The echoing hall was empty now, the hostile family members having retreated like shadows into the corners of the mansion. Meira stood alone until a woman appeared before her, wearing a delicate saree pinned by a brooch—a gleaming letter "S" embedded in its center.
"Ma'am, I am Seema," the lady said with a gentle, practiced smile. She appeared to be in her early fifties, radiating an air of quiet elegance and the seasoned discipline of someone who had navigated the politics of Roopa Mansion for decades. "I have been appointed to look after your needs."
Meira nodded mutely. As Seema led her through the labyrinthine hallways, pointing out rooms and corridors, the information slid off Meira's mind like rain on glass. Her consciousness was still anchored back at the train station, back to the moment the world broke.
They reached a room tucked away in a distant wing—a clear architectural statement that while Meira was a guest, she was not, and would never be, a Salai.
"I will return with your dinner," Seema said softly. Despite Meira's lack of appetite, the older woman insisted on bringing something light.
When the door clicked shut, Meira collapsed onto the bed. It was dangerously soft, a luxurious gentleness she had never known in her years of struggling. As her body sank into the mattress, the exhaustion took over, pulling her down into a feverish dream.
"Meira, see! This is my room!" A young girl stood there, eyes glowing with pride. "Hey, this is so beautiful!" Meira screamed, her younger self spinning around in the room, dazzled by the opulence. "I'm so happy you're here. I asked the staff to make something special for you. Please, have it," the little girl pleaded with eyes full of love.
"Please have it, Ma'am."
The voice of the child morphed into the raspy tone of an adult. Meira jolted awake, her heart hammering. Seema was standing over her with a tray. "You must eat. Tomorrow will be a hectic day."
Meira took a bite, more to honour Seema's kindness than to satisfy hunger. "I'm sorry, Seema," she whispered. "I don't mean to be rude. I'm just... not myself."
Seema's expression softened. "It's fine, Ma'am. Divya Ma'am has already instructed me to take the best care of you."
The name hit Meira like a jolt of electricity. It hadn't been mentioned in the hall. "Who is Divya Ma'am?"
"She is Roopa Mansion's whole and soul," Seema replied with a respectful smile. "The lady who rules like a queen. Mr. Devkar Salai's wife."
Meira froze, the realization settling in her stomach like lead. Kiran's mother.
The elegant woman in off-white. The one who had commanded her keys and her life without a single introduction. In all the years of their friendship, Kiran had treated her mother like a ghost—a woman who was always "out of town" or "busy with work." Meira had sensed the rift and never pried, but now, the ghost had taken a physical, terrifying form. To Meira, she was the woman who had been absent for her daughter's life, only to reappear as the warden of her best friend's estate.
Meira looked around the guest room. The isolation of this wing felt intentional now. It wasn't just about her "status" as a non-Salai; it was about the fact that her face was a map of Kiran's secrets.
After finishing the meal, Meira changed into the clothes Seema provided. As she lay back down, the luxury of the silk against her skin felt like a cold reminder. She was in the house of her best friend's mother—a woman Kiran had spent a lifetime avoiding, and a woman who now held Meira's world in her diamond-adorned hands.