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Author's POV
Alina had never liked unnecessary weight. Extra houses in every city, properties left locked and soulless-it was not her way. Hotels gave her anonymity, and she liked that. But when she landed in Jaipur that noon, weary from the flight and still carrying the heaviness of what she had set into motion, Luka had smiled knowingly as the car turned away from the main road.
"Not the hotel?" she asked, brows raised.
The car slowed before a quiet gated villa, modern and sunlit, white walls softened by vines and bougainvillea spilling over the balcony.
"Brother," Luka murmured, as though that explained everything.
Alina murmured again and then had only sighed. Of course it was him. Her brother never said much, but he always spoke in actions. She could almost hear him: You deserve comfort, not cold hotel rooms.
She didn't protest. Instead, she smiled faintly as the doors opened, Riyan skipping ahead of her into the garden, his laughter echoing against the stone. "Fine," she whispered under her breath, "just this once, bhaiya."
They freshened up quickly. Lunch was light, set on the wide glass table in the dining area-simple dal, rice, and vegetables prepared by the staff Alessandro had arranged. Alina barely ate. Her thoughts were already running ahead of her body, racing toward the evening. The words she had sent out into the world this morning-If you want to know whether your so-called Isha is alive or not...-were still hovering in the air, fragile and dangerous as glass shards.
After lunch, she excused herself. Luka carried Riyan upstairs for his nap, and luka disappeared into his temporary office space, his laptop already alive with charts and figures. He was the anchor of empires across continents; even in Jaipur, the world demanded pieces of him.
Alina lay down for a while, closing her eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. When it did, it was restless. She woke late in the afternoon, sunlight pale against the curtains, the silence of the house thick around her.
Stretching, she stood and padded into the hallway, her hair loose over her shoulders. She found luka in the living area, sleeves rolled up, his gaze sharp on the glowing laptop screen. "Already at work?" she teased gently, leaning against the doorway.
He looked up, his expression softening instantly. "Always. Someone has to keep these countries running."
She laughed under her breath, but her eyes warmed. He had been her constant-through storms and secrets, through choices that would have broken anyone else.
"Luka," she said quietly, stepping forward, "we'll leave around six-thirty. It'll take time to reach the palace. Be ready."
He closed the laptop, finally giving her his full attention. "I'll be ready. And you?"
Alina's gaze flickered. "I have to be. Tonight... everything begins."
She hesitated, then added, almost shyly, "And you made it, right? The engagement invitation?"
A smile curved his lips. "Of course. For you and me-how could I forget?"
A knock came at that moment, light but certain. It was Agathe, stepping in with a box cradled in her arms. She placed it on the low table and opened it carefully. Inside lay the cards-ivory and gold, the letters embossed, simple yet royal.
Alina's breath caught. She reached forward, running her fingers across the words. Her name. His name. Together, finally, not hidden.
"Beautiful," she whispered.
Agathe grinned. "Do you like it?"
"I love it."
Luka, who had just come down with Riyan trailing at his side, peered over her shoulder. "What's that?"
Alina's lips curved, rare joy lighting her features. "Our engagement invitation."
Riyan's eyes widened, and before she could say more, he was bouncing around the room. "Muma, show me! Show me! I want to see too!" He climbed onto the sofa, clutching at the card with small hands, squealing as though it were the greatest treasure.
Alina laughed softly, unable to resist his energy. "Careful, champ, don't bend it."
"I'll show everyone!" Riyan declared, holding the card high, running across the room like it was a flag.
Agathe chuckled. Luka only shook his head. "This house will not survive him."
"Neither will my patience," Alina muttered, but there was no edge in her tone.
Finally, she gathered herself, slipping back into command. "Enough games. Get ready. We're leaving for Raghuvanshi Palace."
She went upstairs again, gently waking Riyan from his burst of excitement when he started to nod off. She helped him change into neat clothes, kissed the top of his head, and then turned to Luka.
"You too," she said, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "No delays."
He caught her hand, pressing it briefly. "As you wish."
When they came back down, the living area was alive again-Agathe gathering the cards, Luka giving instructions to the staff, Riyan tugging at the leash of their little dog. The air was filled with that rare mix of tension and anticipation, the sense that something irreversible was about to happen.
Alina paused for a moment, her eyes sweeping over them all-her people, her family, her strength. Then she picked up her shawl, straightened her shoulders, and spoke with quiet finality.
"Let's go."
The car engines started outside. The villa emptied. And together, they set out toward the palace where the truth would finally unfold.
The car hummed steadily along the Delhi road, headlights slicing through the fading dusk. Inside, silence pressed down like a second skin. Alina sat by the window, her hand resting lightly against the glass, eyes tracing the blur of passing streets. To anyone else, she looked calm-poised, collected, the same Alina who never faltered. But inside, her chest was a battlefield.
Five years.
Five years of distance, of silence, of pretending she had severed herself from everything that once defined her. And now, in a matter of minutes, she would walk back into that world and see their faces again. Her parents. Her brother. Her friends. The family she had abandoned without explanation.
And him.
Shivansh.
Her throat tightened at the thought. She could already imagine the look in his eyes when he heard what she was about to say-that she was engaged, that she was going to belong to someone else. He would hear the words, see the cards, and it would cut him as deeply as she had once been cut.
That was the plan. That was the revenge.
So why did her heart ache like it was betraying itself?
Alina's fingers curled into her lap, nails digging against her palm. Will my family rejoice... or will they despise me? Will they embrace me, or accuse me of betrayal for disappearing? And when they learn the truth I carry... when he sees me stand with another man... will the pain in his eyes give me peace, or destroy me all over again?
Her storm was broken by a small voice.
"Muma?"
She turned. Riyan was watching her from the seat beside her, his big eyes full of curiosity. "What are you thinking?"
Alina blinked, caught, then forced a soft smile. "Nothing, baby." She reached out and brushed her hand against his hair. "Just... I'm meeting my family after many years. I'm missing them already. And I'm wondering how they'll react when they see me again."
Riyan tilted his head, far too perceptive for his age. "You miss them?"
Her voice cracked before she steadied it. "Yes, I do."
Riyan reached for her hand, clutching it tightly in both of his. "Then they miss you too, Muma. Don't think too much. When you go back, they will love you."
Alina's chest caved inward. She bit her lip, blinking hard. His words, innocent and true, broke through defenses she had layered over years of exile.
Beside them, Luka spoke up, his voice low but sure. "The boy is right. They will love you, Alina. You've punished yourself long enough. Tonight, whatever happens... you will still be their daughter."
Alina turned to him sharply, expecting a smirk, some sarcastic edge to his tone. But there was none. Just quiet honesty. She swallowed, suddenly grateful for the steadiness in his presence, even if it came in the strangest of forms.
Her phone buzzed then, slicing through the moment. She glanced at the screen-Meher. With a shaky breath, she answered.
"Alina?" Meher's voice carried warmth across the line, soft and urgent. "Don't overthink. Listen to me, okay? When your family sees you, they will love you. They will cry, they will hold you, and they will never want to let you go again. You've built too many walls around yourself. Let them break at least one tonight."
Alina closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat. "Bhabhi... what if they hate me for leaving? What if-"
"No." Meher cut her off gently. "No 'what if.' Stop punishing yourself with ghosts. You are alive. That is all that matters."
There was silence for a moment. Then another voice filtered faintly in the background.
"Take care of yourself," Alessandro's deep baritone echoed, distant yet protective. He didn't take the phone directly, but his words were clear. "And don't let fear control you tonight."
Alina's lips curved in a trembling smile. "Tell him I heard that."
"He knows you did," Meher whispered, her own voice breaking with emotion.
Alina inhaled, steadying herself. The headlights caught the first glimpse of Raghuvanshi Palace in the distance, its grand arches lit like a beacon in the night.
"I have to go," she said quietly, her voice firming.
"Alina-"
"Later," she whispered, cutting the call before her courage could falter.
The phone fell into her lap. Her reflection in the car window stared back at her-a woman who looked cold, untouchable, unreadable. Yet beneath the mask, her heart beat like a drum.
The palace loomed closer.
The hour had come.
The car rolled to a stop in front of Raghuvanshi Palace. Its grand façade rose like a living monument, lights spilling from high-arched windows, each glowing like a watchful eye. The heavy gates creaked open and the guards straightened, their posture crisp with discipline.
The door opened.
Alina stepped out.
For one fleeting second, silence hung thick in the air. The guards, who had seen countless dignitaries and royals pass through, stood frozen as if the ground beneath them had shifted. Their gazes darted to her face-sharp intake of breath, wide eyes-and then, almost violently, they dropped their heads downward. Not one dared stare at her for long.
They had seen her. They had recognized her.
Or so they thought.
Whispers trembled through the line like wind rustling dry leaves. "Rani.. Rani sa is alive..." Murmurs threaded from one man to another, disbelief and awe tangled in hushed voices. Yet none lingered on her. Each time their eyes threatened to rise again, they forced them down, bowing deeper, as if afraid to meet the eyes of a ghost.
Alina's chest tightened. She could feel the weight of their recognition pressing against her spine. But she did not stop, nor acknowledge them. Her heels clicked softly on the marble steps as she ascended, carrying the silence with her.
Behind her, Luka's phone rang. His sharp tone cut through the quiet. "You go, I'll come after take this."
Riyan leaned forward, glancing at Alina's retreating figure. "I'll stay with luka uncle. Go take the call, I'll come along."
The car door shut again, muffling their voices. Alina was left utterly alone.
She crossed the threshold of the palace doors. The vast hall swallowed her whole. Chandeliers gleamed above, the scent of sandalwood and old roses clung faintly to the air. Staff lined the passage discreetly, but discipline cracked in their eyes. Gasps rippled, words hissed under breath. "It cannot be... Rani sa.. it's her... but how-?"
They thought they were staring at Isha.
But the truth walked in the skin of a stranger-Alina.
Her steps slowed as she moved deeper. The sound of her heels against the floor echoed, filling the cavernous space. Each step felt both intimate and foreign. The palace welcomed her like it always had, yet rejected her in the same breath.
Her gaze lifted to the walls, and for the first time since stepping inside, she allowed herself to look.
These walls.
Once, they were home. She had run along these very corridors, hair flying, laughter trailing after her. She had hidden behind carved pillars during games, pressed her cheek against the cool marble when she wept, decorated these halls with flowers during festivals. These walls had absorbed her shouts, her songs, her secrets.
And now-now they stood as barriers. Cold, silent witnesses. They belonged to her once, but tonight they separated her from the world she had lost.
Alina's breath caught in her throat as memories surged.
How foolish I was to believe these walls would always keep me safe. How cruel that they now remind me only of what I abandoned.
Her fingers brushed the polished wood of a side table as she passed. For a second, she almost whispered to it, as though the furniture itself remembered her touch. But her lips stayed sealed, trembling against the words that burned to escape.
The hallway stretched on endlessly. Every painting she passed was familiar-faces of ancestors, landscapes from journeys long ago. Once she had memorized them like family portraits. Tonight, they loomed like strangers watching her trespass.
Her thoughts drowned out the murmurs of staff. She didn't hear footsteps, didn't sense eyes trailing her. She was inside her head, inside the echoes of her own past.
First I thought these walls were mine to live within. Now... they are the lines that divide me from who I used to be. I once celebrated here, cried here, dreamed here. But tonight I walk like a ghost, touching what belongs to me and yet belongs to no one. And when I reach that living area-when I step into their sight-will they welcome me, or will they curse me for coming back?
Her throat stung. The hallway seemed longer than it ever had before, every step pulling her deeper into memory and dread. She inhaled sharply, fighting to steady her heartbeat, her eyes still locked on the far-off glow of the living area.
She was almost there.
Alina's steps echoed softly along the marble floor, her breath uneven as the long hallway finally opened into the wide living area. For a heartbeat, the murmur of voices dulled, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner grew louder, and the heavy silence she had been carrying within her seemed to pour out into the room.
She stopped at the threshold.
The first face her eyes fell upon was his.
Shivansh.
He stood in the center of the room, tall yet weakened, one arm resting on Ranveer's steady support. A fracture bound his wrist, the sling holding him upright. His hair, slightly disheveled, caught the faint gold of the chandelier. For an instant, the world blurred from her eyes. The room, the people, the murmurs-all dissolved until there was only him.
Her heart leapt painfully, as if it remembered before her mind did. She wanted to run to him, wanted to ask Are you hurt? How badly? Why didn't anyone tell me? But her feet froze. Something invisible, sharp, and cruel bound her in place. Maybe it was the sudden flood of memories that his face triggered-every argument, every laughter, every stolen glance, every heartbreak-spooling together like reels of film. She could almost hear their voices of the past, echoing against her ribs.
She swallowed hard, the urge to step forward burning her muscles. But instead, she looked away.
Her eyes moved next to others-faces she knew by heart yet hadn't seen in years.
Her family. Her friends. Her brothers. His parents. His family
Dhruv was there, his jaw clenched tight, as if holding back words he wanted to scream. Her parents stood just beside him, their expressions suspended between relief and disbelief, eyes glistening with tears unshed. His grandparents, their frail hands trembling, stared at her as though they were seeing a ghost who had suddenly materialized from the air. His chose papa's lips moved in silent prayer, while his chote may pressed her hands against her chest to calm her racing heart.
Her friends were scattered too. Ishika's lips parted, eyes wide, unable to hide her raw shock. Prisha's hand clutched at her dupatta, tears already brimming as she whispered her name under her breath, "Isha..." The word seemed to tremble across the air, almost reaching her ears like a broken melody.
Everywhere she turned, someone's gaze pulled at her. They wanted to rush forward, to gather her in their arms, to ask a thousand questions. They wanted to touch her to make sure she was real. And she-she wanted to run to them, to bury her face in their shoulders, to let the years of loneliness dissolve into their embrace.
But she didn't.
Because there was a wall. A wall no one could see but her. It wrapped around her heart, tall and merciless, holding her back from stepping even one inch closer.
Coward, her mind whispered. You ran from them once. You left them with silence, with grief, with unanswered questions. And now you stand here again, with the same silence, the same walls. Do you dare to run into their arms? Do you deserve it?
Her throat constricted. She forced herself to stand still, her hands trembling by her side. The entire room seemed to hold its breath.
No one moved first.
It was as though everyone waited for her to take the step-her family, her friends, even Shivansh whose eyes never left her despite her refusal to meet them again.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Just silence. Silence so thick it felt like it would break her spine.
And then, finally, she found her voice. Soft, uneven, almost breaking.
"I..."
Her lips trembled. She tried again.
"I don't know... if I still belong here."
Gasps rippled through the room. Her grandmother took a small step forward, whispering her name again, "Isha, child..." Her mother's hand lifted slightly, as if reaching across the distance, though she dared not cross it.
Arjun's voice cracked, harsh with emotion. "Where were you all these years? Do you know what we went through? Do you know what you did to us?"
She flinched, the words cutting deep. Her lips parted, but no excuse formed.
Instead, her eyes darted once more to Shivansh. He was staring at her-an expression that was not anger, not relief, not joy, but something darker, heavier, as though every unanswered question of his heart was pressing into that one gaze. She thought she saw his lips move, barely a whisper, "Why?"
Her chest heaved. She took one shaky step further into the living area, until she stood in the middle, surrounded by everyone she had once called hers.
They were hers.
Maybe they still were.
But five years had carved a canyon between her and them, and now the wall in her chest made sure she stayed on the other side.
She looked at them-at her people-and whispered again, her voice breaking this time.
"I wanted to run into your arms... but I can't. I don't know how."
The silence cracked then. Ishika broke into sobs. Prisha called her name louder. His grandmother whispered a prayer. And still, she stood there, rigid, unable to move.
Because the wall around her heart hadn't fallen. Not yet.
For a moment, no one moved. The silence was too thick, too fragile, like the room itself was afraid of shattering.
And then it broke.
Her mother moved first. With a choked sob, she rushed forward, her trembling hands reaching for Alina's face. "Isha... my Isha..." Her voice fractured, the sound echoing in the heavy air. She cupped her daughter's cheeks, her thumbs stroking skin as if to test if she was flesh or shadow. Tears streamed down her lined face, and before Alina could protest, her mother pulled her into a fierce embrace, clinging as though she would never let her go again.
The dam burst.
Her father followed, silent tears carving down his usually stoic face. He pressed his forehead against hers, whispering in a voice cracked with five years of unsaid prayers, "You're alive... you're alive..."
His grandmother's trembling hands wrapped around her shoulders, his grandfather's frail palm brushed against her head in blessing. Her brother Arjun's arms came around her tightly, his voice thick with anger and love all at once, "Five years, Didu! Do you even know what it did to us?" But even as his words scolded, his grip only tightened, as if to make up for the years lost.
Dhruv came too, his hands gripping hers like he might break if he let go. He didn't speak-he couldn't. His tears spoke for him.
One by one, everyone stepped forward. Her friends-Prisha, Ishika, Ritvik, Arav-all threw themselves into her, their sobs echoing in the large hall. "We thought you were gone forever," Ishika whispered, her voice raw. Prisha clutched her like a lifeline, muttering over and over, "You're here. You're really here."
Every touch, every embrace, every voice pulled at her heart. For a moment, Alina couldn't breathe. The wall she had built inside her cracked and cracked, under the weight of their love. I don't deserve this, she thought, tears burning her eyes. I don't deserve their warmth, not after I left them. Not after I made them bleed with my absence.
But still... it felt whole.
It felt like home.
Even if her heart whispered she had no right to belong anymore, their arms insisted otherwise.
She raised her voice just enough to be heard through their tears. "I know... I know you all have questions." Her throat was thick, her words breaking. "And you deserve answers. But for now... just sit. Please. We'll talk, I promise."
Her words carried a strange command-soft, yet heavy enough to make them obey. Slowly, reluctantly, they pulled away, retreating to their seats, their eyes never leaving her as if afraid she might vanish again if they blinked.
And then, silence returned. But it was not the sharp, heavy silence of before. This one was softer, full of hearts beating too fast, of eyes red with tears, of breaths uneven.
She stood still in the center, her hands trembling from all the touches, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. She could feel their eyes-every one of them-still clinging to her.
And then, a voice.
Low. Soft. Trembling.
"Can I..."
She froze.
"Can I please... touch you?"
Her eyes darted instinctively to the source.
Shivansh.
He hadn't moved earlier. He hadn't rushed forward like the others. He had stayed where he was, standing a little apart, his hand still resting on Ranveer's arm for balance. He looked pale, his injury evident, but it was his eyes that caught her breath.
They were wide, disbelieving, full of a storm she couldn't name-relief, regret, love, anger, longing. His lips trembled as he whispered again, softer this time, "Isha... can I touch you? Just to be sure you're here. That you're not a dream."
The room seemed to dissolve again, leaving only the two of them suspended in the moment.
Her chest constricted. She had been ready for questions, ready for anger, ready for accusations. But not this. Not the raw, fragile plea of a man who had carried her ghost for five years.
She wanted to run. She wanted to let him. But the wall inside her heart still stood.
Her lips parted, trembling.
For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of his breathing-shallow, uneven. Shivansh's hand trembled in the space between them, just a breath away from her cheek. His lips parted, a plea caught in his throat. Alaina's chest tightened. She had braced herself for his anger, his accusations, but not this tenderness. Not this raw fragility.
The tears in his eyes stopped her. They glistened in the low light, unfallen, but enough to tell her everything he could not say aloud. He missed me. The thought stabbed her, sharp and unwanted. But then her mind fought back-No, he's faking it. He's always been a master at showing only what benefits him. I can't trust these tears.
Still... her feet betrayed her. Slowly, almost against her will, she stepped forward. One step. Then another. The air thickened between them, their shared silence screaming louder than words. Her eyes locked onto his hand, trembling, waiting, almost touching.
He raised his hand higher, hesitating for the briefest second, his fingertips almost grazing her skin. His breath hitched, his voice nothing more than a whisper, "Isha, you came back."
And then-
The sound of little feet pattering against the marble floor shattered the silence.
A small figure darted into the room, his steps quick, clumsy with excitement. A boy-no more than four, perhaps five-ran past the stunned gazes and crashed into Alina's legs, wrapping his tiny arms around her knees.
"Muma!" the boy cried, his voice high and bright, echoing against the frozen silence of the hall.
The entire room went still.
Shivansh's hand froze midair, a hair's breadth away from her cheek. Slowly, his eyes dropped to the boy now clutching at Alina's legs. The word echoed in his mind, hammering like a cruel drum: Mumma.
Every face in the living area mirrored the same expression-shock. Her parents gasped audibly, her mother's hand flying to her mouth. Arjun's jaw dropped, his fists clenching by his sides. Prisha whispered in disbelief, "She... she has a child?" Ishika's fingers dug into her arm, eyes wide as saucers. The elders exchanged stunned looks, the truth too heavy to process in one instant.
Alina froze, her own breath catching in her chest. The warmth of the small body clinging to her grounded her and betrayed her all at once. Her hand twitched, as if to shield the boy from all the eyes burning into them.
"Muma, I was looking for you," the boy murmured again, innocent, unaware of the storm he had unleashed. His little face tilted upward, his eyes so like hers it left no room for denial.
Shivansh's lips parted soundlessly, his hand retreating an inch as though burned. His eyes flicked between her and the boy, pain and disbelief colliding violently across his face. His voice finally broke through, hoarse and shaking, "You... you're a mother?"
Before she could answer, another voice joined the scene.
Firm footsteps echoed behind the child.
Everyone turned.
A tall man entered-broad shoulders, dark hair slightly mussed, sharp features carved with an almost aristocratic precision. His eyes, storm-grey, scanned the room in a single sweep before softening only when they landed on Alina. In one hand, he held a neat stack of ivory-white cards. His other hand instinctively reached for her, sliding around her waist with an ease that spoke of practice, of belonging.
The entire hall tensed.
Who was this man?
"Riyan," he said calmly, his deep voice carrying warmth meant only for the child. "Come here, little one."
The boy immediately obeyed, releasing Alina and bounding toward him. The man bent slightly, taking the child's hand into his large palm with practiced gentleness. Then, straightening, he pulled both her and child close, standing beside Alina as though he had always been there, as though this was his place.
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Her father's voice cracked first, sharp with disbelief. "Who... who is he?"
The man didn't flinch. His storm-grey gaze met theirs without hesitation. Calm, composed, protective.
Alina, though trembling, lifted her chin slightly, her lips pressing into a line. She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes darted to her family, then to her friends, and finally-hesitantly-to Shivansh.
Shivansh stood frozen, his face pale, his fractured leg barely holding him up as Ranveer steadied him. His eyes were locked not on her, but on the boy now holding another man's hand. The pain etched across his features was undeniable. His voice cracked again, quieter this time, almost to himself, "Muma..."
The word was poison on his tongue.
The silence grew heavier, broken only by Riyan's innocent humming as he clutched both Alina and the man's hand together, unaware that his small action was unraveling every heart in the room.
The little boy's voice echoed again in the hall, tugging at her dress, clinging to her leg. "Muma, muma..." he said, as if the word was the only truth in the entire palace. The silence around them was so thick that even his innocent tone became a thunderclap. Eyes darted from the boy to her, then to the man beside her. Their breaths faltered, their hands trembled, their hearts refused to accept what their eyes were seeing.
She did not waver. Her face remained calm, her posture rigid, her chin lifted like a queen shielding herself from arrows. Inside, though, her chest ached, her throat burned, and her heart screamed for release. But she refused to break.
"I am here," she said at last, her voice low but commanding, echoing across the living area. "I am not here for your questions. I am here to tell you only one thing - that I am alive."
A ripple of disbelief passed through the room. Some hands rose to their mouths. Her mother's knees buckled; her brothers stepped closer as though they wanted to run, to embrace her, to confirm she was real. Shivansh's grip on Ranveer's arm tightened, his jaw locked, his lips parted but no words escaped. His eyes - those eyes - glistened, desperate and filled with a thousand emotions all at once.
But before anyone could move, before anyone could demand, she lifted her hand, stopping them in their tracks.
"And," she continued, looking at Luka, "I am here to invite you all to the biggest decision of my life."
Luka silently reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small bundle of ivory cards, edges glimmering with gold. His hand brushed hers as he gave them over. She accepted them with steady fingers, though inside they trembled.
One by one, she walked forward - not too close, not too far - and placed the cards into their hands. Her parents. His parents. His grandparents. His chote papa and his chote maa her brothers, her friends. Each card was received with a mixture of awe and suspicion. Some held the paper as if it might burn their fingers. Others clutched it with hope. And then, lastly, she walked to Shivansh.
Her breath faltered. The sound of his uneven inhale reached her ears. She did not look him in the eye, for if she did, she knew she might shatter. Silently, she extended the card. His hand brushed against hers when he took it, a touch that felt like a fire scorching through her skin. She pulled away instantly.
"Open it," she said softly, though her voice quivered.
Paper tore. Gasps followed. One by one, their eyes widened as they read the bold letters inked in silver across the card:
"Alina is getting engaged to Luka."
The room froze again. Silence roared. Alina? Who was Alina? And what engagement? The boy clung tighter to her dress, as if anchoring her in the storm.
"I am Alina," she answered their unspoken question, her gaze sweeping across the stunned faces. "There is nothing more to it. Alina is me. And I am getting engaged to Luka." Her voice hardened at the end, as though hammering nails into the coffin of their disbelief.
Her father's hand trembled, the card nearly slipping from his fingers. Her mother's lips parted in disbelief. Dhruv whispered something under his breath, though the words were lost. Shivansh's card crumpled in his palm, his knuckles white as he clutched it like it was his last anchor.
"I did not come here for questions," she repeated, her voice breaking just a fraction. "I did not come here for forgiveness, or explanations. I only came because I could not marry without my family knowing I was alive. Without your blessings, or at least your presence, it would mean nothing. So I came. I am here. That is all."
And she stopped. Her chest heaved. She swallowed hard, fighting the sting in her eyes.
Shivansh finally looked up at her. His lips parted, but no words came out. His throat bobbed. His eyes were not angry - no, they were something worse. They were broken. His pain seeped through every glance, every shallow breath. She could see it, and it tore her apart, but she forced herself to stay still.
"Muma..." A soft whisper tugged at her ear. It was Riyan, the little boy, his eyes wide with curiosity. He tugged her hand gently and whispered again, "Will you introduce me? I want to know who they are. I want to know your friends."
Her heart clenched. She looked down at him, his innocent face glowing with trust. She could not deny him.
So, with shaky breath, she nodded. "Yes, baby."
Her voice softened as she turned back to the stunned gathering. "This is Riyan... my son."
Gasps filled the air. Someone dropped their card. Someone else took a step back.
"And this," she continued, placing a hand on Luka's arm, "is Luka."
Luka gave a courteous nod, his arm tightening around her waist protectively. His features were sharp - tall, broad-shouldered, with calm gray eyes that carried the weight of storms yet spoke nothing. His jaw was strong, his stance immovable. He looked like a man who had shielded her for years, who would not hesitate to do it again, here, in front of all of them.
Then, gently, she knelt by Riyan's side, guiding his tiny hand forward. "And these... these are my family."
Riyan's eyes lit up as he waved, giggling, "Hello!"
The sound broke something in Shivansh. He closed his eyes for a moment, his fist tightening around the ruined card. His chest rose and fell with sharp breaths. And though he did not say a word, his silence screamed louder than anyone's questions.
Alina kept her chin up, her voice steady as she introduced one by one: her parents, her brothers, her friends. She said each name with care, with love, though every word weighed her down. And when she reached Shivansh, her throat tightened.
Her eyes met his, only for a fleeting second, and she whispered, barely audible, "And this is... Someone you don't have to know. "
She stopped there, unable to say more.
Inside, she was breaking. She did not know why she handed him that card, why she twisted the knife into both their hearts. Maybe to test him. Maybe to punish him. Or maybe... because some part of her still wanted him to fight for her.
But all she saw was his silence. All she felt was his pain. And all she heard was the echo of her own voice, trembling under the weight of truths unsaid.
Shivansh could not move.
The world around him blurred into nothing but her. The woman who had haunted his nights, his every waking breath, his every heartbeat for the last five years - she was here. Alive. Standing right in front of him.
His hands trembled on the crutch Ranbir held steady for him. His knuckles had gone white around the ruined card in his palm, its sharp edges cutting into his skin, but he didn't feel it. What he felt was fire - scorching his chest, suffocating his lungs, burning through every vein.
Isha.
His Isha.
But was she still his?
She was speaking - calm, poised, cold - as if the walls around her had been built brick by brick over the years. Her voice had no trace of the laughter he once knew, the warmth that once disarmed him. The softness of the girl who had fought with him, argued with him, looked at him like he was her entire world. Now, every word she spoke felt like a blade carving distance between them.
And then the boy.
That small child, his arms wrapped around her legs, looking up at her with adoration, calling her Mumma. The word pierced Shivansh's heart in ways he couldn't describe. It should have been him. It should have been their child. Instead, here she was, with a stranger at her side and a little boy who had stolen what should have been his.
Ranveer's low whisper brushed his ear, "Shiv... breathe. You're shaking."
But he couldn't. His breaths came jagged, shallow, each one heavier than the last. His eyes stayed locked on her, drinking her in. Her hair had changed, her clothes were different, her eyes harder - but she was still her. Still Isha. Still the woman who carried his soul in her hands, even as she crushed it now.
His grandmother clutched at her pearls, tears brimming. "My child... she... she is alive. My Isha is alive..." she whispered, half to herself, half to the heavens. But her voice cracked when Alina's words echoed again in her memory: "I am Alain. I am not Isha."
His grandfather's jaw clenched. He said nothing, but his gaze hardened as if demanding answers he knew she would not give.
Her mother sobbed openly, reaching a trembling hand toward her. "Isha... my beti, how can you stand there like a stranger? Don't you see us?"
But Isha only bowed her head slightly, her lips pressed into a line. That wall around her heart was unshakable.
Her brothers were restless, caught between anger and desperate joy. Dhruv stepped forward first, crouching slightly so he wouldn't tower over the little boy. His voice was soft, careful. "Hey there, champ. What's your name?"
The boy's eyes sparkled as he puffed his chest. "Riyan!"
"Riyan, huh?" Arjun joined in, smiling through the tightness in his throat. "I'm your Muma's brother. That makes me your mama too, kind of. Want a high-five?"
Riyan giggled, slapping his tiny hand into Arjun's palm. "Muma said you're funny."
The words stabbed Shivansh again. Mama said.
She'd spoken of them to the boy. She'd remembered them. But she hadn't remembered him?
Her friends, Prisha and Ishika, had tears streaking down their faces. They bent toward Riy.an, their voices trembling.
"Riyan... I'm your Mama's friend," Prisha said, forcing a smile. "I've waited so long to meet you."
Riyan tilted his head curiously. "So many friends? Muma, you never told me you had so many!"
Laughter, shaky and broken, rippled through the room. Some wiped tears. Some smiled despite themselves. For a fleeting second, it almost felt like the warmth of before - like she belonged again, like she was still theirs.
But Shivansh's chest felt tighter with every passing second. He was drowning.
The boy clung to her hand, Luka's arm was firmly around her waist, and she stood there like she was untouchable. He wanted to shout, to demand why, to beg her to come back, to fall to his knees if it meant she would just look at him the way she once did. But when his lips parted, no words came. Only the sting of tears he refused to shed.
She is alive, he told himself, again and again. She is alive. She is here.
But another voice echoed louder: She is no longer yours.
His mother whispered hoarsely, breaking the heavy silence, "Isha... beta, we thought we lost you. Why... why didn't you come back?"
Alina's jaw tightened. Her eyes darted, her lips parted - but then she pressed them together, swallowing the answer like poison.
"I told you," she said flatly. "I am not here for questions."
The suffocation spread through the room. Her coldness was a blade, her distance a cage. She was theirs and yet not theirs. Present, yet unreachable.
Shivansh's fingers dug into his palm until his nails drew blood. He had thought her death was the worst pain he could ever feel. But this - this living, breathing ghost of her, alive yet belonging to someone else - this was worse. Far worse.
The living room still buzzed with murmurs, tears, and nervous laughter as one by one everyone introduced themselves to Rian.
"Hello, little one," Ishika whispered, bending down so her dupatta didn't fall in his face. "I'm your Muma's best friend."
Riyan blinked at her, then grinned. "Then you're my friend too."
Prisha's voice shook as she ruffled his hair. "I waited five years to meet my best friend's son... I don't know whether to cry or laugh."
Arav crouched, offering his hand. "I'm your uncle, kid. You can call me Arav Mama. You like cricket?"
"Love it!" Riyan shouted, his eyes sparkling. "Muma said I'll play one day!"
"Then I'll be your coach," Arav promised, smiling through his own tears.
Even Ritwik, usually the quietest, stepped forward with a trembling smile. "You've got your mother's eyes... remember me, okay? I'm her brother too."
One by one, her parents came closer, hesitating but unable to deny the truth standing before them. Her mother's trembling fingers touched Riyan's cheek. "So soft... just like you were when you were small, Isha."
Her father's throat worked, words heavy. "He... he is yours, isn't he?"
Alina didn't answer. She only gathered Riyan closer, her silence speaking louder than words.
And then, without warning, Shivansh moved.
He crossed the room silently, his crutch tapping faintly against the marble. Nobody noticed him until he stopped right behind her. His breath hitched before he spoke, his voice low, rough, trembling.
"I want to talk to you."
She froze, but didn't look at him. Her eyes stayed glued on Riyan, as if pretending she hadn't heard.
"Please," Shivansh tried again, softer this time, almost begging.
Still, she didn't turn.
It was Luka who caught her gaze from across the room, his jaw tight, his eyes asking her silently: Go.
She swallowed, gave a tiny nod, and turned to Shivansh at last - but her expression was stone. "Fine. But not in your chamber." Her voice cut sharp. "I won't step into that place again."
The words hit Shivansh like a slap, but he only nodded once. "Garden, then."
He turned, moving slowly toward the hallway, and she followed after a tense pause. The silence between them was louder than any shouting.
The farther they walked, the more the crowd's voices faded until there was nothing but the echo of their steps on the polished floor.
Alina's eyes trailed over the walls she knew so well, memories flashing like ghosts - laughter, arguments, celebrations, tears. Each corner held pieces of a life she'd buried. Each step tightened the knot in her chest.
Finally, he stopped in the middle of the empty hallway. She nearly bumped into him, startled.
"What are we doing here?" she asked flatly.
Shivansh turned to face her, his eyes dark, burning with too many emotions. His crutch wobbled slightly, but he held himself steady. "I... I don't even know where to begin."
She crossed her arms, tilting her chin up defiantly. "Then don't. I told you, I didn't come for questions."
He exhaled sharply, his voice breaking. "How can you stand there like this? After five years, you're alive, you're here, and you think I won't ask?"
Her jaw clenched. "Ask all you want. It won't change anything."
His fingers tightened on the handle of his crutch until his knuckles turned white. His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "That boy... he called you Muma. Is he-" His voice cracked. "Is he mine?"
Her breath caught, but she forced herself to stay silent.
The silence stretched, suffocating.
Shivansh's eyes glistened, unshed tears threatening to spill. He took a shaky step closer, desperation in every line of his face. "Tell me the truth, Isha. Just once. For God's sake, don't hide behind this cold mask. I need to know."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream, to push him away, to tell him nothing. But all she managed was a broken whisper.
"Don't call me Isha."
He flinched as if struck.
The hallway seemed to close in around them, heavy with everything unsaid - five years of grief, of longing, of betrayal, of unanswered questions.
And then, before either could say more, little footsteps echoed faintly.
"Muma?" Riyan's small voice cut through the tension like sunlight piercing a storm. He peeked around the corner, his little face worried.
Shivansh's breath hitched again, his eyes locking on the boy.
Alina turned sharply toward her son, forcing a calm smile. "It's alright, baby. Muma's here."
But inside, she was crumbling.
Riyan's footsteps grew louder as he ran down the corridor, his tiny sneakers squeaking against the marble. He skidded to a halt when he saw them standing there, the air so heavy it almost hummed.
"Mumm," he whispered, tilting his head. "Why are you standing here? You look sad."
Alina's heart clenched. She crouched quickly, cupping his little face with trembling hands. "No, sweetheart, I'm not sad. Just… talking."
Riyan frowned. His eyes — too much like hers, too much like Shivansh's — darted between the two adults. Then, without hesitation, he turned to the tall man with the crutch.
"Are you my Muma's friend?"
The question punched the breath out of Shivansh's lungs. His lips parted, but no sound came. His chest rose and fell as though he'd been struck.
Alina stiffened, her fingers tightening around Rian's small shoulders. "Riyan," she said quickly, "come here—"
But her son didn't move. His innocent gaze stayed fixed on Shivansh, waiting.
And something inside Shivansh broke. His hand trembled on the crutch. His voice was barely audible when it finally escaped.
"I… was," he whispered, eyes glistening. "A long time ago."
Riyan blinked, then gave a small, thoughtful nod. "Then you should be my friend too. Because Muma says her friends are mine."
The boy's smile was so pure, so trusting, that Shivansh's knees nearly buckled. He pressed his palm against the wall, steadying himself, because the urge to drop everything — his pride, his questions, his pain — and scoop the child into his arms was unbearable.
But Alina's hand was already there, firm, protective, pulling Rian gently back. Her voice was steady, though her heart was breaking.
"That's enough, Riyan. Go back to luka and the others. Muma will come soon."
Riyan pouted, glancing once more at Shivansh, then obeyed. "Okay… but you both looked like you were fighting. Friends don't fight, Muma."
He darted away before either could respond, his little footsteps echoing down the hall until they vanished.
Silence fell again. But this time it was different — heavier, suffocating.
Shivansh turned his face away, his voice ragged. "You can lie to me. You can turn your back on me. But you can't erase him. He's… he's proof."
Alina's nails dug into her palms, her eyes burning with unshed tears, but her voice stayed ice-cold. "Proof of what, Shivansh? Of your assumptions? Don't drag him into this."
Their gazes clashed — hers, a fortress of walls; his, a storm of desperation.
And between them the voice the echo of a child's innocent words: Friends don't fight, Muma.
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