The pages of her black leather diary weren't filled with poetry, or dreams, or pictures of her favourite stars. They were filled with war.
Khushi sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping through the crisp pages of Operation: Patil Destruction. Red ink. Underlined headings. Sticky notes sticking out like little swords. It wasn't just a diary anymore ... it was a battlefield map.
At the top of the open page, her handwriting stared back, bold and sharp:
*Operation: Patil Destruction
Step 1 – Gain national fame➤ Completed.
She had topped her board exams. Her name was everywhere. Her face on magazine covers, articles buzzing with praise.
➤ Outcome: They saw her. They remembered her.
Step 2 – Gather complete intel on the Patil family
➤ Completed. She knew their weaknesses now.Nisha's fake internship letters.Neha's illegal bank transactions.Sanjay's second marriage overlaps with Sonali's death.
➤ Outcome: She had them cornered, even if they didn't know it yet.
Step 3 – Reunite with Aaji and Ajoba
➤ Pending. Too much emotional risk. Danger of cracking open a heart she had locked up long ago.
She stared at it. The words didn't move, but her thoughts raced.
From the floor, Ron looked up, a stack of printed documents in his lap. "You've been stuck on step 3 for 30 minutes, Tai."
She didn't look at him.
"I'm not scared of them," she said. "I'm scared of what they'll see when they look at me."
"You mean the makeup?" Ron grinned.
She shot him a glare.
He shrugged. "I meant your pain."
"You've flipped that page five times," he added. "You've already memorised it."
"I'm not scared of revenge," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "But going back there... seeing their faces... I don't know if I'm ready."
"They're not the ones who failed you," Ron said. "They're the ones who waited."
The next morning, they sat in Karan's SUV, the city behind them, miles of sun-baked roads ahead.
Khushi stared out the window. "You ever think what it'll feel like when I stand at that doorstep again?"
"I think it'll break you," Karan replied quietly.
Ron leaned forward from the back. "But even if you break, you'll still be stronger than everyone else."
She smiled.
Just a little.
As the car neared their ancestral village, the buildings gave way to sugarcane fields, narrow turns, and that earthy smell of home. Her stomach twisted with each mile.
Ron whispered from the back, "They're going to recognise you, Tai."
"I don't look the same," she murmured.
"But your eyes never changed," he replied. "Your fire... your pain... It's still in them."
Karan added, "Even if they don't recognise your face, they'll recognise your soul."
As they walked through the creaking old blue gate, dust swirling around their feet, everything looked painfully familiar. The guava tree, the cracked tulsi planter, the metal bucket resting beside the well...nothing had changed.
But maybe she had.
In the veranda, Pandurang Patil sat reading a newspaper, spectacles halfway down his nose.
Beside him, Namrata shuffled spices in a sieve.
The smell of red chilli, turmeric, and asafoetida floated in the air, so painfully familiar, it nearly knocked Khushi's breath away.
But neither elder looked up. Not yet.
"Excuse me…" Ron called out.
Namrata looked first. Her eyes swept over them, two strangers in city clothes, faces unfamiliar, hair styled in ways too modern for the village. She blinked. Her brow furrowed.
Pandurang Aojba looked next, his frown immediate.
"Yes? What do you want?"
Khushi's heart skipped.
They didn't know her. Not even a flicker.
Aaji's voice held caution. "You're… from the government? Bank people?"
"No," Khushi whispered, stunned. She stepped forward. "Aaji... It's me."
Namrata's face stiffened. "Don't call me that. Who are you?"
Khushi swallowed hard. Her lips trembled. "I'm Khushi."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Namrata flinched. "Don't mock us, girl. That name… that name died long ago."
Khushi's eyes filled. "No. I didn't die. I'm here. I've come back."
Pandurang stood now, his hand clenching his walking stick. "This is a cruel joke. Who sent you?"
Ron stepped beside her. His voice was calm, but firm. "She's telling the truth. And I'm Ron."
Pandurang's face drained of colour. His stick clattered to the ground.
"Ron?" he croaked. "Ron… that's not possible."
Namrata staggered back as if slapped. "You're both dead. We lit your photos. We did the rites. We....."
I was Khushi Patil once. I died... and I have been reincarnated." .Khushi said, tears slipping freely now. "I didn't remember who I was. But I do now. And I came back home."
Ron knelt suddenly, picked up the fallen walking stick, and handed it back with quiet dignity. "Ajoba… you used to call me 'chhota sher' when I climbed the mango tree and stole half the fruit before Ganpati."
Pandurang's hand trembled.
Namrata stared harder. Her eyes darted from Khushi's eyes to her trembling chin to her posture.
"You have your mother's nose," she whispered. "And Sonali's voice."
Khushi nodded slowly, lips quivering. "I remember the red saree you wore on Aai's shraddha. I remember how you kissed my forehead and told me I'd never be alone."
Namrata collapsed onto the floor, wailing now. "My baby … my baby..!"
She reached out, pulled Khushi into her lap like she was five years old again. Pandurang knelt beside them, holding Ron like he might vanish again.
The screams of grief turned into sobs of relief.
The courtyard echoed with emotion not even time could bury.
For a while, nothing was said. No revenge, no explanations. Just trembling hands and trembling hearts, remembering what love used to feel like and learning how to feel it again.
The sun dipped lower, casting the courtyard in a golden hue as if the sky itself had paused to watch.
That night, Khushi stood before the tulsi plant in the courtyard.
She was barefoot, a dupatta fluttering in the wind.
A diya flickered in her hands.
"This is my home," she whispered. "This soil knows me.
This air raised me.
This house mourned me."
Karan watched from the doorway, arms folded, eyes soft.
"I'm not here to steal comfort," she continued.
"I'm here to restore it.
For her."
She looked up at the sky.
"For Aai."
Behind her, Namrata approached slowly. "You don't owe us pain, Khushi."
"I don't," Khushi agreed. "But I owe her justice."
Ron lit another diya beside hers. "She never stopped watching," he said softly.
Later that night, the house was quiet again.
Khushi lay on the same wooden cot where she once dreamt of becoming a scientist. The same ceiling fan creaked overhead. The same wind whispered through the open window.
Ron snuggled up beside her, like he used to when they were little.
"You smell like home again," he mumbled.
Khushi laughed through her tears. "That's the best compliment I've ever gotten."
"You think Aai is proud of us?" he asked.
Khushi placed a kiss on his forehead. "I think she never left us."
The night settled.
But Khushi didn't sleep.
She reached for her diary.
The black leather cover still smelled like ink and secrets. She flipped to a new page.
Step 3 - Complete.
I returned to the land that made me.
I stood where my mother once prayed.
I wept where I used to laugh.
I found love where there was once only silence.
Next: Shake the roots. Burn the comfort. Rewrite the legacy.
They thought I died a girl.
I will return as a storm.