The tension within the Ahir mansion grew heavier with each passing week. The absence of Meera and the children was no longer just a matter of whispered doubts—it had become a storm cloud looming over every family gathering.
Rajveer Ahir, though stern and pragmatic, could no longer ignore the unease gnawing at his heart. Arjun's pointed questions, Kavita's quiet concern, Raghunath's frown, Vikram's failed attempts to trace communication, and Anjali's outright defiance against Savita's silence—together, they formed a chorus of suspicion.
Finally, the one who could no longer endure was Raghav Ahir, Meera's husband.
Every night, he lay awake in their empty bed, his heart aching with memories of her gentle smile, her laughter, and the small hands of his children tugging at him for attention. The silence of the mansion was unbearable. He had asked Savita countless times where Meera had gone, and every time her answers were colder, sharper, final.
One evening, he confronted her in the grand hall. "Mother, enough of this! Where is Meera? Where are my children?"
Savita, sitting like a queen on her carved wooden chair, met his eyes without flinching. "They are safe. Do not burden yourself with doubts."
"Safe?" Raghav's voice cracked, rage and desperation mingling. "A father knows when his family is missing. I will not be silenced any longer!"
The entire household had gathered by then, their eyes shifting between mother and son. Rajveer's silence was heavy, as though his heart already knew a truth his mind refused to accept.
Without waiting for permission, Raghav stormed out of the mansion. He vowed to find Meera and his children, no matter what it cost.
For weeks, he searched. He traveled from city to city, chasing rumors, following whispers of families displaced, of children placed in care far from their homes. Each lead brought him closer to despair, but he pressed on, driven by love and the gnawing certainty that something terrible had been done.
But fate had other plans.
On a rain-soaked night, as his car sped along a winding road in the hills, tragedy struck. A truck skidded across the slick highway, headlights blinding, metal screaming. In the chaos of twisted steel and shattered glass, Raghav's world went dark.
By the time rescuers pulled him from the wreckage, he was alive—but barely. His body was broken, his breath shallow. At the hospital, doctors fought through the night, but the verdict was grim.
Raghav Ahir slipped into a coma.
News of the accident shook the Ahir household like an earthquake. Rajveer collapsed into silence, grief etched into his face. Arjun's fists bled from punching walls in rage. Kavita wept quietly, unable to accept that her brother was trapped between life and death. Raghunath cursed fate itself. Vikram turned his genius toward the accident, convinced it was no mere coincidence. And Anjali, her voice trembling, declared, "This family has lost its soul because of secrets. If we do not uncover the truth now, we may lose everything."
Even Savita, for all her steel and pride, found herself staring at the empty chair at the dinner table, her heart flickering with doubt she refused to name.
The mansion, once filled with order and routine, had become a place of fractured hearts and silent prayers. And somewhere far away, unaware of Raghav's fate, Meera carried her unborn son under the care of the Masters—while the Ahirs began to unravel under the weight of their own deception.
The storm was only beginning.