As the golden lights of the party flickered, Nitya stood still at the top of the stairs — watching the people who had once been her whole world.
She wasn't dressed for revenge tonight.
She was dressed like a daughter coming home from the grave — elegant, but with a silence that made hearts race.
Her mother saw her first.
Everything in her hands dropped as her eyes widened in disbelief.
"Nitya…" she whispered, her voice shaking.
Nitya blinked slowly, her lips parting — but no words came.
Her father turned. Her cousin stared, frozen in place. A pin-drop silence settled in the hall as people turned, one by one, to the girl they thought had vanished from the world.
Tears welled up in her mother's eyes.
Her father's lips trembled with the weight of unspoken guilt.
Still, Nitya said nothing. Her throat tightened. It wasn't anger choking her. It was everything she never got to say when they locked the doors, when they trusted someone else more than their own daughter.
She slowly walked down, Ayansh beside her, steady as a shield. Her presence didn't scream revenge. It radiated heartbreak wrapped in dignity.
Her mother reached out to touch her hand.
For a second, Nitya hesitated.
Then she let her.
A soft touch. A tremble. And then — her mother broke into sobs.
Everyone watched, but it wasn't a show. It was a wound reopening, a soul returning, a mistake finally being seen.
Nitya didn't need to shout.
She had already made them feel her absence.
Now her presence said everything.