram smiled.
"Oh, really? That's sweet of her."
Arjun leaned back. "Well, why don't we flip the script?"
Everyone turned to look at him.
"Let us go to Jaipur. Imagine her face when we all show up there! It'll be epic. And we could use a break too. Last time we all met Shivansh's family, it was... well, unfinished."
Devika's eyes softened.
"It would be nice to see everyone again. And I... I do miss her. She's been so quiet lately."
"Then let's go!" Ishika clapped. "This is perfect. It's spontaneous, fun, and completely unplanned—just like Isha loves!"
Prisha stood up instantly.
"I'm booking flights right now. Midnight flight. We can sleep a little on the way."
Vikram chuckled, shaking his head.
"Why do I feel like I've just been dragged into a college road trip?"
"Because you have," Arav grinned. "And it's going to be chaotic."
Soon, the house buzzed with a different energy. Luggage bags were pulled out, half-open drawers flung wide, and voices overlapped.
"Ishika, I don't think you need heels for one night!"
"Shush, I need options!"
"Where's my charger?"
"Did someone take my perfume?!"
Devika stood with arms crossed, smiling faintly.
"You kids will be the end of me. But I must say... I missed this madness."
Vikram was still in his vest, arguing with Arjun about hotel bookings.
"Don't book anything fancy. We're not going to stay there for more than 8 hours."
"But we are going to Jaipur. Royalty is the aesthetic."
Once things settled down for a moment, Ishika spoke up.
"We'll buy something for Shivansh once we reach it. Let's explore the local markets in the afternoon."
Ritvik agreed.
"Yeah, something meaningful. A Jaipur-themed gift maybe."
Devika smiled as she placed a shawl into the suitcase.
"More than gifts, they'll be surprised to see us there. That's the real celebration."
Everyone agreed.
As the final zips of suitcases echoed through the house, and everyone took their last tea sips, there was a quiet moment of peace. A perfect family. A perfect surprise.
But just as Arjun opened the door, a light gust of cold wind blew in, making Maa shiver slightly.
"Brr... suddenly it feels colder."
Prisha, half-joking, half-conscious, mumbled:
"Maybe... the wind is trying to say something."
"Say what?" Arav teased.
"That we forgot our sweaters?"
Ishika chuckled but then went quiet.
"Or maybe... we're walking into something we're not prepared for."
Everyone brushed it off with a laugh, unaware that far away, the skies were already darkening, and a storm they never imagined was waiting just beyond the horizon.
They left the house with smiles, chatter, and love—not knowing this might be the moment their world changed forever.
"Sometimes, the biggest storms arrive on the most beautiful nights. And by the time you see the clouds... you're already in the middle of it."
They had landed in Jaipur past 2:30 a.m., exhausted but excited. The cool night air had greeted them like a long-lost friend. A large SUV cab picked them up from the airport and dropped them at a charming old heritage hotel, not far from the city center.
Arjun, Arav, and Ritvik shared one room,
Isha's parents took another,
while Ishika and Prisha were in theirs.
The check-in was swift. The receptionist smiled politely despite the late hour.
"Breakfast will be served until 10 a.m.," he offered.
"No thanks," Arjun yawned. "We're here to sleep and crash people's lives later."
Everyone laughed.
They agreed to meet around 8 a.m., take some time to rest, and then make their plan to surprise Isha.
The light broke in slowly through sheer curtains. A pale golden glow filled the room, mixed with the soft scent of old wood and rose water.
Prisha stirred first. She had always been an early riser. By 7:00 a.m., she was already in the washroom, humming quietly to herself.
She wore a simple cream tunic with light embroidery, her hair half-tied in a loose bun. She looked fresh, radiant even, but her eyes carried a restless spark. Maybe because she was missing her chaos queen, her best friend, Isha.
Ishika groaned under the covers.
"Ten more minutes," she mumbled, snuggling the pillow.
"Ishikaaa," Prisha dragged the words, peeking out from the bathroom. "Get up! We're in Jaipur! Not your house!"
Ishika sighed, pulling herself up. Then she paused.
And smiled.
"We're meeting Isha today," she said softly. "She literally left yesterday, but it feels like weeks. Ugh."
Dragging herself up, Ishika walked to the washroom. When she came out ten minutes later, she was glowing.
She wore a beautiful green knee-length dress with delicate golden threadwork around the neckline, a pair of small earrings, and her hair tied in a relaxed ponytail. Simple. Stunning.
As she reached for her purse, she glanced at her phone.
A new messages blinked on her lock screen.
But she didn't stop to open it.
"Must be Aviyansh texting again," she muttered. "Or group chat nonsense."
"Ishikaaa!" Prisha called again. "Everyone's already waiting outside!"
"Coming! I thought you left already," Ishika said, slipping on her sandals and tucking her phone into her bag without unlocking it.
Everyone was waiting near the garden entrance. Arjun, Arav, Ritvik, and Isha's parents stood in a half-circle, sipping coffee from paper cups, casually discussing what their "mission plan" should be.
"I think they'll be at the palace," Arjun said.
"No, they'll be out somewhere, it's his birthday," said Arav.
"Then crashing the palace is the best idea. If they're not there, we'll wait for them," Ishika suggested.
Vikram nodded.
"Let's go. Even if Shivansh's family is there, it's not a problem. We know them well. And they'll be happy to see us."
Devika looked pleased.
"Yes. We'll greet them too. It's time to reconnect."
They booked another cab — a large luxury van this time. The streets of Jaipur began to come alive as the city bathed in morning sun.
Laughter filled the car. Teasing. Old family jokes. Excitement.
Ishika leaned her head on Prisha's shoulder.
"I can't wait to hug her."
"You'll cry again, won't you?" ishika teased.
"Shut up."
As their van approached the majestic gates of Raghuvanshi's palace-turned-Jaipur estate, the guards immediately recognized the family and opened the gates without questions.
"Sir, welcome back," one of them nodded politely.
"They will be surprised after seeing you. You may go inside."
Everyone smiled in appreciation.
Vikram raised a brow.
The palace stood tall and beautiful in the early sun. The gardens shimmered with dew.
They stepped out of the van, brushing off their clothes.
But as they walked toward the main door, something shifted.
A servant ran past, looking tense.
Two palace staff were whispering quietly in the corner, one of them wiping their eyes.
Inside the window, a flash of black clothing, and the sound of hushed voices.
Devika slowed down.
"Something's wrong."
Arjun frowned.
"Where's Isha?"
Suddenly, the palace door opened.
And there stood Mr. and Mrs. Zolo, Raghuvanshi's family trusted Butler's and high-ranking butlers aides. They looked stunned, and their faces instantly turned pale when they saw who was standing at the gate.
" Mam, sir you here. " Mrs. Zolo whispered. "You don't know...?"
The group stared, confused.
"Know... what?" Arjun asked sharply.
Ishika's phone buzzed inside her purse.
The message she hadn't read... it was from Isha.
Her hands began to tremble.
Prisha gripped her hand.
"Ishika... What happened, whose message is this that you are literally shivering."
She slowly opened her phone.
And read.
Her face went pale.
"She left," Ishika whispered. "Isha... left the palace last night. And Shivansh… he's—he's not—"
She couldn't even finish.
Everyone stood frozen at the steps of the grand palace, not knowing what storm was about to hit them next.
The heavy doors of the palace opened slowly, not with grandeur, but with a stillness that almost felt… wrong.
They stepped inside, one by one, their footsteps echoing across the cool marble floor. A thick silence clung to the air like fog—heavy, unmoving. It wasn't the kind of silence that greeted surprise guests. It was the kind that wrapped around your spine and whispered, "Something's broken here."
The chandeliers weren't lit.
The usual palace aroma of sandalwood and rose incense had faded.
Even the guards near the hallway stood still, their heads slightly bowed.
Something wasn't right.
As they approached the living area, the faint sound of the television grew clearer—a female reporter's voice, solemn and controlled, reading news from behind a quiet background of piano music.
The voice wasn't sharp. It was soft, unnervingly gentle.
Like it was trying not to wake a grieving house.
And that's when they saw them.
Shivansh's mother sat on the large velvet couch, her silk saree crumpled against her knees as if she had fallen into it. Her hands trembled. Her face was streaked with tears. Her eyes—once regal, always composed—were red, glassy, swollen.
She was crying. No—wailing silently, her cries muffled as she clutched onto her husband like a woman lost in a storm.
Her body shook as she held onto him, her hand fisting the collar of his kurta as if afraid that if she let go, the earth would split beneath her.
Beside them, shivansh chose maa—sat with her head buried in her lap, her arms curled around her knees, sobbing into silence.
The rest of the family stood in the corner. Pale. Silent. Staring at the television like it was a ghost in the room.
And it was then, through the haze, through the echo of distant cries, that Isha's family saw what they hadn't noticed earlier.
The TV screen.
And the headline that screamed without shouting:
✦ BREAKING NEWS: TRAGEDY IN AIR — FLIGHT 1198 FROM JAIPUR TO LONDON CRASHES OVER SEA. ZERO SURVIVORS.
✦ Among the passengers: ISHA MAHESHWARI – youngest CA in Delhi, she was to board her flight to london.
Silence fell.
But it wasn't really silence.
It was the sound of hearts cracking open.
Of oxygen leaving the room.
Of a truth too brutal to be swallowed.
Ishika's legs froze. Her body went cold.
"Isha…?" she whispered. But her voice didn't come out. It was stuck in her throat. She clutched her phone tighter.
Arjun stepped forward instinctively, but even he looked numb.
Arav blinked rapidly, as if trying to convince himself it was the wrong name.
Prisha's hand flew to her mouth.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no, no… no..."
The world tilted beneath them.
Devika and Vikram were the first to walk forward. Shivansh's mother lifted her head at the sight of them. Her face twisted, almost apologetically, like she didn't want them to see her like this.
But she didn't speak.
She simply cried harder.
Vikram sat down beside her without a word, holding her arm like an old friend.
"Sources confirm that the light carrying top dignitaries and international delegates—including Ms. Isha Maheshwari—lost all contact with radar thirty minutes after its take off, Search teams have recovered fragments of the aircraft from the sea near Bay…"
The screen showed a blurred photo of the crash site. Smoke. Metal. Life torn into pieces.
A photo of Isha appeared next.
Small. Kind. Calm. Her kind eyes but it wassup red. Her soft smile was missing from her face.
It was unreal.
Like the universe had made a mistake.
She stumbled backward. Her breath caught. Her knees nearly gave out.
"No," she choked.
It wasn't possible.
They just saw her. Just spoke to her. Her voice was still fresh in her ears. She remembered the way she hugged Isha, the way she laughed in the hallway, the way she cracked dumb jokes when she stole her dessert.
And now…
Now...
She was gone?
Prisha held her. Ishika collapsed into her arms, her hands gripping the fabric of Prisha's kurta so tight her knuckles went white.
She felt Prisha's tears drip into her hair, but neither of them moved.
No one spoke.
Even the palace, usually filled with quiet chatter, soft music, laughter in the halls—stood like a mausoleum. Stone still. Heart heavy.
Isha's Younger brother walked over and sat beside his mother. He didn't cry. He didn't scream.
But he looked like someone who had aged twenty years overnight.
Prisha, Her eyes were swollen, and she held her dupatta to her face, her expression confused, hurt, blank.
Everyone in that room had lost something.
A daughter.
A daughter in law.
A sister.
A partner in crime.
A friend.
A piece of their history.
How could the world keep turning? How was the sun still shining? How were they breathing, walking, living... when he wasn't?
Ishika opened her phone again, hands trembling, and finally saw the message that had come just before they left the hotel.
It was from Avi.
A voice note.
She pressed play.
And all she heard was:
"she's gone, Ishika."
"she's gone. I don't know how to live with this."
"I can't breathe. Please... come fast…"
Tears burst from Ishika's eyes.
And she screamed.
The sound tore through the palace like a thunderclap.
It wasn't just her scream.
It was grief given a voice.
The palace had fallen into an unsettling stillness. No wind. No whispers. The kind of silence that carries the weight of something irreversible.
The television still played softly in the background, the reporter's voice now a familiar ghost in the room. Everyone had gathered inside the living area, yet no one spoke.
It was like time had paused.
Shivansh's mother clutched her husband's shoulder, and others stood still, trying to make sense of the headline that just shattered them.
✦ "Flight 1198, travelling from Jaipur to London, carrying 172 passengers, including top dignitaries and business leaders, has tragically crashed over the sea. There are no survivors."
The room darkened, though no one touched the lights.
And then the words that no one ever expected to hear—words that froze breath, collapsed lungs, and bled the heart dry—flashed on the screen.
✦ "Among the casualties was confirmed: ISHA MALISHWARI — Chartered Accountant, Founder of IFirm, and Daughter of Delhi's Malishwari Family."
Devika collapsed.
Literally collapsed, like her bones forgot how to hold her. She let out a scream that didn't sound like her voice.
Vikram rushed to her, catching her barely in time. His face had lost every bit of colour. His hands trembled so violently that he couldn't even touch her without dropping to his knees.
"Isha?" Prisha said softly. "No… no, no, no—NO!"
Ishika grabbed her phone.
She dialed.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
"Isha, pick up. Pick up, dammit!" she sobbed, pressing the phone harder against her ear as if her will alone could bring Isha back. "Answer me… just please answer once…"
The call wouldn't connect.
She tried WhatsApp.
She tried Telegram.
Instagram.
Deactivated.
Nothing.
Each "last seen" was over twelve hours ago.
And then...
She saw it.
Isha's last message, nine hours ago, "that she was going to London, for a conference and she returns when she will be okay, means something is wrong. "
While the family wept, Shivansh Chhote papa—the calmest of them all—was on his phone, fingers furiously dialing.
"Call the news Channel, Get someone in their aviation unit to confirm if she was on that flight. I need names, documents, anything. Right now!"
He turned to the staff, voice sharp yet shaking.
"Send a team to the consulate. Arrange for someone from the family to travel. Get the royal air route ready. We don't wait for confirmation—we go."
Still, no one moved.
Because still, they hoped this was a mistake.
A misidentification.
Maybe there was another Isha Malishwari?
Maybe… maybe… maybe?
The heavy carved doors creaked as they opened again.
Dhruv entered.
And he looked…
Shattered.
Like a broken sculpture someone had tried to glue back together, but all the pieces still showed.
His eyes were swollen, his lips quivering. He wasn't walking—he was dragging himself forward.
Everyone turned toward him.
Shivansh's mother was the first to move. She rushed to him, her saree brushing the floor, her face desperate.
"Beta, tell me... what happened?" she cried, gripping his arms. "They're saying... they're saying our Isha... she—she's gone. Tell me it's not true. Tell me it's not true!"
But Dhruv just stood there.
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
His chest rose and fell rapidly. His hands clenched into fists, then relaxed, then clenched again.
He looked like someone who had heard it first.
Who had seen it.
Who had already felt the weight of the truth.
"I…" Dhruv managed, barely whispering, "I called... I called the airline."
No one breathed.
"I gave her passport number. Her seat number. Our connection details…"
His throat tightened.
"They confirmed... she was on the flight."
Shivansh's mother's scream pierced the room.
It was not a cry.
It was the sound of a mother's soul tearing itself open.
She fell against him. "No! She was just—she was just with us! She was just laughing with me, it felt like yesterday! No, Dhruv, no—she can't be gone!"
Dhruv turned, trying to be strong, but the cracks were already leaking through.
"I called again. I begged them. I told them to check again. And they sent a mail… and… and… her name was on the list."
His voice broke.
And he broke up with it.
He cried. For the first time in front of everyone, openly, helplessly, like a child who had lost the only light in his life. Shivani's mother collapsed beside him, holding him, sobbing too. The family surrounded him, but he couldn't feel them. He was gone. Lost in his own grief.
He dropped to the floor, sobbing violently. Not just with grief—but with guilt.
"I should've been there," he gasped. "I should've stopped her. I should've… I should've..."
Shivansh's father rushed forward and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight, rocking back and forth like trying to hold the pieces of him together.
Everyone was in pieces now.
Prisha had fallen to the floor, whispering Isha's name over and over again like a mantra.
Ishika had stopped crying—she just stared at the wall blankly, phone still clutched in her hand.
Arjun had walked out of the room, punching the wall outside so hard that blood was trickling down his knuckles.
Shivansh's grandmother had closed her eyes, chanting prayers under her breath, a string of tulsi beads slipping through her trembling fingers.
Isha brother from another mother, stood motionless, both too stunned to cry.
It wasn't just one person who died that day.
An entire family's heartbeat had stopped.
The TV, unaware of the carnage it had caused, still played in the background.
"Isha Maheshwari was a rising star in finance, a fiercely independent woman known for her work with orphaned girls and educational charities. Her firm had just secured international funding…"
The reporter paused.
"She was loved. She was respected. And she will be deeply missed."
And somewhere, in the farthest corner of the palace…
Ishika was calling her again and again but isha number is in no network.
But there was question in every one heart that where is Shivansh and if Isha came here in Jaipur.
Than why did she left in mid night that to not to go back Delhi, she left for London.
And if it is because of Shivansh when there is he and why he did came here till now or even he know about Isha and news or not.
Every one has question and there is only one person who can answer them but he is not here.
And the main part is,
No one knows where he is.
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