The days moved like dream-threads for Hiya—new, confusing, tender.
She was learning to walk among strangers,
to speak a language she hadn't heard in Parole,
to laugh through silences that once would've drowned her.
The city was cold, but the Basu home held warmth.
Evenings curled beside Riddhi's laughter,
mornings began with Dev's silent drives,
and nights floated in dreams filled with questions she hadn't yet dared to ask.
She had fallen in love—though she didn't know it was love.
With the boy who never smiled at her.
With the eyes that held storms.
With the silence that strangely made her feel… safe.
But where Hiya saw light,
Mira saw shadows.
Mira—confident, accomplished, hidden in plain sight.
Dev's secret for years.
And yet… even secrets shiver in the light of truth.
Hiya's laugh began to echo in corridors.
Professors remembered her name.
Classmates saved her seats.
She was liked.
She was noticed.
And Mira… began to unravel.
She whispered poison into curious ears:
"She's just acting sweet."
"She's from a village. You know what that means."
"She's fooling everyone. Even Dev."
Hiya never understood what was happening.
She simply felt the air shift—stares sharper, smiles thinner.
Her books went missing.
Her name became a rumor.
She felt invisible, yet watched.
And one afternoon, beneath the back staircase,
as she bent to retrieve her fallen diary,
a boy—too bold, too careless—brushed his hand over hers.
Just a second.
A single second.
She froze. Pulled her hand away instantly.
Wide-eyed. Trembling.
But in that second…
Dev saw.
He had come to drop off a research journal.
He saw her.
He saw the boy.
He saw the moment—and his world cracked with rage.
That evening, when Hiya returned home,
Dev was waiting.
The hallway was quiet, painted with the colors of a fading sky.
He stepped forward.
His jaw clenched.
His eyes—dark, burning.
"Is this how you repay my family's kindness?"
The words were low, like broken glass.
Hiya blinked.
"W-what?"
"You flirt with boys behind staircases now?"
His voice cut through her like winter wind.
"Is that why you act so sweet? To fool us?"
Her heart dropped.
"No… no, I didn't… I didn't do anything," she stammered, voice thin with disbelief.
"He came close. I didn't know—"
"Stop lying!" Dev snapped.
"I'm not lying!" Her voice cracked—too high, too broken.
"Why do you always think the worst of me?"
And then—
His hand moved.
Before he could stop it.
A slap.
Sharp.
Final.
Like thunder in a sacred temple.
The world stilled.
Hiya stumbled back.
One hand to her cheek.
Eyes wide, like someone had snatched the ground beneath her feet.
She didn't cry.
Not yet.
She looked at him—
Not with anger.
But with something worse.
A heartbreak too deep for words.
"You never wanted to know me," she whispered.
And turned away.
Dev stood there, frozen.
His hand trembling.
His heart thundering.
The sting of his action louder than any of Mira's whispers.
From that night forward, Hiya did not speak to him again.
At breakfast, she smiled at everyone else—but never looked up when he was in the room.
She skipped the terrace.
She answered only when spoken to.
The girl who once glowed with dreams
now walked through the house like a forgotten echo.
Riddhi noticed.
Baba noticed.
Even Dida whispered one night,
"Baccha's laughter is missing from these walls."
Dev tried to speak. Once.
"Hiya…"
But she walked past him.
Like he was just a wall.
He stopped eating properly.
Fell behind in his research.
The silence she gave him
was louder than her laughter ever was.
Then came the scream of brakes.
And a phone call.
Hiya had been hit by a car—
outside the college gate.
Dev ran.
His world collapsed into a hospital corridor—
where blood smelled like guilt,
and beeping machines sounded like heartbreak.
She was unconscious.
Bruised.
Still.
In the sterile white room, with her hand limp beside the bed,
Dev finally understood—
He hadn't protected her.
He punished her for a truth he never tried to know.