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Author's POV
The corridor was quiet, almost unnervingly so. The sounds of laughter and conversation from the main hall seemed a world away, muffled by the heavy walls of the palace. The silence here wasn't peaceful—it was a battlefield waiting for its first strike.
Isha—no, Alina, as she now called herself—stood stiffly near the arched window, her arms folded across her chest as though the gesture could shield her from the storm gathering in front of her. Shivansh stood opposite, his weight leaning slightly on his crutch, but the fury in his eyes was stronger than any physical weakness. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as though words were fighting their way out, burning him from within.
Finally, his control shattered.
"Who is he?" His voice was low, but sharp, each word edged like a blade. "That boy. Who is the child, isha? Who is his father? Tell me!"
Her head jerked at the sound of his question, but she did not look startled. No, her expression was a mixture of exhaustion and defiance, as though she had anticipated this very confrontation. She turned her gaze away, refusing to meet his burning stare, choosing instead to look out at the garden where the moonlight fell pale on the flowers.
But Shivansh wasn't going to be ignored. He stepped closer, the echo of his crutch striking the marble floor louder now, like a drumbeat. His eyes glistened—not just with rage, but with something deeper, something raw. "Is he mine?" His voice cracked. "Answer me, damn it. Is that boy my son?"
The words hung between them like thunder.
For a moment, Alina's lips trembled, her throat tightening. She turned, finally facing him, and what Shivansh saw made him freeze: her eyes brimming, not with softness, but with a fury that rivaled his own.
"No," she spat, the word cutting clean through the air. "He is not yours."
Shivansh staggered, as if the floor had been yanked from under him. His grip on the crutch tightened until his knuckles whitened. He opened his mouth, but she raised her hand, silencing him before he could speak.
"He may not be mine by blood either," she continued, her voice trembling yet steadying with every syllable. "But he is mine in every other way that matters. Do you understand? He is the reason I survived these five years. The reason I learned how to breathe again, how to get up after surgeries, after nights of screaming into my pillow, after the emptiness you left behind."
Her words struck like arrows, relentless. Shivansh's jaw clenched, his breath sharp and shallow.
"He is not less than my own child," Alina pressed on, her chin tilting upward, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He is my truth. Maybe not the one you wanted, maybe not the one you can accept, but the only truth I have left."
Shivansh's lips parted, but before he could whisper anything, she stepped forward, her voice dropping, cold as winter steel.
"And as for Luka—" she almost hissed the name, "—he's the man who held me together when I was nothing but broken pieces. He's the one who sat by my hospital bed when my heart failed, who fed me when I couldn't lift a spoon, who waited for me to stop shaking at night before closing his eyes. He is the one who cared, who loved, who gave me a reason to stand again."
Her words dripped with venom now, and her gaze locked onto his, unflinching.
"So tell me, Shivansh," she whispered, voice trembling with suppressed fury, "who the hell are you to question me? Who are you to stand here, demanding answers as if you still have the right? Did you think I forgot? Five years ago—you cheated, you played with my heart, you made me feel like I was nothing. And now you stand here, expecting me to justify my life to you?"
Each word hit him harder than the last. His chest heaved, his hand trembled at his side, but he didn't speak—he couldn't.
Alina's eyes narrowed, her pain now buried beneath a sharp edge of sarcasm. "You are nothing to me anymore. Nothing. I only answered this one question because, yes, maybe somewhere he is connected to you, to the life I once lived. But don't mistake this for weakness. Don't mistake me for the girl who once loved you blindly."
Her hand brushed her hair back, her expression turning almost cruel in its indifference. "After a week, I will be engaged. To a man who deserves me. To a man who loves me. Consider this your invitation, Shivansh. Come, eat the food, drink the wine, enjoy the music. That's all you'll ever get from me now."
And with that, she turned on her heel, her dress swishing softly as she strode away.
Shivansh didn't move. He stood frozen, staring at the empty space she left behind. His eyes burned, his chest ached as if someone had lodged a knife inside. For the first time in years, the king looked like a broken man—not because she had left, but because she had survived without him.
And in surviving, she had built walls higher than even he could climb.
The hallway was empty, but Shivansh wasn't alone. The silence roared around him, louder than a thousand voices. He leaned against the cold stone pillar, one hand clutching his chest, the other gripping his crutch so tightly it threatened to splinter. His breaths were uneven, ragged—like the air had turned too thin to reach his lungs.
Her words replayed in his mind, each syllable sharper than the last. You are nothing to me anymore. His vision blurred. His throat burned. The ground seemed to tilt beneath him.
For the first time in years, the king felt powerless. Not because of politics, not because of enemies at his gate, but because of one woman who had once belonged entirely to him—and now looked at him as if he were a stranger.
The panic tightened its hold, merciless. His heart raced, faster, faster, his hand trembling against his chest. Sweat gathered at his temple. The marble floor beneath his feet felt like it was slipping away, dragging him with it.
Then—
"Shiv!"
The sharp, urgent voice cut through the fog. Ranveer.
He rushed forward, his footsteps echoing in the silent hall. His eyes widened the instant he saw Shivansh's pale face, the way his chest heaved like he was drowning on land. "Breathe! For God's sake, Shivansh—look at me!"
Shivansh's lips parted, but only a shallow gasp escaped. His crutch slipped slightly, and he staggered. Ranveer caught him by the shoulders before he could fall, his grip steady, his voice firm but calm.
"Listen to me. Slow. Breathe with me. In… out. In… out. That's it. Just follow me."
Shivansh closed his eyes, trying, forcing the air back into his lungs, following the rhythm of Ranveer's voice. His chest still hurt, but the suffocating weight began to ease, little by little, as if someone was pulling him back from the edge.
When his breaths finally evened, though still shallow, his voice broke in a whisper:
"I… I can't… not here. Don't… don't take me to my chamber."
Ranveer frowned, his jaw tightening. He didn't argue—not when Shivansh looked like a fragile shadow of himself. Instead, he tightened his grip around him. "Fine. My room, then. You're not standing here another second."
Without waiting for protest, Ranveer slung Shivansh's arm over his shoulder and guided him away, step by step, ignoring the stubborn resistance in his stride. Shivansh wanted to push him away, to keep his pride intact, but his body betrayed him—too weak, too shaken to fight.
The walk to Ranveer's chamber felt endless, but at least the silence here wasn't judgmental. No eyes staring, no whispers behind their backs. Just two brothers in arms, one carrying the weight the other could no longer bear.
By the time they reached the chamber, Shivansh collapsed into the chair by the window, his hand covering his face, his breath still unsteady but no longer suffocating. Ranveer crouched before him, searching his eyes.
"What the hell happened back there, Shiv? What did she say to you?" His voice was quiet, careful.
But Shivansh didn't answer. He couldn't. Because how could he tell Ranveer that the woman he had loved, the woman he had believed fate itself had written for him—had just carved him out of her life like he never mattered?
The chamber was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls, as if even the room itself mourned with him. Shivansh sat slumped in the chair by the window, his body angled away, shoulders curved inward like he wanted to disappear into himself. His hand still covered half his face, fingers pressed to his temple, while the other rested limply on the armrest. His crutch leaned uselessly against the wall, abandoned like the dignity he was trying so hard to hold onto.
Ranveer crouched down in front of him, patient but unyielding, the way only he knew how to be. He had seen Shivansh at his highest peaks and lowest pits, but never—never like this. This wasn't the king. This wasn't the cold, arrogant strategist who could destroy rivals with a single calculated move. This was just a man stripped bare, bleeding from wounds that no battlefield had inflicted.
"Talk to me, Shiv," Ranveer said softly, though his tone carried the weight of command. "Don't sit here choking on silence. I saw you—out there. You looked like you couldn't breathe. What did she tell you?"
Shivansh didn't respond. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle pulsed under his skin. His chest rose and fell in shallow waves, every breath a silent war.
Ranveer exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and tried again. "If you keep it inside, it will eat you alive. Don't give her that power. Not after five years."
Finally, Shivansh let out a broken laugh—a sound so hollow it barely resembled laughter at all. He leaned back against the chair, his hand dropping from his face. His eyes glistened, raw, red, as if he had fought too long to hold back tears and now they threatened to betray him.
"She…" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before trying again. "She came back only to tell me she belongs to someone else. That she has a child who calls her mumma. That I mean nothing. Nothing, Ranveer."
The words cut through the chamber like shards of glass.
Ranveer felt his chest tighten. He had expected something sharp, but not this cruel. He placed a hand on Shivansh's knee, grounding him. "Shiv… you don't know the whole story yet. She's alive. That's already—"
"Alive, yes," Shivansh snapped suddenly, his voice hoarse with suppressed rage. "Alive, and still not mine. Do you understand what that feels like, Ranveer? Five years—five years of believing she was gone, five years of praying the gods, five years of carrying guilt so heavy I could barely breathe. And now—now she stands before me, looking me in the eyes, and says she belongs to another man. She has a family. She built a life without me."
His fist slammed against the armrest, the sound echoing sharply. The veins in his neck strained, his breathing quickened again, dangerously close to another spiral.
Ranveer gripped his shoulder firmly, steadying him. "Shivansh. Look at me. You're not going to collapse again. Not for this. Listen—"
But Shivansh's eyes were wild, storm-filled, refusing to calm. "Do you know what she did, Ranveer? She looked at me as if I were… an intruder. Like the years we had meant nothing. Like I'm the stranger and that Luja—that man—is her savior. And that child…" His voice broke, softer now, raw. "That child should have been ours, Ranveer. Ours."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Ranveer tightened his grip, forcing Shivansh to focus on him. "Shiv. Stop torturing yourself with what should have been. You don't know what she's been through. She didn't even explain, did she? She gave no answers, only walls."
Shivansh let out a sharp exhale, his face twisting. "Walls? She built fortresses. She looked at me like… like she hated me. And the worst part? Maybe she does. Maybe I deserve it."
That confession hung heavy in the air.
Ranveer shook his head immediately. "Don't. Don't you dare blame yourself for everything. Yes, you made mistakes, but she… she disappeared, Shiv. And now she comes back on her terms, throwing daggers, expecting you to bleed quietly? No. That's not fair to you."
For a long moment, Shivansh was quiet again. His eyes fell to the floor, but his fingers trembled against the armrest. He wasn't the type to cry openly, but his silence was worse—it was the silence of a man being torn apart from the inside.
Ranveer sighed and pulled a chair closer, sitting across from him now. His voice softened, gentler. "Shiv. You love her. You've always loved her. That won't vanish just because she's trying to bury you under her coldness. But you can't let her destroy what's left of you. Not like this. You're breaking in front of me. And I won't let you."
Shivansh finally met his gaze, and for the briefest moment, the king's mask slipped completely. His voice was quiet, nearly a whisper. "Then tell me, Ranveer—how do I breathe knowing she's alive but not mine?"
Ranveer didn't have an easy answer. He leaned forward, clasped Shivansh's trembling hand in his own, and simply said: "One breath at a time. And I'll be here for every single one of them."
The silence between them lingered after Ranveer's last words, but it wasn't the comfortable kind. It was heavy, suffocating, filling every corner of the chamber. Shivansh leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands pressed together as though in prayer. His head hung low, shadow hiding the emotions carved into his face.
Ranveer exhaled slowly, breaking the quiet. "Shiv, I need to say this… and you're not going to like it."
Shivansh gave a hollow laugh without looking up. "Since when have I liked anything that has to do with her?"
Ranveer ignored the bitterness. He shifted forward, his voice steady but sharp. "You think she hates you for leaving her, for whatever happened five years ago. But let's be honest—she doesn't even know the truth. You never told her. You let her believe lies. You let her think you loved Juhi."
At that, Shivansh's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "Don't—don't bring that name here."
Ranveer didn't flinch. "Why not? That's exactly the name she associates with your betrayal. That's the thorn lodged in her heart. You may not have loved Juhi, Shiv, but you never told Isha why you did what you did. You never explained. You let her walk away with poison in her veins, believing you destroyed her. And now you're shocked she built walls?"
Shivansh's throat worked as he tried to swallow the lump forming there. His fingers curled into fists. "I did it to protect her."
"Then why doesn't she know that?" Ranveer pressed, his voice rising. "Why doesn't she know the real reason? Five years, Shiv. You've carried the guilt, but she carried the wound without ever knowing why it was inflicted. You can't expect her to forgive when you never gave her the truth."
Shivansh squeezed his eyes shut, leaning back as if Ranveer's words were blows. His breath came harsh, uneven. "She wouldn't have believed me. Not then. Maybe not even now."
"Then make her believe you now," Ranveer snapped, his hand hitting the armrest of the chair. "Do you want her to marry Luka? To belong to someone else forever? Or do you want to fight for her? If you do, then stop hiding behind silence and half-truths. Tell her why you did it. Tell her what Juhi really meant—and didn't mean. Tell her that your love hasn't changed. Because if you don't, you'll lose her all over again."
The words hung there, burning.
For a long time, Shivansh said nothing. His eyes stared at the carpet, unfocused, as though he were searching for something buried in the fibers of the floor. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his face pale, worn. Finally, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he asked:
"When… when will I get free from all this, Ranveer? From these walls, these chains… from this plaster that feels more like a prison every day?"
Ranveer's eyes softened. He reached out, squeezed his friend's arm. "Tomorrow. I'll talk to the doctor myself. You're stronger than they think—you proved it tonight. If you want to face her, to fight for her, then tomorrow we'll cut the ties that bind you here. No more chains. No more hiding."
For the first time in hours, Shivansh's lips trembled with something that wasn't just despair. It wasn't quite hope yet, but it was the beginning of it—the faintest flicker.
A knock broke the intensity of the moment. The door opened slightly, and Aviyansh's voice carried into the chamber. "Ranveer bhai sa, Dadi is calling you both downstairs. Dinner is served—everyone's waiting."
Ranveer glanced at Shivansh. He hesitated for a moment, gauging whether the man could handle facing the crowd again. But Shivansh straightened slowly, as if forcing steel back into his spine. His hands were still trembling, his breaths uneven, but he nodded. "Let's go."
They rose together. Ranveer walked beside him, a steady anchor, as Shivansh gripped his crutch and moved toward the door. The hallway outside was quieter than usual, but the echo of their footsteps still seemed too loud, like an announcement of their presence.
As they descended the stairs, voices from the dining area floated up—murmurs, the clinking of cutlery, the hum of forced conversation. But the moment Shivansh and Ranveer appeared, the chatter dulled, eyes turning toward them.
Every gaze felt like a weight on Shivansh's shoulders. His parents, his aunt and uncle, Isha's family, her friends—they were all seated, waiting, watching. Isha herself sat further down the table, her posture elegant, her eyes unreadable. Beside her, the little boy leaned against her arm, chattering softly to Luka, who sat with an almost protective presence at her side.
Ranveer nudged him lightly, a silent reminder: Breathe. Don't break now.
Shivansh inhaled slowly, steadying himself, and then walked forward with all the dignity he could summon. He didn't say a word as he reached the table, lowering himself into the chair beside Ranveer. The silence in the room was palpable.
Finally, Dadi sa's voice broke it, warm but carrying authority. "Now that everyone is here—let us begin."
But beneath the clinking of plates and the polite conversation that followed, tension sat like an uninvited guest. Every glance, every stolen look across the table carried weight. And though food was served, Shivansh barely tasted it. His gaze kept flickering toward Isha—toward the woman who was once his, and yet, right now, felt impossibly far.
The dining table was cleared, nervous, awkward and polite conversation dissolving into the low hum of movement as elders excused themselves. Chairs scraped softly against marble, voices trailed into the hall, and servants moved swiftly to tidy what remained. The younger ones—Prisha, Ishika, Arav, Ritwik, even Aviyansh—drifted naturally toward the living area, where the plush couches and warm lamps invited late-night chatter with elders.
Isha, as always, was the last to leave the table. She wiped riyan's mouth gently with a napkin, coaxing him off his chair with the practiced ease of a mother who had repeated this ritual countless times. The little boy tugged her sleeve, whispering something, and she bent to listen with the faintest smile curving her lips. Luka hovered a step behind them, watchful and patient, his hands tucked into his pockets as though guarding both Isha and the child.
Shivansh's eyes followed the scene with a mix of longing and pain, every motion a blade against his chest. Ranveer, sitting beside him, noticed the stiffness in his jaw, the way his hand gripped the edge of the chair. "Easy," Ranveer murmured under his breath.
But Shivansh wasn't listening. His gaze had shifted, sharp and deliberate, to where Dhruv leaned against the far wall near the hallway arch, phone in hand. Unlike the others, Dhruv hadn't moved to the living area. He stood apart, detached, his expression unreadable in the half-light.
Something stirred inside Shivansh then—a reckless need, a desperate impulse. If anyone could help him reach Isha, it was Dhruv. The bond between Isha and Dhruv was unshakable, and if Shivansh could just explain himself, clear the air, maybe Dhruv would bridge the impossible distance.
"Ranveer," Shivansh muttered, his voice low, urgent. "I need to talk to him. Tonight."
Ranveer followed his gaze, frowning. "Dhruv?"
Shivansh nodded, already rising from his chair with the help of his crutch. "He's here because of her. If he listens to me, if he understands—he can help me. He has to."
Ranveer touched his arm lightly. "Shiv, he's not exactly on your side right now. Don't expect—"
"I don't care," Shivansh cut in. His eyes, glassy but determined, locked onto Dhruv. "I've lived five years without answers, without her. I won't live with silence tonight. Not again."
Ranveer hesitated, then let his hand drop, knowing there was no stopping him when his voice carried that edge.
With a deep breath, Shivansh started across the room. Each step was slow, deliberate, his cane clicking softly against the floor. He rehearsed the words in his head—how to start, what to confess, how to plead without losing his pride. His heart hammered louder with every stride, sweat beading his palms.
Dhruv must have sensed him, because he looked up from his phone just as Shivansh approached. For a brief, flickering second, their eyes met. Shivansh opened his mouth—"Dhruv, wait—"
But Dhruv's reaction was colder than he could have braced for. The younger man straightened, slipped his phone into his pocket, and without a single word, pivoted on his heel. He walked away. Just like that—no acknowledgment, no pause, as though Shivansh's presence meant nothing.
The silence in that moment roared louder than any insult.
"Dhruv," Shivansh called after him, his voice cracking, raw. "Please—just a minute. I need to talk."
No response. Dhruv's pace didn't falter. He moved swiftly toward the corridor, shoulders squared, back rigid with something that looked a lot like anger.
Shivansh froze mid-step, his breath caught in his chest. He had been ignored before—by nobles, by enemies, even by Isha herself—but never had it cut this deep. This wasn't just indifference. This was rejection of his very existence.
Ranveer came up beside him, his voice a low murmur meant only for him. "He doesn't want to hear you tonight, Shiv. For him, you're still the man who broke her. The man who let her suffer."
Shivansh's throat worked, but the words clawing at it refused to leave. He stared down the empty hallway where Dhruv had vanished, his hand tightening around the cane until his knuckles went white.
Across the room, Isha's laugh carried faintly as she bent to lift riyan into her arms, Luka steadying the child's legs. The sound should have been soft, soothing—but to Shivansh it was unbearable. That laugh once belonged to him, filled his nights with warmth. Now it echoed with someone else's presence.
Ranveer laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't break here. Not in front of them. Save your strength. If you want Dhruv on your side, you'll need more than desperation. You'll need the truth. The whole of it."
Shivansh inhaled, shaky, fighting back the sting in his eyes. For a moment, he thought about limping back to his chamber, hiding behind the walls where no one could watch him fall apart. But then his gaze slid once more to Isha, her figure illuminated under the living room's warm light, her child clinging to her neck.
He straightened, even as his insides crumbled. He would not walk away this time. Even if Dhruv despised him now, even if Isha's walls seemed unbreakable—he would not retreat.
Ranveer leaned close, whispering, "This isn't the end, Shiv. This is only the beginning."
And Shivansh, silent, nodded once—more to himself than to anyone else.
The living area glowed in warm golden lamplight, yet the air felt far colder than it should have. The plush sofas, arranged in a neat circle, should have made the atmosphere intimate, cozy—but tonight there was an invisible wall separating everyone.
Shivansh walked in slowly with Ranveer by his side, his cane tapping against the polished marble. His eyes swept over the room, and what he saw made his chest tighten.
The elders sat together on the main couches—his grand parents, Isha's parents, his father, her mother—but the usual flow of conversation that once bridged both families was gone. Words were exchanged, yes, but with hesitation, like every sentence was weighed before being spoken. Her father leaned forward, politely answering something his mother asked, while his own father nodded absentmindedly to Isha's father. The polite laughter that rose once in a while was strained, brittle.
Ranveer leaned toward him, murmuring, "Strange, isn't it? They've shared meals a hundred times before, but tonight it's as if they're strangers."
Shivansh didn't reply, only tightened his jaw. He could feel it—the crack that ran through the room wasn't just about Isha being alive. It was about trust broken, years lost, and wounds no one dared to speak aloud.
His gaze drifted to the younger ones scattered across the room.
Dhruv and Ritwik sat close to each other near the armrest of a single-seater. Their heads were bent in low conversation, Ritwik speaking animatedly while Dhruv listened with folded arms, his face drawn in irritation. Shivansh couldn't hear what they were saying, but every once in a while, Ritwik's eyes flicked toward him—sharp, guarded—before returning to Dhruv.
On the other side, Aviyansh sat slouched on a corner chair, trying to look uninterested but failing miserably. His gaze kept darting across the room to where Ishika was perched on the sofa beside prisha and arav. Ishika was laughing at something Arav whispered, her hand brushing her hair back in that familiar, effortless way that used to undo Aviyansh once. Shivansh caught the longing in Aviyansh's eyes, the way his chest rose a little heavier every time Ishika tilted her head.
But Ishika—just like Isha earlier—refused to acknowledge him. Her laughter never turned his way, her gaze never wavered in his direction. She was ignoring him so deliberately that even those who didn't know their past would sense something.
Ranveer noticed it too. "So that's where the storm lies," he muttered, glancing between Aviyansh and Ishika.
"No one knows what happened between them," Shivansh replied, his voice low, thoughtful. "But it ended the day Isha left. After her… after everything, they both walked separate ways."
Ranveer exhaled softly. "And now look—they sit a few feet apart, yet it feels like miles."
Shivansh's eyes wandered again. Aviyansh, once the spark in every gathering, was unusually restless tonight. He moved about the room, circling in and out of conversations, never settling. Shivansh knew that look—Aviyansh was searching for something to fill the void, or perhaps someone to hide behind. He had always been Isha's partner in crime, the one who matched her mischief with his own. But now, without her warmth beside him, Aviyansh seemed adrift, shadows under his eyes deeper than before.
The realization came sharp and brutal—this wasn't just about him and Isha. His choices five years ago had rippled outward, shattering bonds that once held everyone close. Ishika and Aviyansh… Aviyansh and his empty laughter… Dhruv's guarded silence. He had broken more than just his love; he had fractured a family that once breathed as one.
He drew a slow, uneven breath, his grip tightening on the cane.
Ranveer, ever attuned, studied him for a long second before speaking. "Do you see it now? This isn't only about winning her back, Shiv. It's about healing all of them. They all carry scars from that night—just like you, just like her."
Shivansh's throat ached with unsaid words. His gaze lingered on Isha at the far end of the room, seated with Luka beside her, gently rocking riyan on her lap. She was calm, poised, as though she had armored herself against the room's tension.
She didn't look up once—not at him, not at Dhruv, not at anyone.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Finally, his grandmother cleared her throat, attempting to cut through the awkwardness. "Well," she said, forcing a smile toward Isha's mother, "it's been a long day. Perhaps tomorrow we can… continue over breakfast."
Her words were kind, but even they carried hesitation.
Shivansh swallowed hard. This—this strained silence—was his doing. His one decision had cracked the foundation of everything that once held steady.
Ranveer's quiet voice at his side was the final nail. "One decision, Shiv. Just one. And now everyone is standing with broken hands where they once held each other."
Shivansh closed his eyes briefly, guilt heavy on his chest. When he opened them, his gaze locked on Isha again—her smile faint as she pressed a kiss to riyan's head, Luka's hand hovering near hers protectively.
And for the first time in five years, Shivansh truly understood: he hadn't only lost her. He had lost all of them.
The silence in the living area had begun to gnaw at everyone. The elders shifted uncomfortably on their seats, the younger ones fiddled with their phones or avoided each other's eyes, and still no one dared to speak freely.
It was Alina—still cradling little riyan on her lap—who finally broke it.
Her voice was calm, but it carried a firmness that demanded attention.
"I think," she said, her gaze sweeping over both families, "we should be leaving now."
A few heads snapped up at once. Ishika frowned, Dhruv straightened in his chair, and even Ranveer's brows lifted.
Alina continued, brushing riyan's hair back as she spoke, "It's already late, and tomorrow we have a lot of things to finalize for… the engagement."
The word fell heavy in the air. Shivansh's hand tightened around his cane. His jaw flexed, but he didn't speak.
His father leaned forward, his voice hesitant, almost pleading, "Isha… I mean… Alina, it's been five years since we've seen you. Must you leave so soon?"
For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—guilt, maybe longing—but she pressed it down quickly. "bab--- uncle," she said softly, "I promise we will meet again. In fact… tomorrow. I want you all to come to our villa. For lunch. And stay for dinner. It will be… a better place to talk. With more time, less…" She glanced around the tense room. "…hesitation."
Luka, who had been standing a little behind her, stepped forward then. His arm rested protectively on the back of her chair, his posture steady, his voice warm. "Yes, please do come. We bought a villa here in Jaipur to stay until the engagement. It's spacious, quiet. Everyone will be comfortable there."
He looked around at all the faces—stern, shocked, uncertain—and added politely, "I know today has been overwhelming. But tomorrow, we can sit together peacefully."
His mother blinked rapidly, trying to compose herself. "Engagement?" she whispered, looking at her husband before turning back to Alina. "So soon?"
"Yes," Alina replied firmly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "There are many things to finalize. It will happen in Jaipur, but until then… this is where we are staying."
The words drew a hushed ripple of shock across the room. Ritwik exchanged a quick glance with dhruv. Aviyansh looked away sharply, as if the very word engagement was a wound he didn't want to witness. And across the hall, Shivansh's eyes darkened, the muscles in his neck tensing as though someone had just bound him in invisible chains.
Riyan, oblivious to the tension, tugged at her dupatta and whispered, "Mama, can we go now? I'm sleepy."
Alina bent and pressed a kiss to his forehead, murmuring, "Yes, baby, we are going." Then she rose, adjusting the boy on her hip.
Before she could say another word, Luka addressed the families once more. "So tomorrow, at our villa—lunch and dinner. Please don't refuse. It would mean a lot to Alina… and to me."
There was no arrogance in his voice, no challenge, only calm courtesy. Yet for Shivansh, it felt like a blade twisting deeper. Luka was speaking where he should have spoken, standing where he should have stood, holding the family's attention where once it belonged only to him.
Across the room, his mother's eyes flicked to him, silently pleading, silently questioning. His father's expression was harder to read—his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. They both knew. They knew the truth of what had happened five years ago. They knew their son was watching the woman he loved slip further and further from his grasp.
But what could they say now? They couldn't undo time. They couldn't undo the pain.
And as Alina turned, adjusting riyan in her arms and nodding to Luka, she said her final words of the night:
"Tomorrow, then. At our villa. Till then, take care."
Her tone was civil, polite… but distant. Not the Isha they remembered, not the girl who once filled the house with laughter. This was Alina—armored, composed, untouchable.
Everyone rose awkwardly to see them off. The goodbyes were muted, heavy, half-hearted. When the front doors finally closed behind her and Luka, silence swallowed the living area once more.
Shivansh's grip on his cane whitened until his knuckles ached. His chest rose and fell unevenly, but he didn't say a word. His parents' eyes remained fixed on him, torn between their son and the truth they couldn't bring themselves to speak aloud.
And in the air hung the bitter certainty: tomorrow would not heal anything. Tomorrow would only bring sharper truths.
The night air outside Raghuvanshi Palace felt colder than usual as Alina stepped into her car. The convoy of vehicles lined up behind her was almost regal, but her own car was quiet—blue car at the wheel, Riyan curled against her on the bench seat, and Ishika and Prisha and arav chatting softly in the back.
Silence lingered in the front row, thick and unspoken. Blue car's eyes stayed trained on the road, the rhythm of the wipers tapping faintly against the windshield. Beside him, Alina kept one hand resting gently on Riyan's shoulder. Every now and then, the little boy's head would tilt against her arm, half-asleep, murmuring something she could barely catch.
In the car behind them, her parents and Arjun, Dhruv sat stiffly. They hadn't asked her a single question since leaving the palace, though she could feel their doubts and curiosity trailing after her like shadows. They had seen her alive—held her alive—and yet, the questions burned. Who had saved her? Where had she been? And most of all… why had she returned only now, with a son at her side?
The road stretched long and quiet, until the car turned sharply into the gates of the villa.
When they stopped in front of the grand white structure, Ishika was the first to break the silence. She leaned forward from the back seat, her eyes wide as the headlights lit the facade. "Oh my god… isha, this place is beautiful."
Prisha pressed her face against the window, echoing in awe, "It's like something out of a dream. Look at those balconies, those lights… this isn't a villa, it's a palace in itself."
Alina gave a faint smile, though her eyes stayed on Riyan's sleeping face. "bhaiya arranged it," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair off her son's forehead. "I should have known he wouldn't let me stay in a hotel."
They stepped out of the car, one by one. Alina lifted Riyan carefully into her arms, while Luka was already out, speaking to one of the staff who had rushed forward. Behind them, the second car pulled in, and her parents climbed out, looking up at the villa with a kind of stunned silence.
Her father murmured under his breath, almost to himself, "He really bought this place…"
Inside, the villa was warm and golden, the marble floors gleaming, the chandeliers dripping light across the high ceiling. Ishika and Prisha were spinning slowly, taking it all in. "isha, " Ishika whispered, her voice hushed in reverence, "it's gorgeous. You could live here forever."
Alina just set Rian down gently on the couch, tugging off his shoes. "I don't plan forever," she said quietly. "Only what I must."
Prisha glanced at her, confusion flickering across her face, but she said nothing.
"Go, sit with your family," Luka said, stepping close. He reached to take Riyan, his voice soft and steady. "I'll take him to the bed."
Riyan stirred, blinking sleepily at Alain. "Mama?"
She cupped his cheek and smiled, "Sleep, baby. Luka will take you upstairs. I'll come in a little while."
"Promise?" the boy whispered, holding her hand.
"Promise," she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
He nodded, content, and let Luka lift him. The two disappeared down the hall, leaving Alina standing in the wide living room with her parents, her brother, and her friends.
For a moment, none of them spoke. Her mother's eyes shone as she looked at her daughter—the same daughter she had thought she'd buried five years ago, now standing alive, radiant, but wrapped in walls no one could climb. Her father sat slowly on the edge of the sofa, as if afraid any sudden move might shatter the illusion.
Ishika, never one to keep silent long, exhaled. "isha," she said, sinking into a chair, "I don't even know where to start. I want to scream at you for vanishing. I want to hug you for being alive. And I want to demand every single answer you're refusing to give us."
Alina laughed faintly, but it was hollow. "I know." She lowered herself into the armchair opposite, resting her elbow on the armrest and pressing her fingers to her lips. "But for tonight… let's not demand. Let's just sit."
Her mother leaned forward, tears spilling despite herself. "Do you have any idea what it did to us? Five years—five years without you."
Alina closed her eyes. "I know, mumma. I know." Her voice cracked just enough to betray the pain buried beneath. Then she steadied herself, adding, "But if I start explaining tonight, I'll never stop. And Riyan will wake. And… I don't want that yet."
The room fell into silence again, broken only when Luka returned quietly, his steps measured. He had tucked Riyan into bed, and now he came to stand behind Alain's chair, his presence strong, unwavering.
Her father looked at him for a long moment before saying, "You love her."
Luka didn't flinch. His voice was low, steady. "More than anything."
Alina tilted her head back slightly, closing her eyes for a moment. There was a comfort in his certainty, even if it felt strange to reveal it in front of her family.
And then Prisha, leaning her chin into her hands, smiled sadly. "Well, isha, you disappeared and came back with a son and a villa. And a man who clearly adores you."
Alina's lips curved faintly, but her heart was a storm.
The night had grown heavy, pressing in through the tall villa windows with its velvet darkness. Alina clapped her hands softly, trying to cut through the silence that had settled between them.
"Alright," she said, her voice calm but firm, "it's been a long day. Everyone is tired. Let's call it a night. I'll show you all your rooms. Rest as much as you want, and in the morning, come down for breakfast. I'll have a big cup of coffee—or tea, or whatever each of you prefers—ready."
Her mother gave her a faint smile, almost tearful still, while her father nodded slowly, as if relieved that someone had taken charge. Ishika and Prisha exchanged looks, a strange mix of excitement and nervousness; they were staying in Alina's new life, inside her world, and everything about it felt unfamiliar yet warm.
Alain stood, smoothing the folds of her dress. "Come," she said gently. "I'll show you."
Upstairs – The Rooms
The villa's upper floor stretched wide, its hallway lit with golden sconces that painted soft shadows along the walls. Alina led the way, Luka walking silently behind her, his long strides echoing faintly against the marble.
The first door she opened revealed a spacious bedroom with twin beds, a wide window draped in silk curtains, and a soft glow of lamps on either side.
"Prisha, Ishika," Alina said, turning toward them. "You'll stay here."
Prisha gasped, stepping inside with sparkling eyes. "isha… this is huge! Look at this bed—no, look at the view!" She pulled Ishika in by the hand. "We're never leaving."
Ishika laughed, shaking her head. "We're lucky you're alive and letting us freeload like this."
Alina only smiled faintly, though her heart pinched at the words you're alive.
Next, she opened the door across the hall. "Arav, Arjun, this will be yours."
The two brothers exchanged nods. Arjun glanced at his sister, his eyes soft with a mix of pride and sadness. "Thanks, di," he said simply, his voice carrying more than the words.
She didn't answer—just pressed his arm gently before moving on.
The last two doors stood side by side. Alina reached for the handle of one, but before she could speak, Ritvik had already pushed it open and slipped inside.
"Perfect," he muttered, tossing his bag on the bed. "I'll take this one."
Alina paused, lips parting to say something, but Dhruv's voice cut through the hallway.
"No."
Everyone froze.
Dhruv stood there, his hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. His eyes weren't on Ritvik. They were on Alain.
"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice low, carrying a sharp edge.
Alain blinked. "Now?"
"Yes. Now."
The others exchanged awkward glances, unsure whether to stay or leave. Luka, however, stepped forward immediately, his presence deliberate. "I'll come," he said quietly, as though it wasn't up for debate.
Alain hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. The study." She gestured down the hall. "You two go rest. Dhruv—come with me."
The study was dim, lined with dark wood shelves and books stacked neatly in rows. A single lamp lit the large desk at the center, casting golden light across the room.
Alina stepped in first, her footsteps soft against the rug, Luka close behind her. Dhruv entered last, but he didn't wait to sit. He closed the door with a sharp click, his chest rising and falling as if he'd been holding his anger too long.
"What the hell is this, isha?" His voice cracked—not with weakness, but with years of betrayal. "You are getting engaged? To him? Just like that?" He gestured toward Luka without looking at him, eyes pinned on her. "You vanish for five years, you come back with a son, and now you tell me you're getting engaged to him?"
Alina stayed near the desk, her hand resting on the polished wood. Her expression didn't change; calm, guarded, but inside, her pulse beat hard.
"bhaiyu—"
"No, don't 'bhaiyu' me," he snapped, stepping closer. "Do you have any idea what it was like for us? For me? You don't explain anything, and suddenly you're making life decisions as if none of us matter. As if Isha doesn't matter."
At her name, Alina's breath caught—but she didn't let it show.
Luka shifted slightly behind her, his jaw tightening, but he didn't speak.
Dhruv pointed at Alina, his voice dropping lower, more wounded than angry now. "You owe me answers, isha. To me, to my sister, to everyone who waited, who cried, who buried you in their hearts thinking you were gone. And now you stand here, alive, but it feels like you're a stranger. Who are you? And why him?"
Silence filled the study. Alina's fingers pressed harder into the desk, her nails grazing the wood. She wanted to speak, but the words—heavy, unexplainable, dangerous—burned at the back of her throat.
Finally, she whispered, "bhaiyu.. not tonight."
But Dhruv laughed, bitter and broken. "Not tonight? That's all you have to say?"
His voice cracked again, softer this time. "i deserves to know, Isha, deserves to know everything. And you standing here, saying nothing—it's just another betrayal."
Alina closed her eyes, her silence louder than words.
Luka finally stepped forward, his voice low but commanding. "Enough. She said not tonight."
Dhruv's jaw clenched. He stared at Luka, then at Alain, shaking his head. "Fine. But remember this—you can't hide the truth forever. Not from me. Not from her."
And with that, he stormed out, leaving the study door swinging slightly on its hinges.
Alina stood frozen, her body trembling with everything she wanted to say but couldn't. Luka's hand hovered near her shoulder, not touching, just offering the weight of his presence.
"Let's go," he murmured. "It's late."
But Alina's eyes stayed on the door, where Dhruv had left, the echo of his words ringing through her.
The villa had gone quiet. The laughter, the strained conversations, even the soft footsteps of her friends settling into their rooms—all of it faded into silence. Only the faint hum of the night outside remained, a cricket's cry in the garden, the distant roll of a car on the main road.
Alina walked back to her room slowly, her steps heavy, her mind far heavier. Luka trailed behind her, saying nothing, but she felt his presence like a shadow that refused to leave.
When she reached her door, she stopped, her hand on the handle. "You don't have to stay," she murmured, her voice low, almost tired.
"I'm not leaving you like this," Luka replied firmly, his voice steady, a wall against the storm he sensed in her. "Not tonight."
She didn't argue. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp. Riyan was already fast asleep, curled under the blanket, his tiny chest rising and falling with each soft breath. His toy—an old, worn teddy—was tucked in his arms.
Alina's heart softened at the sight. She crossed the room, bent down, and gently smoothed his hair back. For a moment, she let herself breathe in the peace of her son's innocence. The world outside could scream, but here, with him, there was quiet.
Luka lingered near the doorway, his hands buried in his pockets. His gaze softened too, though he didn't speak. He had seen her break down before, seen her rage, but this—her tenderness with Riyan—was something he never intruded upon.
Finally, Alain straightened and sat on the edge of the bed. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes distant.
"bhaiyu is right," she whispered suddenly, not looking at Luka.
Luka frowned. "About what?"
"About me." She dragged in a shaky breath. "About… being a stranger. About betraying them. About hiding too much. I stood there and I couldn't even say a word to him. Do you know what it felt like? As if he looked straight through me and saw the lie I've been carrying for five years."
Luka moved closer, his voice calm but unwavering. "You've been carrying more than anyone ever should. You made choices to survive, Alina. Don't twist that into betrayal."
She turned her face toward him, her eyes glistening though she refused to let tears fall. "But survival isn't the same as truth. And every time I look at them—at bhaiyu, at my parents, at my friends—I feel like I'm walking on glass. One wrong step, and it all shatters."
Luka crouched slightly so he could meet her gaze. His voice softened. "Let it shatter, then. Maybe the truth breaking out is better than breaking yourself from the inside."
Her lips parted, trembling, but no words came. She only shook her head.
For a while, silence wrapped around them. The lamp buzzed faintly, Rian shifted in his sleep, and Alina pressed her palms into her face, trying to breathe.
"You're trembling," Luka said quietly.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Her hands dropped, her eyes burning now. "No, I'm not. Because bhaitu was right about one more thing—he deserves to know. And if he ever learns it from someone else, not me…" She stopped, her throat tightening. "It will kill what little is left of us."
Luka's jaw tightened. He reached out, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of his hand. "Then tell him, Alina. Tomorrow, the day after—but tell him. Don't let them write the story for you."
She stared at him, her chest rising and falling. For a moment, she wanted to lean into him, into the strength he always gave her without question. But she didn't. She couldn't. Not when the truth still sat between her and the world like a locked door.
Finally, she nodded faintly, more to herself than to him. "Tomorrow," she whispered. "Maybe tomorrow."
Luka exhaled, a quiet acceptance. He didn't press further.
"Get some rest," he said at last. He rose, glanced once more at Riyan sleeping peacefully, then at Alina's tired frame, and stepped toward the door.
"Luka." Her voice stopped him.
He turned back.
Her eyes lingered on him for a long moment. Gratitude flickered there, tangled with guilt, with fear. But she only said, "Thank you."
Luka gave a short nod. "Always."
And then he left, the door clicking softly behind him.
Alina sat in the dim light, staring at her son. Her mind was a storm of voices—Dhruv's anger, Ranveer's warning, Luka's steady encouragement, Shivansh's silent presence.
But the loudest voice was her own, whispering the one truth she had yet to say aloud: Everything they lost, everything they broke—it all began with me.
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