Author’s Note (Before the Chapter Begins):

Hi Roses 🌹 I hope you're all doing wonderfully. Before you dive into this chapter, I just wanted to share a little something from my heart. English isn't my first language, so please forgive any tiny grammatical hiccups—my effort is sincere, even if my commas get emotional sometimes.

I'm not from Rajasthan, though I've grown to love its beauty and storytelling magic. I've tried my best to avoid any mistakes about places, professions, or facts—but if something slips through, I hope you'll be kind and understanding.

Also… confession time: I have absolutely zero knowledge about business and medicine! 🤭 So if my characters do things that aren't quite textbook-perfect, let's just say it's all part of the drama, okay?

With love, hope, and a lot of chai-fueled imagination, I’m jumping right into this story. Because—why waste time when the emotions are waiting?

And hey, if you notice anything wild in this chapter, it’s probably just me being me… your friendly author who once Googled "how does surgery even work" while sipping tea in pyjamas.

                               ________________________________________
Wait... was that muscle?

For a moment, I stayed still. My senses barely awake, still tangled in sleep’s fog, unsure if I was dreaming or hallucinating. My hand, resting somewhere it definitely shouldn't have been, brushed against something warm. Soft. And—solid.

I frowned.

It wasn’t a pillow.

Definitely not a blanket either.

It was… a person.

My breath caught in my throat. My heart gave a startled jolt as my eyes snapped open. And there—just inches away from me, fast asleep, lips slightly parted, and wrapped around me like a human koala—

It was Vanya.

Vanya, My soul sister, My home in chaos, My biggest headache in glitter.She was clinging to me as if her life literally depended on it, her arms draped over my torso, one leg hooked over mine. Her hold was so tight, it felt like if she let go, I’d dissolve into dust and disappear from the earth. She looked so peaceful. So baby-like in her sleep. Her brows uncreased, lips barely curved, cheek squished against my shoulder.  

And despite the surprise still rolling through my body like a tidal wave—I smiled. A small one. Unintentional. Just for her, Because this wasn’t new, This is what Vanya did.  

She always showed up in the middle of the night—no warnings, no calls. Just barged in like a chaotic little storm and made space beside me, curling into my bed like she belonged there. And maybe, in some weird way… she did. Maybe that’s what soul sisters are supposed to do. Show up. Stay. Make you feel like someone in this godforsaken world actually cares, even when you’ve forgotten how to believe that. 

I tried to recall when exactly I’d fallen asleep. Last I remember, I was talking to Bua on the phone. Vanya hadn’t arrived yet… had she? But then, my eyes fell on something beside me—a first aid kit.

Wait… I’d put that back on the shelf yesterday, hadn’t I? I blinked. 

My gaze dropped to the clean white bandage wrapped neatly around my arm, and suddenly everything made sense, Of course. It was Vanya. Only she could enter like a thief in the night and become my nurse, therapist, emotional support system, and clingy teddy bear all at once.  

I let out a soft sigh, half amused, half exasperated, as I tried to gently wiggle out of her death grip. But instead of loosening, her arms clutched me tighter, pulling me even closer. She shifted slightly, nestling her face into the curve of my neck and murmured in her sleep, voice drowsy and dreamy: 

“Baby… can’t the sun rise a little late today? Can’t your world wait? Mine doesn’t start until you kiss me awake.” I froze.
EXCUSE ME?!

Was I hearing this right?! I stared at her in disbelief, lips parted. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. And yet—I was grinning. Because of course, this absolute drama queen thought she was in bed with one of her fictional men again. I knew she dreamt of them. She narrated those dreams to me in vivid, borderline disturbing detail. But this?

This was next-level.  Before I could react further, she mumbled again. And this time, it made my jaw drop.  

“Break me, baby… I want to shatter in the shape of your desire. You’re walking away again… after touching me like I’m the only thing you’ve ever worshipped? Breathe into my neck again… I swear it’s the only thing keeping me from waking up.”

I stared at her like she’d grown three heads.

"WHAT IN THE ACTUAL—?!" 

I was so shook I could feel my brain buffering like an old WiFi signal. My hand instinctively went to my cheek where, in her passionate dream-state, she had kissed me. Yes. Kissed. Me. On the cheek. Like I was her man. I wanted to wake her up right that second before this turned into a full-blown fantasy session starring me.

Poor future husband of hers. He doesn’t even know the chaos he’s marrying into.

I swear, he deserves an award. Or maybe therapy. Probably both. Still gently shaking her shoulder, I whispered near her ear: 

“Wake up baby… it’s morning now. No more your fictional men. Please wake up from your dream, baby…” She shifted slightly again, sighed contentedly… and kissed me again. AGAIN. And then curled up on my chest with a soft moan of comfort. I slapped my forehead with a loud groan. What had I done in my past life to deserve this?
Now done with subtlety, I grabbed her arm, shaking her with a little more force. 

“Umm… babe? I don’t know who you thought you were clinging to last night, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the one wrecking your soul in that dream.”

That finally seemed to stir her. She blinked. Half-open, sleepy eyes scanning the room like a lost kitten. Her face slowly registered confusion. And then—betrayal. The kind of betrayal only someone who was dreaming about their imaginary lover could feel when they woke up to find their best friend instead. 

“Good morning, Miss Moaning-Mess,” I deadpanned.

“Should I step out, or is your imaginary boyfriend joining us for breakfast? Wow... I remind you to never sleep next to me again unless I sign a consent form. Who was that man haunting your dreams?!” She stared at me. Blinking. Still flushed. 

But even with her sleep-blurred vision, and the blooming red crawling up her cheeks, Vanya smirked. The brat. The absolute menace. She smirked at me like she’d just claimed victory in some battle of lust and laughter.

That’s when I pointed a finger at her, warning laced in sarcasm: 

“Just don’t smirk at me, Miss Vanya. Sweetie, just blink twice if you need therapy. Or a cold shower. Or both. Whoever he is… give me his number. Anyone who can make you beg in your sleep is a threat to national peace.” 

Still grinning like a fox, she tilted her head and purred, her voice dipped in that post-dream haze, sultry and half-sane:

“You only get to wake me up like that if you're planning to stay in bed and finish what you started…”

I Went Rigid, The air shifted, A full three seconds of pure stunned silence.

She winked. My jaw dropped. 

“EXCUSE ME?!?!”

She yawned, Stretched, And then looked at me like nothing had just happened. As if she hadn’t just said something that could ruin friendships and blush lines alike. She blinked, Smiled, Then, without warning, yanked me into a tight, squishy hug and planted two big, exaggerated kisses on both cheeks. 

“Oops… not him. But don’t look so flustered, jaan. You were just the stand-in for my fantasy. And you did so well.”

I BLUSHED.

I BLUSHED.

WHAT THE HELL?! I BLUSHED?!?! 

Embarrassed out of my mind, I grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at her face with a furious growl. “I’m NEVER sleeping beside you again!” I declared, making my way toward the washroom like a storm brewing war.

But of course, she had to have the final word. 

“Aww, come back! I promise to only whisper your name next time!”

I rolled my eyes, hiding my smile as I darted into the bathroom and locked the door like it was a nuclear bunker. I leaned against it, heart racing, cheeks burning, and muttered to myself: 

“This girl is mad. Absolutely unfixably mad. And I swear—her future husband better take revenge for this morning. For me.” And maybe… just maybe… He should come with a fire extinguisher. Because Vanya in dreamland? -Is pure, unfiltered chaos.  

Lavanya P.O.V

*Flashback*

Finally, I entered Nishi’s room. I remember once she had told me that this palace had multiple main gates, many of which were never used. But there was one in particular—hidden behind an old wall—that had no guards. Nobody except her knew about it. She used to go there as a child to play, and her father had shown her that secret path. Since then, whenever I’ve needed to come here unnoticed, that gate has been my way in. But what I saw today—it shattered something in me. 

As I stepped inside her room, my eyes instinctively scanned everything. It wasn’t like before. Clean, yes, but bare. Stripped. Most of her things were gone. I had been here just yesterday, and already, so many things had disappeared. Her room felt like a ghost of what it used to be.

And then my eyes found her—Tanishi. Her entire face was red, swollen, her body bruised in places I couldn’t even count. She was asleep, but her face bore the dried remains of silent tears. the—dried tears still clinging to her cheeks. The kind of crying that didn’t have a voice, just pain.

It was then that I heard a voice—soft, melodic. Someone was singing a lullaby. I looked around, startled, and saw a phone beside her pillow. A lullaby was playing from it on loop.I had spoken to Bua just an hour ago. She told me everything that had happened. Every brutal detail. I didn’t even realise I was crying until my tears dropped onto her bandages. The one on her elbow was already slipping. Another clung loosely to her knee. Her lip had a cut. The kind of wound that burns when she tries to smile.

I didn’t waste time. I went to the shelf and brought out the first-aid box. Quietly, I sat beside her, carefully removing and reapplying her bandages. Every touch felt like I was trying to mend something sacred—something far more fragile than flesh. I didn’t even know when my sobs began. But I held myself together long enough to finish dressing her wounds and tuck her beneath a warm blanket. Then I stood. Not making a sound. I walked out of the room. Because there was something I still needed to do tonight. 

*Vriksha’s Room.*

Some of Tanishi’s worst pain came from one person: Vriksha. She always found a way to make Tanishi cry—spreading lies, twisting truths, turning people against her. I never understood what her problem was. Was it hate? Jealousy? Or was it just entertainment for her? Whatever it was, she was going to face the consequences. I had been scaring her for days now. Why? Because Vriksha is scared of ghosts. She doesn’t even watch horror movies. Making her panic was too easy.

Each night, I did something different—something new—to make her believe something haunted this palace. But tonight, I had limited time. I had to go back to Tanishi early. So I planned to do only two things: create a shadow from her window… and make the sound of payal. Tanishi’s room was on the farthest corner of the second floor, facing the garden— isolated. Vriksha’s was just beside the staircase, but still out of sight from the main floor. That worked perfectly in my favour.

I stood in front of her room’s frosted window and began my setup. I placed a lamp, carefully covered with tissue paper to dim the light. I angled it so only my shadow would be visible through the curtain. I turned on the mini smoke machine in my hand to give the room a ghostly feel. Then, I pressed play on a footstep sound I’d found after hours of searching. Hair open, phone in one hand, smoke machine in the other—I started walking past her window.

I watched from the side. She was awake. I circled once—fast—then again, slower. She sat up. Looked straight at the window. I paused.

Her eyes fixed on the curtain. She was watching. I switched hands, pressed my palm to the glass, let my shadow stretch across it like a silent scream. She stood from her bed, frozen, and hid myself behind the pillar, Good. She wouldn’t see me. Not in this light. Not in this palace where pillars rise like towers and moonlight plays tricks through forgotten windows.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her fumble for her phone. She got up, walked out of the room, whispering, "No baby, there is no one. See for yourself."

She turned on the camera, likely to show someone . Maybe she was video calling someone—her boyfriend? But the flashlight wasn’t on. Just the screen light reflecting on her face. Then she walked back into her room and shut the door. Locked it.

She had a boyfriend.   Interesting.

Her family had strictly forbidden any relationships. And if she broke that rule… I knew what would follow. They’d call her a disgrace. They’d shame her. And if she ever truly loved someone, they’d use that love to destroy her. But I didn’t think she was in love. Not truly. I’d seen her too many times at the club across from my firm’s building. Every time I worked late and passed by, there she was—kissing a different man. Whatever. Not my problem.

I started my ghost setup again. More shadow. More footsteps. And when I finally saw her breathing settle into the shallow rhythm of uneasy sleep, I smiled. Packed up my things. And left.

Back to my Nishi.

I sat beside her. She was still asleep, the lullaby softly playing beside her. I gently ran my fingers through her hair. A tear slipped from my eye, falling onto her forehead. I quickly wiped it and composed myself. I leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"I’m sorry, Nishi. I can’t do anything for you right now… but I promise, I’ll try everything I can. One day, I will free you from them. But until that day comes, please… don’t lose hope. And I won’t ask you to be happy here—I know that’s not possible. Because they… they will never give you anything. Not even peace."

I knew she couldn’t hear me. But I said it anyway. When I hugged her, she shifted in her sleep, curling into me, her face resting on my chest like a child, I held her tighter, Continued to stroke her hair.

She looked like a baby. Every time I saw her like this, my eyes welled up. But I couldn’t break. Not now. Not in front of her. I had to be strong. For her. For the both of us.

"I promise I’ll make them cry for what they’ve done to you, bacha. Stay strong for me, okay? You are my one and only friend. My soulmate. My sister. My everything. And I’ll bring happiness back into your life again. That’s my promise."    

Even if it means bringing a man into her life who can give her love—the kind she deserves. Even if this palace forbids love, even if she’s afraid of it. Because for me, she isn’t part of this family. Not really. They never treated her like family. Not even like a human. Whoever that man is, he’ll have to prove himself. He’ll have to promise that no matter how hard life gets, he won’t leave. That he’ll make her smile again. And until then—I’ll be there for her. Every moment. Every breath.

Thinking of all this, I fell asleep beside her.

*Flashback Ends*

I stepped out of bed, pacing the room, thoughts whirling in my mind. How do I free her from this family? It’s not easy. They’re royalty. Respected. Powerful. And I have no proof. They’ve manipulated her with shame since childhood. Always saying, "Don’t bring disgrace." Always reminding her she owes them everything.

Even though she’s 24, she can’t make her own decisions. She’s a princess, bound by media, image, society… and most of all, by a belief she’s been forced to accept since birth: that she is unworthy of love. Her confidence is shattered. Yet, some part of her still hopes that one day, they might love her. And so she stays.

“People say she’s old enough to make her own choices. What they don’t see is the invisible crown around her neck — not one of gold, but of chains. She doesn’t wear it. It wears her.”

I made a promise to myself right then—one day, I’ll break those chains. I’ll make her love herself again. Believe in herself. Be strong enough to walk away without guilt. But for now—I was just happy to see her smile. Even if it was because of my teasing. Even if it was fleeting. I had to leave soon. If anyone saw me here, it’d only cause her more trouble. As I gathered my things, I heard the bathroom door open. There she was.

Fresh out of the shower, hair damp, skin glowing. She wore a black anarkali—no jewellery, no makeup—and yet she looked ethereal, Divine, Untouched by adornments, yet so graceful that even silence would pause to admire her.

"I know my words are not enough," I said, my voice catching.

“Kya tujhe gyaan hai, tu iss samay kaisi prateet ho rahi hai?
Jaise koi sandhya — varsha ke pashchaat ki shaant sandhya —jismein surya ki antim kiranen abhi bhi thahri ho, aur chandrama pehli baar apne prakash mein ujwal ho raha ho. Na kaajal, na jhumke, na koi aabhushan... phir bhi tu kisi lokkatha se nikli hui koi divya nayika si lagti hai.”
“Tanishi, tujhe dekhkar yah bhaav aata hai... yadi kisi din Ishwar ne roop dhaaran kiya ho, toh nishchay roop se vah tere saman dikhna chahta hoga —bina kisi sajawat ke, keval noor aur pavitrata mein lipti hui ek rooh.”

END LAVANYA P.O.V

                       ________________________________________

TANISHI’S P.O.V. 

When someone sees you as more than the world ever has… even silence turns sacred. I stood there, still wrapped in the soft echoes of her words — and something inside me shifted. Something small, something quiet… but real. A flutter in the chest, a warmth behind my ribs. I didn’t know how to name it. All I knew was — it made me feel seen. Known. Safe.

Her words weren’t just praise. They were shelter.

I didn’t know how people could think of me like that. How they could look past everything broken, everything hidden, and still call me divine. Still wish to protect me. And she did. 

I watched, silently, as she walked toward the almirah. Her anklets made the softest sound — not enough to disturb the morning, but just enough to stay in my memory. Her movements were graceful, almost sacred, as though each step she took carried purpose only her heart understood. 

She opened the drawer and returned with a small container in her hand — kajal. The most ordinary thing. And yet in that moment, in her hand, in her gaze — it became something extraordinary. Something sacred. Something meant only for me.  

She came to me quietly — not rushing, not faltering. She stood close, and without a single word, she dipped her finger into the kohl and gently reached behind my ear. 

A soft touch. A careful smudge. And just like that… she took my balayein. To ward off the evil eye. To protect something she found too precious, too beautiful, to be left unguarded.Her eyes met mine — wide, soft, almost spellbound. As if she couldn’t believe someone like me existed like this, so simply, so quietly — without anyone offering a prayer. 

Then —She raised her hand into the air above my head, curling her delicate fingers into a soft fist. Slowly, gracefully, she circled it thrice — her eyes never leaving mine. Three silent spirals. Three prayers.  

Three silent wishes meant to chase away whatever the world had thrown at me when I was too young to defend myself. And then, with the gentlest care, she brought that fist down and softly pressed it to the crown of my head — then against the sides of my temples.  

Like she was sealing a shield around me. Like she was saying — “You deserve protection too.”
Her voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper. “Nazar na lage tujhe…”
I don’t know what broke me more — her voice, or the sincerity in it.
"You look too divine today… even the stars would blink twice."

Something inside me trembled. Something… broke. One single tear slipped down my cheek — slow, silent. Not because I was sad. But because I was overwhelmed. Because no one had ever done this for me. No one had ever looked at me with that kind of tenderness — the kind that didn’t ask for anything back. The kind that only wished to protect. 

This small gesture… this ancient tradition… this simple act of putting kajal behind my ear… it was more than a ritual. It was a prayer. She didn't just ward off evil.  

She gave me faith. And then… like a blessing… she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my forehead. And another on my cheek. The warmth of it lingered longer than it should have. Like it carved a permanent space into my soul.

Before I could find words — before I could even say thank you, she was already walking toward the door. 

I rushed to the balcony, needing one last glance. She always left quietly — but something in me couldn’t let her go without witnessing it. The way her dupatta danced in the soft morning wind. The way she always glanced back before stepping outside — like she was making sure I’d be okay. 

She turned, Waved her hand, Smiled. And just like that… she stepped out of this mahal and into the world. But she left something behind.
Her warmth.
Her prayers.
Her love. 

She always brought a smile to my face. She always made my mornings beautiful. Not because she tried — but because she was. She is the one who taught me how to live. Even in this suffocating place — this golden cage they call royalty — she found a way to make me feel free. To make me smile again. She became the air between the cracks. The sunlight in my shadows, When the world forgot to ask me how I felt…
She stayed.
She noticed.
She chose me.  

Every visit of hers felt like a healing, She made me believe that maybe… I could start living. Maybe it was okay to wear a little kajal, To put on earrings . For the first time in years, I wore it not to look beautiful… but to feel protected.  Because she made me feel that way. Her presence rewrote my mornings. They used to begin in silence —Now they began in laughter. They used to be filled with heavy, royal expectations —Now they held tiny, secret rebellions. Because of her… I wanted to feel alive again. Because of her… I started breathing differently. Because of her… I stopped just existing. 

I touched the spot behind my ear where she had placed the kajal. It was still there — smudged but sacred. With that feeling still wrapped around me, I stepped out of my room. The silence of the hallway didn’t feel as cold anymore. Each step I took toward the main hall felt lighter — like my feet were guided not by duty… but by grace.  

I reached the temple corner, my fingers gently folding into a prayer. For once… I didn’t ask for strength. I didn’t ask for escape.I only closed my eyes and thanked the universe —

For her, Her softness, Her magic. And above all…For reminding me what it felt like to be seen.

After that, I walked toward Dadi Sa and Dada Sa and gently touched their feet. They blessed me with a distant nod, and I moved ahead to Chacha and Chachi Sa, bowing with the same respect. But they didn’t say a word. Instead, they turned their faces to the other side, as if my presence had cast an unwanted shadow across the room. 

A sharp pang of sadness pierced through me — no, not sadness… emptiness. 

It made me feel like an object. A precious possession once brought home with pride, polished and displayed because it was covered in gold and diamonds — not because it was loved — and then forgotten once its shine dimmed. Like something once valued for its rarity… not its soul.    

That moment made me feel unloved, unseen — like I was no longer worthy of attention. But somewhere, in a quiet, distant corner of my heart… I had already accepted this truth. It wasn’t new. Just a wound I’d grown used to carrying.

I turned to go towards my parents. But just as I took a step forward, I stopped.

Because suddenly, everyone around me began to run — not towards me, not even noticing me — but toward Vriksha.
And why?
Because she was crying.  

Bhai rushed to her side with water. Mummy sat beside her, stroking her back and murmuring soothing words. Papa was wiping her tears gently, his face full of concern. Chachu was demanding to know who had dared to hurt her, his voice rising in protective anger. Chachi was fussing over her breakfast, making sure she had eaten. Even Dadu and Dadi stood nearby, asking her softly why she was upset. 

And I? I just stood there. Invisible. Was I not part of this same mahal? Did no one see me? Did no one remember? Because I did.  

I remembered it so clearly — the day I was ten. I’d pretended to be hurt that morning, just to see if someone would care. I had cried, faking a fall. And they had come running. One after another, with worried faces, warm hands, and soft words. They had asked who had hurt me. They’d held me like I was made of porcelain. 

Back then, my tears were enough to shake their world. And now? Even my voice — my truth — didn’t matter. I had shouted countless times, pleaded that I had done nothing wrong. I had begged them to see my pain. But they ignored it. Dismissed it. Covered it up with silence. 

They hurt me. They abandoned me. But now, my hurt… doesn’t even register. Just like a child who once adored a toy — played with it every day, held it close, laughed and cried with it — only to abandon it once a newer, shinier toy arrived.

That’s what I was to them, The forgotten toy. I stood there, watching them surround Vriksha. And yes, it hurt. But at the same time… I felt something else too — something softer, gentler. Relief. Because at least they weren’t treating her the way they treated me.

She was getting love, She was seen, Even if I wasn’t. She was crying today because last night she had heard strange sounds — footsteps and whispers, and seen shadows outside her window. It terrified her. She’s always been scared of ghosts and shadows.  

I quietly walked toward the far corner of the hall — the one where I sit every morning, away from everyone’s sight. I watched all of them fuss over her, worry in every movement.  

Something about it made me feel even smaller. Still, I tried to collect myself. Maybe tomorrow I’ll visit the temple, I thought. Maybe the priest will help. Maybe he’ll know what’s happening to her — what these shadows mean. This isn’t the first time she’s felt this way. Something’s going on. And though they all fail to see my pain, I still can’t ignore hers. I still care.  

Even if no one else does, While I was lost in thought, Dai Maa walked in silently and handed me my breakfast. I nodded and began eating slowly. I never eat much here. I don’t feel like it. I only ever eat properly at Lavanya’s house — with her family, where I feel human again.  

A few minutes later, Bhabhi came to me, holding an extra chapati. She placed it on my plate and looked at me — really looked at me. Her eyes were warm, her smile soft. She bent down slightly and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, caressing my cheek.  

“Finish this. And take care of yourself,” she said gently, her fingers lingering on my face for a second longer than they should’ve. Then she turned and walked away. She doesn’t hate me. But she hides her love from everyone. Because once… she didn’t, And she paid the price.I remember the day she stood up for me — in front of everyone. She raised her voice when no one else did. She defended me, her eyes blazing with courage. And Bhai…He slapped her. Right there, in front of the entire family.  

He warned her never to speak in my favor again. Never to love me out loud. Since that day, she’s loved me in silence. In glances. In small gestures. Like this one. I looked toward her as she walked away. I smiled faintly. And she… she turned back for a second. Smiled lovingly. And blinked at me, like a secret between sisters. 

After I finished my food, I stood up and walked toward the gates. No one stopped me. No harsh words. No questioning glances. No cruel remarks. Everyone was too busy with Vriksha. And somehow… that gave me peace. For once, I wasn’t being broken today. 

Maybe that’s why I felt lighter. I sat in the car and let the driver take me away from that golden cage. The whole ride, I didn’t think bad thoughts. I don’t know why. Maybe because today, no one reminded me of how unwanted I was. It was enough. 

When we reached the familiar house, I stepped out and walked inside. And there she was — my home, my sister in every way but blood — Lavanya. 

She was standing in the hall, and the moment our eyes met, I ran into her arms and hugged her tightly. She hugged me back just as fiercely, wrapping me up in safety. 

                                                        ________________________________________ 

LAVANYA'S P.O.V

I stood in the hallway, sipping on warm tea, when I suddenly felt arms wrap tightly around my waist. I smiled instantly.

It was her — my Nishi.

And today… she was happy. I could feel it in the way she clung to me, the way her breath trembled with excitement. When she pulled back, I cupped her face gently. Her veil couldn’t hide her glow. Even her eyes were smiling. 

I was just about to ask her the reason when she cut me off and began talking — words tumbling from her lips like petals in the wind. She told me everything — how no one said a harsh word to her today. How, for once, she wasn’t noticed — and that in itself had become a blessing. 

She smiled. But then she told me why. It was because of Vriksha. Vriksha was crying. And so everyone’s attention was on her — not Nishi. I nodded silently, listening. 

She didn’t know the truth. Didn’t know that Vriksha was crying because of me. Because I had planned it. Yes. I made sure she got scared. I triggered the fear. Not because I hate her… but because I wanted Nishi to have one day. Just one day… of peace.

I know if I tell her this, she’ll ask me to stop. She’ll tell me not to hurt her sister. But I can’t stop. Because even if her family has never loved her… she still loves them. She still loves her little sister. And I won’t take that love away, Not like this. But one day — someday — I’ll help her see the truth. For now, I’m just glad to see her smile. That’s enough for me. 

“But you know, Vanya,” she said suddenly, “I’m thinking of going to the temple tomorrow. I want to speak to the priest about this — ask if there’s some deeper meaning… maybe a solution. That vriksha… it looked so sacred.” 

Her voice was soft and full of hope. And mine? Mine was full of quiet rage. I hated it. I hated how she cared so deeply for people who did nothing but hurt her. 

“Maybe it was just your dream, Nishi,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “So maybe there’s no need.”

“Yeah… maybe it was. Maybe it was just a dream. I didn’t think in this way”

She smiled faintly. And I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, She understood, At least this once.  Breakfast was filled with laughter — the kind that lights up every dark corner of your soul. For once, she laughed without holding back, eating without her usual tantrums, without pushing her plate away or crinkling her nose in drama. Just… pure, radiant joy. I couldn’t stop watching her. 

Something about seeing her smile like that made my chest ache — not with pain, but something deeper, gentler. Hope. I silently made a promise to myself: No matter how small, I’ll always try to bring this kind of happiness into her life. Because she deserves it — even if it’s just a slice of peace in a chaotic world. 

After we finished breakfast, we stepped out of the house — the sunlight felt warmer, kinder. We parted ways to head into our respective days. 

                  ________________________________________ 

In the Conference Room — AUTHOR’S P.O.V.

The team gathered around the sleek glass conference table, sunlight bouncing off the steel edges, notebooks open and coffee cups still steaming. Tanishi, composed yet thoughtful, tucked a pen behind her ear just as the door opened.

In walked Mr. Armaan Khurana — their boss, visionary, and the kind of man who could set the air humming with ambition. 

Boss (grinning):

"I hope you all had your coffee, because what I’m about to tell you is big. Very big." 

Chairs creaked slightly as everyone leaned in. Conversations died out. Silence followed. 

Boss:

"We’ve just signed a collaboration with Aurelia Luxe — yes, that Aurelia Luxe — the European fashion house. They’ve handpicked us to design their limited-edition jewelry line for the fall campaign."

Gasps. Wide eyes. A stunned beat passed through the room. 

Boss (more energized now):

"This is beyond a jewelry project. This is about carving our place on the global fashion map — Milan, Paris, Vogue covers. This project is going to make history."

With a click of a remote, the presentation screen lit up — gold accents, sharp silhouettes, bold jewelry adorning high fashion models. 

Boss:
"We’re calling it: Project Aether. The fifth element — the spirit. A collection that’s beyond trend. It will speak soul, craftsmanship, power. And I’ve handpicked the five of you to bring it to life."

He began assigning roles. 

To Tanishi:
"You’ll lead the design. Mood boards. Sketches. Concepts. I want your soul in this. You’ve got the elegance and emotional insight this project needs. Coordinate closely with the artisans."

Tanishi’s fingers curled gently around the edge of her notebook. She nodded — her heart thudding, her chest tight with a nervous thrill. 

To Kabir:
"Branding and marketing — you’re the voice of this collection. Slogans, teasers, social media — make it unforgettable." 

To Ashvik:
"Client strategy. You’ll be our voice to Aurelia Luxe. Anticipate their every change, every doubt, every sparkle."

To Prem:
"Production and sourcing — find me the rarest stones, the cleanest cuts, the most sustainable metals. No compromise."

To Mehek:
"Trend research and presentations. Study Paris, Jaipur, Seoul. Discover what people don’t even know they want yet."

Boss (with fire in his voice):
"I trust each of you. This isn’t just a job. It’s legacy. Use this holiday break to refuel — because once Aether begins, there’s no slowing down."

The room exhaled, awed and electrified. Tanishi sat still — until the boss exited the room. 

                                                  ________________________________________ 
TANISHI'S P.O.V.

After he left, the others erupted into smiles, shaking hands, buzzing with plans and excitement. Kabir, Mehek, Prem, and Ashvik all made their way to me, one by one. 

Kabir: “Lead designer, huh? That’s big. Congrats, girl.”

Mehek: “You’ll crush it. Just let me know what color palette you lean toward so I can match the vibe.”

We shared a round of enthusiastic handshakes, and then I slipped away. It was lunchtime — and I knew exactly where I’d find her. 

I reached the café, the one where Lavanya and I always shared our mid-day silence, laughs, and cheesecake. She was already waiting. As I slid into the seat beside her, she greeted me with a hug. 

Lavanya: “What do you want to eat today?”

I told her, and she went off to place the order. Meanwhile, I did what I always do first — picked up my spoon and scooped into my pre-lunch dessert. Cheesecake. Yes, I eat it before the meal and after. Don't judge me.

As I scrolled through my phone, savoring the creaminess, someone cleared their throat beside me. I looked up.

It was Ashvik.

Ashvik (a little hesitant) "Mind if I join you for a minute?"

I blinked, a little surprised, but smiled politely. 

I said "Sure. Please, sit."

He settled opposite me, coffee in hand. 

Ashvik (with a soft smile):

"Didn’t mean to intrude. Just thought it’s a good moment to sync about Project Aether." 

I (relieved):

"No intrusion. I was already half-daydreaming about mood boards." 

Ashvik (teasing):

"Already thinking like a lead designer. That’s impressive."

"It’s exciting… but also a bit overwhelming."  ( i said smiling, honestly)

Ashvik (nodding):

"That’s why I wanted to catch you now — if you’ve got any rough themes or directions forming, even early sketches, I’d love to get a look. The client’s picky, and I want to prep my pitch ahead of the break." 

"I was planning to develop them during the holiday, but I’ll send you a few drafts by Friday. Nothing polished yet, but it’ll give you an idea."  i Reply

Ashvik (pleased):

"Perfect. Color palettes, motifs — even a messy idea is gold at this stage." 

"Consider it done." with a little smile on my face which he can't see

He raised his cup slightly in a tiny toast. 

Ashvik:

"Now that’s what I call teamwork." 

"Only if you promise not to out me for eating cheesecake before lunch."  i chuckle on his words

Ashvik (grinning):

"Your secret’s safe with me. But I will be silently judging you forever." 

I Smile a little. It felt… easy. Not heavy like the world usually does.

As he got up to leave, I accidentally dropped my phone — it slipped from my lap. He caught it mid-air, handed it back with a soft smile, then stood again. 

But just then, Lavanya returned. Their eyes met — only for a second — and I noticed Ashvik visibly pause at her sudden appearance. It wasn’t awkward, just... unexpected. He nodded at her politely, then turned back to me and gave my hand a small shake before heading off. 

Lavanya (smirking, eyebrows raised):
"Who was that? And why was he looking like he saw a goddess and panicked?"

I smile, brushing it off, and told her what happened. We finished lunch with more teasing, giggles, and our usual banter. It was just us again.  Afterward, we both left the café and headed back toward our offices. The sky looked a little brighter, And for once, so did the day.
-------------------------------------------

Ajmer, 1:00 PM 

Inside the Operation Theatre - Author P.O.V 

The OT door swings open with a soft hiss. The air inside is sharp — cold, sterile. Every surface gleams under the harsh white lights. A team stands ready in green scrubs and surgical masks, their eyes the only emotion visible.

A heart monitor beeps steadily. The patient lies still on the table, covered from neck to toe, chest area exposed. IV lines run into both arms. An oxygen mask covers the face.

Vayansh stands at the head of the table, already gloved, eyes steady. Beside him, the anaesthesiologist checks the vitals, speaking in low tones. 

Anaesthesiologist:
"BP stable. Heart rate holding at 68. Oxygen 97%. Patient under full sedation."

Vayansh (nodding):
"Let's begin."

He reaches for the scalpel handed to him by the scrub nurse. One deep breath — and then the first incision.

The blade glides through skin. The suction begins humming. Blood is cleared quickly as the surgical team moves in sync, like choreography without music.

Scrub Nurse:
"Scalpel."
"Retractor."
"Suction."

The chest is opened carefully. Vayansh glances at the heart — it beats softly, rhythmically, like a fragile drum. There's a blockage. Time is running out.

Vayansh (calm but focused):

"We'll bypass the left coronary artery. Get the graft ready."

The nurse hands him the vein graft — taken earlier from the patient's leg. Vayansh positions it gently, his gloved fingers steady.

Cardiac Perfusionist:

"Heart-lung machine engaged. We're ready for cardiac arrest."

Vayansh:

"Alright. Stopping the heart... now."

The heart monitor flatlines. The room holds its breath. But no one panics — it's expected. The machine now keeps blood flowing.

Vayansh works quickly, stitching the graft, bypassing the blocked section.

Vayansh:

"Give me 4-0 Prolene. Suction. Hold that tissue back."

Every second counts. No movement is wasted. Sweat beads on his temple despite the freezing air. 

Scrub Nurse (softly):

"Graft secured." 

Vayansh (without looking up):

"Restart the heart." 

The perfusionist nods. A few silent seconds… the ECG blips once. Then again. Then — a rhythm. 

Anaesthesiologist (checking the monitor):

"Sinus rhythm returning. Heart rate climbing... we're back."

The room collectively exhales. Vayansh leans back slightly, eyes locked on the monitor.

Vayansh (quietly):

"We got him back."

                                                      _______________________________________ 

Operation Theatre – Vayansh’s Second Surgery of the Day

The OT lights glared above like silent guardians, casting their sterile glow over the surgical table. Vayansh stood focused, scalpel in hand, his gloved fingers steady despite the fatigue settling into his bones. His scrub cap clung to his damp forehead — this was his second complex surgery of the day, and the weight of responsibility had started pressing against his spine like an invisible burden. 

Patient: A 10-year-old boy. Congenital heart defect. A delicate correction.

His breath was slow, measured. This wasn't just another operation — this was someone's child. Someone's entire world. And he wasn’t going to let that world fall apart. Not on his watch.

Nurse: "Vitals stable, Dr. Vayansh."

He gave a slight nod, eyes never leaving the monitor. 

**"Retract the pericardium gently... there. Now suction. Good. Clamp..."

His voice was calm but laced with something deeper — not just focus, but empathy. Every move was precise. Every stitch, a promise. 

As he worked, a drop of sweat slid past his temple. But he didn’t stop — didn’t even blink.

He whispered under his breath — not for the team, not for the record.

It was for the boy on the table. 

"Tu theek ho jaa, chhote... tere liye toh main saans bhi rok sakta hoon."  {"Just get better, little one… I could even hold my breath for you."}

The anesthesiologist glanced at him, silently acknowledging the tenderness in his tone. Vayansh had a reputation — the doctor who treated hearts like prayers, not organs.

Thirty-five minutes later, the final suture was in place. 

Nurse: "Surgery successful, sir."

He finally exhaled, stepping back slowly, like an artist placing his last brushstroke. And then he came to his cabin and sat there tiredly. 

But as he pulled off his gloves and removed his mask, the exhaustion caught up to him — not in his body, but in his eyes. A flicker of weariness passed through them, quiet and heavy. He didn’t complain. He never did. Just rubbed the back of his neck, grabbed a water bottle, and leaned briefly against the wall. Then he heard his door open — and he knew who it was.

Dr. Shaurya. His friend.

Vayansh (exasperated but amused):
"In my cabin, you won't even let me breathe in peace for a minute, will you, Shaurya?"

Shaurya (grinning, with a teasing tone):
"Peace is overrated, Dr. Vayansh. I'm just here to keep your heart rate up — professionally and personally."

He said this and then vanished after a wink and flying kiss. And then, they both rushed to back-to-back operations.

9:00 PM – After Hospital
Their time was finally over. They both stepped out of the hospital, exhaustion etched into their faces. They had brought one bike today, and rode home in tired silence. After dinner, they retreated to their rooms. 

                                                      ________________________________________ 

Nightfall

The clock strikes 10:00 PM. A deep silence wraps the house. Everyone is asleep.
Except him.

Shaurya sits alone in the dimly lit room. The only light comes from the flickering glow of his four-screen hacking setup. A warm cup of untouched black coffee sits beside him — long forgotten.  

He’s not wearing his usual doctor coat.
Tonight, he’s not Dr. Shaurya.
Tonight, he’s the unseen storm. 

Wearing a black hoodie, his face half-shadowed, he types rapidly — his eyes laser-focused, his jaw tight.

One screen displays a live encrypted banking server. The second shows an ongoing data breach on an offshore account.

The third tracks multiple shell companies. 

The fourth? A pixelated image of a corrupt politician smiling at a press conference.

Soft instrumental music plays in the background — almost spiritual — a contrast to the storm brewing on his screens.

Suddenly—Access granted. 

He leans back slightly, a ghost of a smirk dancing on his lips.

"Black money ka jungle jitna bhi gehra ho... har tree ka ek root hota hai. Aur main woh root pakad chuka hoon." {"No matter how deep the jungle of black money runs… every tree has a root. And I’ve already grabbed hold of it."}

He opens a hidden file — "Operation Rudra: Phase 6" — and begins transferring stolen evidence into a government whistleblower system. As the files upload, he stares at a photograph taped near the screen.
Vayansh and him — age 16 — laughing in the orphanage garden. 

A note beneath: "For those who never had power… I'll become their fire."
The upload bar completes.
100%. Evidence Delivered.

He deletes all traces, wipes the temporary servers, locks his system with a custom neural code, then finally exhales.

Wiping sweat from his brow, he mutters softly—

"Good people sleep peacefully at night… because monsters like me fight in the dark."

He switches off the last screen, finally turning to the window, The city sleeps. But somewhere tonight... someone corrupt has just lost control.  

                            ________________________________________ 

TANISHI'S P.O.V

Today, as I entered the mahal, there was an unusual silence. The grand halls that usually echoed with footsteps and orders now stood still. Not a soul in sight. I walked through the corridor, my footsteps sounding too loud in the emptiness. I reached the drawing room, hoping someone would be there — even if not to greet me, at least to notice. But there was no one.

Dai maa entered the room with her usual soft expression and placed a hand on my head.

“They’ve all gone out for an important meeting, bitiya. They’ll return late tonight.” 

I just nodded, silently. Somehow, my heart exhaled. A strange kind of relief settled in me. No screaming voices. No cold stares. No accusations tonight. No repeated punishments for merely existing. At least for now, there would be no drama — no bruises on my heart pretending to be tradition. 

But even that relief felt dangerous. I’ve never learned how to sit with peace. I don't trust happiness when it visits me — it’s too brief, too fragile. Sometimes, I feel safer with sadness. Sadness doesn’t pretend to stay. It hurts, yes — but only just enough. I’ve grown used to that pain, made peace with it. But happiness? Happiness builds hopes. It lights tiny lanterns inside me, only to blow them out with a single gust, leaving me in the dark again. 

So when today felt quiet — too quiet — I should have known. I should’ve known that this silence wasn’t peace. It was the pause before the thunder. I sat in my room, playing with the memory of today’s moments — soft, fleeting ones I’d gathered in the café. His laughter. The way he looked at me. The way I didn’t feel like a burden. Today, I had felt… human.  I held on to that feeling like a secret treasure. But then —Footsteps. 

Many of them. Heavy, hurried, echoing down the marble corridor. My body tensed. See? I was right. Happiness never stays too long with me. I didn’t know what they had found out. But I knew enough to know this — it wouldn’t be small.

And today...I wouldn’t fight, Not because I agreed, But because I was tired. Tired of explaining things that were never heard. Tired of justifying a life I didn’t even get to choose.

Tired of yelling into silence. Today I had felt alive, I had felt like someone who mattered. And I wanted to hold on to that — even if it was slipping. 

The door burst open. I had forgotten to lock it. How foolish of me, And there they were. 

Baba.
Chacha.
Bhaiya. 

Their eyes were blazing. Their shoulders heaving with restrained rage. But there was no restraint in what came next.

SLAP!

The sound rang through the room like a verdict. My face turned sharply to the side, pain blooming across my cheek. But it wasn’t just my skin that cracked — something far deeper split inside me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t speak.

Tears rose instantly. Uninvited. Unapologetic. Silent. 

Bhaiya stepped forward, his voice like thunder.

“What were you doing with a boy at the café today?”
A boy.

He said it like filth. Like poison. Like love itself was a crime. I stood there, frozen. Still dressed in the quiet of today’s memories, now torn to shreds by their storm. 

I didn’t answer, What could I say? Would it matter? Would they listen? They never have. So I stayed silent, Still, Drenched in shame and the remnants of my joy. 

Chacha’s hand wrapped around my wrist. Tight. Unforgiving. His grip bruised the skin like his words bruised my soul. Bhaiya’s eyes didn’t soften. Not for a second. He looked at me like I had killed something pure — like I had murdered their honour. 

And Baba…His face didn’t rage, His face broke. He looked at me as if something sacred inside him had died just by seeing me — as if my presence had turned into poison he couldn’t swallow. 

They didn’t stop, Not when I trembled, Not when I choked on my sobs, Not even when my knees weakened, They kept yelling, Every word like a stone hurled at me. Accusations. Shame. Questions I was never meant to answer. They dragged me through the corridor. I didn’t resist, Not because I agreed — but because I had no fight left in me.
But inside me — my soul thrashed. My heart screamed.

“I know where they’re taking me. I know that corridor. That turn. That door."
"Please… not again.” 

Each step felt like walking toward a sentence. My feet didn’t want to move, but their grip was tight, cruel. I tried to shut off the panic rising inside me, but memories flooded my chest like waves — the darkness behind that wooden door. The silence. The cold. The isolation. 

As we passed the main hallway, I looked around. 

My mother stood near the archway. Her gaze was fixed on the floor. She didn’t even try to meet my eyes. As if my very existence was too heavy to acknowledge. As if I was a shame she could no longer lift. 

Chachi was next to her. Her jaw clenched, eyes filled with judgment — the kind that didn’t require words. Her silence shouted that I had tarnished their name, their lineage, their pride.
And then... 

Vriksha.

My little sister,She peeked from behind maa. Her eyes wide — not with fear, but curiosity. There was a flicker in her gaze… something I couldn’t read. Something that didn’t hurt, but didn’t comfort either. she did — and liked what she saw.

But then...I saw her. 
Bhabhi. Standing at the far end. Her eyes locked onto mine. And they weren’t angry. They weren’t ashamed. They were… broken. She didn’t speak. But her eyes screamed, Screamed for me.

As if every step I took toward that wooden door — she felt it like it was her own. As if her hands ached to reach out. As if she wanted to scream, “Stop!” But her lips were stitched shut by royalty, by tradition, by helplessness. Her pain met mine in that one glance. 

And maybe… that hurt more than anything. Because she wanted to save me. But she couldn’t. And I didn’t blame her. Because I knew what it meant to be voiceless in a palace full of rules.

I turned my face away. The heavy wooden door creaked open. The same door that had seen too many of my silences. No begging this time. No protests. 

Just a whisper from my heart in my chest — a last, desperate prayer from the girl inside me:

“Please… don’t lock me in again.”
“Please don’t leave me there.”
The door shut behind me with a thud.

                          {To be continue....}

*********************************************

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