Chapter 3 – Shadows of the Past
अंधेरों की छाया में दबा हर अहसास,
टूटे दिल में भी जगती कुछ आस।
नज़रों की खामोशी ने दिल को छुआ,
चुप्पी में भी किसी ने साथ दिया।
The Mehra house was unusually quiet that night. Dinner sat untouched on the table, steam fading from the dal and rotis. Trisha's stomach growled faintly, but she didn't move. She had learned long ago that eating before her father invited sharp words.
Across the table, Vinod Mehra scrolled through his phone, his glasses slipping down his nose. Her mother, Anjali, sat stiffly, eyes narrowed on her daughter as though Trisha had already made some unforgivable mistake simply by existing.
"So," Vinod finally said, breaking the silence, "the Khannas seemed interested."
Anjali's lips curved into a cold smile. "Why wouldn't they be? Their son is a businessman, successful, handsome. And they saw our daughter's... qualities." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
Trisha clenched her fingers beneath the table. She knew what was coming.
"But you should pray they agree, Trisha," Anjali continued, her eyes sharp. "It would be a miracle if anyone overlooks... what you did."
The words sliced sharper than knives. Trisha's throat tightened. She had been accused of it so many times that the phrase had become a ghost trailing her every step.
"I didn't do anything," she whispered, her voice shaking despite her effort to steady it.
Vinod slammed his hand on the table, the plates rattling. "Don't you dare raise your voice! You think we've forgotten? You think your tears erase what happened to Manya?"
The name dropped like a stone in the room.
Manya. The daughter they loved, the perfect one. The one whose death had rewritten Trisha's life into a punishment.
Trisha's vision blurred as memories surfaced—her sister's laughter echoing in the corridor, the warmth of her embrace, the night it all ended in confusion, shouting, and grief. She had been just a child then, too young to understand, but old enough to know the blame had been pinned on her forever.
Her mother's voice rose, shrill and cutting. "If you hadn't—if you had been careful, if you hadn't been there—Manya would still be alive!"
The familiar accusation pressed down on her chest until she couldn't breathe. She wanted to scream that she wasn't at fault, that she had begged them to see she was only a child. But the words never changed anything.
Her lips trembled, but she stayed silent.
Because silence was survival.
---
The next morning, she stood at the bakery counter, kneading dough with trembling hands. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, and every press of her palms against the flour felt like she was pushing down the weight of last night's words.
The bell above the door chimed.
She didn't look up at first, assuming it was a customer, but the quiet that followed told her otherwise. Customers always asked questions, and ordered impatiently. Silence only belonged to one man.
Her heart thudded as she lifted her gaze.
Abhineet stood there, tall, composed, his shirt sleeves rolled up again. But today, there was something sharper in his eyes, as though he had walked in knowing she wasn't fine.
"You're pale," he said simply.
She forced a small smile. "Long night."
His gaze didn't waver. He didn't ask more, didn't demand explanations. Instead, he walked to the counter and picked up a small rolling pin she had set aside. Without asking permission, he started pressing dough beside her, his large hands steady and precise.
Trisha blinked at him. "You... know how to bake?"
"No." His tone was flat, almost amused.
"Then why—"
"You look like you need help."
Her throat tightened. No one had ever said that to her. Help wasn't something offered in the Mehra household.
For a while, they worked side by side, the quiet broken only by the scrape of dough against the counter. The rhythm steadied her heartbeat.
Finally, she whispered, "Do you... ever feel like no matter what you do, it's never enough?"
Abhineet stilled, his jaw tightening. He didn't look at her, but his voice was low, firm. "Yes."
Just that. One word. But it felt like a door opening.
She wanted to tell him everything—about Manya, about the endless accusations—but her tongue was heavy. Instead, she pressed harder into the dough, hoping he would understand what she couldn't say.
He did. She saw it in the way his eyes softened when he finally looked at her.
"You shouldn't believe them," he said quietly.
Her breath caught. Them. He didn't know her story, but somehow he already knew there were voices in her life that tried to crush her.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she quickly looked down, not ready to let him see the brokenness her parents had left behind.
Still, for the first time in years, she felt less alone in the weight she carried.
---
That evening, back at the Mehra house, her parents were already arguing about dowry expectations and social standing.
Vinod's voice boomed, "Do you know how much they might ask? Rajat Khanna doesn't look like a man who'll settle for less."
Anjali hissed back, "Do you want her to rot here? This is her only chance. If Abhineet Khanna wants even the shirt off your back, you'll give it!"
Trisha stood by the kitchen doorway, invisible, listening to her future being traded like a business deal. Her chest tightened, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered Abhineet's steady voice: You shouldn't believe them.
The words stayed with her, like a fragile shield against the storm of her parents' cruelty.
For the first time, she thought maybe—just maybe—her silence didn't mean she was weak. Maybe it meant she was waiting for someone who could hear her without words.
And perhaps, he already did.
पास होकर भी दूरी की बात,
छोटी मुस्कानों में खिलती सौगात।
टकराती पाँव, हँसी का मौसम लाया,
छोटी-छोटी खुशियाँ हर पल ने पनपाया।
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✨ End of Chapter 3 ✨
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