Kashvi didn't reply to the message.
She simply stared at it.
"Five years is a long time to stay dead."
The words weren't emotional. They weren't dramatic.
They were precise.
Intentional.
Like a chess move placed exactly where it needed to be.
Behind her, the garden door opened.
Kriday ran out again, school bag on his back.
"Mumma, the driver's here!"
Kashvi slipped the phone into her pocket instantly.
"Come here," she said.
Kriday walked closer.
She adjusted his collar slowly, studying his face without letting him notice.
The same sharp eyes.
The same stubborn jawline.
Features she had tried very hard not to remember for ten years.
"Listen to me carefully," she said softly.
Kriday blinked.
"If that man comes again," she continued, "you do not talk to him. You come to me or the guards immediately."
"Okay…" Kriday nodded, confused.
"Promise."
"Promise."
The driver honked lightly at the front gate.
Kriday waved and ran off toward the car.
Kashvi watched until the gates closed behind him.
Only then did she allow the mask on her face to fall slightly.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another message.
"Relax. I wasn't going to tell him."
Her fingers tightened.
Another one appeared immediately.
"Not yet."
This time she typed back.
"What do you want?"
The reply came almost instantly.
"To see if you'd recognize me."
Her jaw hardened.
"I buried you."
Three dots appeared on the screen.
Then the reply.
"You buried a story."
A pause.
"Not me."
Kashvi walked slowly back toward the chess table in the garden.
The pieces were still where Kriday had left them.
The sacrifice.
The trap.
The delayed victory.
Her phone buzzed again.
A new message.
"Turn around."
For a second, Kashvi didn't move.
Then very slowly—
She turned.
Across the street, beyond the iron gates, through the thin London morning fog—
A man stood on the sidewalk.
Tall.
Still.
Hands in the pockets of a black coat.
Watching her.
The distance was enough to blur details.
But not enough to hide the familiarity of the posture.
The calm.
The patience.
He didn't wave.
He didn't step closer.
He simply stood there.
As if waiting to see what she would do.
Kashvi didn't call security.
Didn't shout.
Didn't move.
For a long moment, the two of them simply looked at each other across the quiet London street.
Then the man finally spoke.
His voice didn't reach her.
But she could read the words from his lips.
"Hello, Kashvi."
And suddenly—
The ghost from her wedding night was no longer a ghost.