The Door Slammed…

The door slammed.

The sound wasn’t just loud — it was final. A violent punctuation mark that ended the last thread of light, air, and freedom.
The click of the lock followed.
Soft, almost gentle, but cruel in a way only small sounds can be.
That was it. The world outside was gone.

Darkness rushed in like water flooding a sinking ship. It didn’t creep — it consumed. One moment the room had edges and shapes, the next it was a mouth swallowing her whole.
Her chest clenched. Breath stuttered.
It was too dark.
No… not just dark — the kind of dark that feels alive.

Her heartbeat pounded so loudly she thought it might echo off the walls. It wasn’t just fear of what was around her… it was fear of nothing. Fear of not seeing her own hands. Fear of that invisible weight pressing against her skin.

She stepped back, then forward, then sideways — searching for the wall, for something solid to hold. But the blackness spun around her, so complete that it made her doubt her own body’s position. The floor under her bare feet felt colder than before.
And then… it began.
The familiar tightening in her throat.
The shallow, panicked gasps.
The trembling that started in her fingertips and spread like a disease.

“No…” Her whisper was barely sound.
Her voice cracked. She hated how small it sounded, how useless.

The darkness reminded her, It always reminded her, Her knees buckled, and she caught herself on the wall.

Fingers trailed along the cold surface, searching desperately for a seam, a handle, a miracle. Nothing.

The silence wasn’t silence — she could hear her pulse, her breath, the rustle of her own clothes when she shook.
And then the air… oh God, the air.

It felt heavy, as if the darkness itself was pressing down, stealing the oxygen. She tried to take a deep breath, but it caught halfway, turning into a ragged choke.
She pressed her hand over her mouth, as if she could quiet the sound of her own panic. Her other hand clawed at the wall, nails dragging helplessly.

Her mind screamed at her to calm down. But her body — her traitorous body — was convinced she was dying.

The sound of the lock clicking in her memory overlapped with the one she had just heard.
She squeezed her eyes shut.

It made no difference. The darkness behind her eyelids was the same as the one outside them.
Somewhere in the black, she thought she saw movement.

Her chest heaved. She knew it wasn’t real — she knew — but knowing didn’t stop her body from jerking back, slamming into the corner.

The shadows seemed to have shape now. A shape she recognised from the corners of nightmares — hunched, faceless, patient. Watching.

She pressed both palms flat against the wall, grounding herself, but the wall felt as if it was pulsing, breathing with her. She slid down until she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, forehead pressed to them.

Tears came hot and fast. Not the slow, graceful tears of sadness — but the ugly, choking ones of terror. She couldn’t wipe them away because her hands were too busy gripping herself like she might float apart otherwise.

Her breaths turned into short, sharp gulps.
The sound filled the room, bouncing back to her ears until it felt like someone else was crying with her.

She tried to speak, to beg, but all that came out was a strangled sound that didn’t even sound human.

The memories wouldn’t stop.
Her mother’s voice yelling from the other side of that childhood closet. The scrape of the lock. The darkness pressing closer with each passing second.

And now, here she was again — older, but no braver, The same darkness
The same helplessness.

Minutes — or hours — passed. She had no way to know.
Her throat ached from gasping. Her hands hurt from clenching. Her legs had pins and needles from holding herself too tight.

She thought about screaming. But what was the point? They wouldn’t open the door. They wanted her here.

She wanted to tell herself she was safe — that nothing in the dark could hurt her.
But the truth?
The darkness was hurting her. It was already inside her, curling around her thoughts, squeezing her chest.
Her ears picked up phantom noises — a footstep, a whisper, the faint scratching of something against the floor. Her heart jolted each time, sending spikes of cold through her veins.

Her breath quickened again.
Her lips trembled as she whispered into her knees, “Not again… please, not again… please don't touch me...don't”

But the room didn’t answer, Only the dark, Her breathing was no longer quieter — it was uneven, shallow, as if every inhale had to fight its way past an invisible weight on her chest. Her lungs burned, desperate for air that didn’t seem to exist here.

Her fingers twitched weakly, reaching for nothing.
The pounding in her ears grew louder than her thoughts.
Dark spots began to bloom at the edges of her vision, swallowing the little awareness she had left.

The fear didn’t fade — it sat there, heavy and unmoving, even as her mind slipped.

Her body swayed, her head growing heavier, the room spinning in darkness she couldn’t fight.

And then… her knees gave way.
She sank to the floor, cheek pressed against the cold marble, her lashes fluttering once, twice—before the black claimed her completely.

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In Ajmer
Author P.O.V

The night lay over the city like a velvet shroud.

The streets were hushed, broken only by the occasional bark of a stray dog or the faint hum of an auto rickshaw somewhere far away. The moonlight spilled across the rooftops, silvering the edges of old stone and casting long shadows into narrow lanes.

Inside, the house slept.

The slow tick of the hallway clock marked the silence, each second stretching into the next. From the open balcony, a faint breeze wandered in, carrying with it the scent of the neem tree outside and the far-off hint of jasmine blooming in some unseen courtyard.

The rooms were dim, the air heavy with that strange stillness that comes just before dawn. In his bedroom, Vayansh lay sprawled on one side of the bed, his breathing deep and even, his body surrendering to the exhaustion of another day spent buried in hospital corridors and operating theatres. His dreams, when they came, were blurred—no faces, just flashes of colour, indistinct voices, shadows moving in places he couldn’t name.

And then—He woke.

It wasn’t the slow drift of someone roused by a noise. It was sudden. Violent.

As though something had reached into his chest and pulled him to the surface.

His eyes snapped open, unfocused in the darkness. His right hand went immediately to his chest, pressing hard as if to steady his heart. His breathing was jagged—fast, then slower, then fast again, never finding rhythm. The room felt warmer than it had seconds ago, the air somehow thicker.

He pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking, trying to make sense of it. But the sensation wasn’t one he could name. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t fear of a dream. It was… wrongness. A quiet alarm going off somewhere deep in him, a pulse that had nothing to do with his heartbeat.

The hairs along his arms prickled. He felt that cold twist in his gut—the same kind of twist he’d felt before surgeries that went badly, before phone calls that carried bad news.

“Ansh? Ansh, what happened?”

The voice was from beside him. Shaurya. His best friend, his brother in everything but blood. The covers were half-kicked off him, his hair in a hopeless mess, eyes half-lidded from sleep but instantly alert.

Vayansh turned his head but didn’t answer. His mind was still catching up to his body’s panic, his breaths still too short, too uneven.

Shaurya swung his legs over the side of the bed, crossing the short space between them in two strides. His hand landed on Vayansh’s shoulder, steady but not forceful. “Hey. Breathe. Tell me what’s wrong.”

But the words barely landed. Vayansh heard them the way you hear someone speaking underwater—muffled, far away.

Shaurya sighed quietly and reached for the glass of water on the table. “Here. Drink this.”

The cool glass touched his hand, but Vayansh only took a small sip, enough to wet the dryness in his mouth. His gaze kept drifting—first to the closed door, then to the window, then back to Shaurya without really seeing him.

“It’s just a nightmare,” Shaurya said, crouching a little to meet his eyes. His tone was careful, like you’d use on someone teetering at the edge of something fragile. “Nothing happened. Try sleeping again.”

But Vayansh’s body was already in motion before the words could root themselves in him. He put the glass down, pushed the covers aside, and stood.

“Ansh—?”

He didn’t answer. He crossed the room, pulled the door open, and stepped into the hallway.

The nightlight at the end of the hall cast a pale pool on the marble floor. His steps were quick but soundless, his eyes fixed ahead. He stopped outside mother’s room, turned the handle slowly, and slipped inside.

There she was.
Peaceful. Breathing evenly. The faintest rise and fall of her chest under the blanket.

Relief seeped into him like water into dry earth. Not much, but enough to loosen his shoulders a fraction. He stepped closer, adjusting the blanket over her shoulder with quiet precision, fingers lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric.

Only then did he back away, closing the door softly behind him.

When he returned, Shaurya was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching the door like someone waiting for news.

“You went to Maa’s room?” he asked.

Vayansh didn’t answer directly. Instead, his eyes scanned Shaurya—head to toe, quick, clinical. The kind of scan a doctor makes without realising, but in this moment, it wasn’t about medicine. It was about reassurance.

“I’m fine,” Shaurya said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “See? All limbs accounted for. No injuries. Not even a paper cut.”

Only then did Vayansh drop onto his bed. Shaurya got up, fetched the water again, and held it out until Vayansh took it.

“Ansh…” Shaurya’s voice was quieter now. “There’s nothing wrong. You’re overthinking, that’s all. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion talking—you’ve been buried in surgeries all day, and it’s been a crazy schedule. Trust me, nothing’s happening… so stop torturing yourself, hmm?”

He guided Vayansh down so his head rested on his lap, fingers moving through his hair in slow, familiar strokes.

Vayansh closed his eyes, not because the dread had gone, but because Shaurya’s presence had always been an anchor in turbulent moments. But even with the weight of a hand in his hair and the quiet of the room pressing around them, that knot in his chest didn’t loosen.

After a while, he shifted, pulling himself upright. “Your turn,” he murmured, nudging Shaurya down until his head was in Vayansh’s lap instead. He began to massage his scalp, his fingers tracing familiar lines.

“You didn’t sleep again, did you?” Vayansh asked. “Dr. Hacker on night duty… someone’s luck must’ve been bad tonight.”

Shaurya smiled faintly. “You know me too well to need an answer.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Vayansh said, but it was softer, almost like he was speaking to himself. “Maybe I’m thinking too much.”

But his heart? His heart wasn’t listening.
It stayed alert. Uneasy.

Even when Shaurya’s breathing evened out and the quiet returned to the room, Vayansh lay awake, eyes fixed on the slow rotation of the ceiling fan. Every creak of the house, every distant noise seemed sharper. And somewhere deep inside, he knew—this night wasn’t done with him yet.
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Jodhpur
LAVANYA’S POV

The cold night air bit at my skin as I climbed the narrow side steps that led up to Tanishi’s balcony. My heart was already pounding—not from the climb, but from the unease that had been gnawing at me all evening.

I had my own extra key to her balcony door—a small precaution I’d taken months ago so I could come to her anytime without making her get up to unlock it. It had always been our little secret. I’d slip in quietly, let her rest, and be there when she needed me.

But tonight… something felt wrong.
I slid the key into the lock, turned it, and slowly pushed the door open.
The moment I stepped inside, my breath caught in my throat.

Her office bag was sprawled open on the floor—papers half-spilled, the zipper broken as if someone had pulled it apart in haste. That alone was strange. But then… my eyes fell to the floor near the bedroom door.

Blood.

A small, dark smear against the polished marble.

My mind froze. For a second, I couldn’t move—couldn’t even breathe. Then the realization hit me like ice water down my spine.

She wasn’t here.
Where is she?
Tanishi never left her room at this hour. Never.

Panic clawed at my chest. I rushed to the dressing room—empty. The bathroom—empty.

Everywhere I looked, she wasn’t there.
My voice stayed trapped in my throat, but my pulse thundered in my ears.
Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

I turned and bolted for the door, not even bothering to close it behind me. My Nishi was more important than any lock, any rule, any appearance.

I hurried down the hall, my footsteps echoing against the silent marble.
When I reached Vriskha’s room, I slowed just enough to peer in through the half-open window. She was awake, speaking to someone on the phone, her posture relaxed—almost smug.

A wave of suspicion burned through me, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t have time to confront her—not now. But in my heart, I made a silent promise:

If she had anything to do with this… she would regret not knowing whose soul she had chosen to play with.

I reached the kitchen next—empty, silent, the faint scent of ginger tea lingering in the air.

“Where are you, Nishi…” I whispered under my breath, searching every corner. Suddenly, a hand rested on my shoulder.
I froze.

My breath hitched, and instinctively, I stepped back. For a split second, fear tightened every muscle in my body. But… there was something in that touch—familiar, gentle.

I turned around.
It was Tanishi’s sister-in-law, Shanaya Bhabhi.

“Vanya… what are you doing here at this hour?” she asked softly, her eyes studying me. Her tone wasn’t sharp—if anything, it carried a note of concern. But behind it… I saw something else. Sadness. And maybe… guilt. As if she carried a weight she couldn’t put down.

I knew she was good at heart. But I also knew I couldn’t tell her the truth—that I came here often, at night, just for Tanishi. If I told her, and if word got out, it could put Nishi in even more danger.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the worry twisting my stomach.
I forced my voice to stay even. “Bhabhi sa… hume kuch theek nahi lag raha tha, toh hum Tanishi se milne aa gaye. But… she’s not in her room. Where is she?”
{ Bhabhi… I wasn’t feeling right, so I came to see Tanishi. But she’s not in her room. Where is she?}

Inside, I was screaming for her to answer quickly.
Please, Kanha… let her be safe. Please.
Bhabhi hesitated, then said, “Woh… aisa hua ki…” {it happened that}

 Flashback

It was around 1:00 PM that afternoon when Vriskha returned home. The palace was silent—eerily so. No chatter of the servants, no footsteps in the corridors, no voices from the sitting room.

But the moment she stepped inside, she shattered the stillness with her sharp, demanding voice, calling for “Bhai sa” and “Baba sa.”

Her tone was urgent—accusing. Within minutes, everyone gathered in the main hall.

She held something in her hand. A photograph.

In it—my Tanishi, sitting in a café. And across from her, a young man. The angle made it look like he was  touching her… and she was smiling.

“Bhai sa, Baba sa,” she said, her voice dripping with self-righteousness, “I saw them myself in that café today. I wasn’t feeling right, so I decided to come home early, and as I passed near the office side, I saw her there. Laughing. Talking. With him. So I clicked this photo to show you what she’s doing.”

Her words struck like a match to dry straw. The air in the room changed instantly—tension snapping tight like a wire.

But she didn’t stop there. She pressed on, feeding the fire.

“Chacha sa, Baba sa… this isn’t the first time. For days, I’ve been seeing her with him. At first, I thought maybe it was office work. But today… no. Not a single word or gesture between them looked like work. And I couldn’t stay silent anymore.”

Her “Baba sa”—Tanishi’s father—stood still for a moment, his face tightening. Then, with a sharp movement, he smashed a vase beside him. The shards scattered across the floor, a reflection of the rage on his face.

He started to storm out, but his phone rang—an important call for the company. A big deal. Reluctantly, he stopped to take it, his jaw still clenched.

“Chacha… don’t worry. When she comes back, we’ll take her class,” her “Bhai sa” said through gritted teeth.

“Bhai sa, calm down. We’ll find that man, and he won’t dare come near her again. Calm yourself, or your blood pressure will rise,” Chacha said—but his own voice was thick with anger.

Then, in a tone like poison, her father spoke:

"Jab apno hi khoon apne baap ro naam kalankit kar de...
Jab apni chori apne khandaan ri izzat ne nafrat ro layak bana de...
Toh uss nalayak, gawar chhokro ro hum kyaan bigaad lewa?
Gair toh door ri baat hai...
Hiyan toh apni aulaad hi zeher ban chuki hai...
Jine khoon abaad karno hoto, woh aaj barbaadi ro sabab ban gayi.
Humein khud pe sharam aave hai... ke hum aisi aulaad ne janam diyo.
Jo apne baap ri izzat ne mitti mein mila de, woh chori nahi... ek kalank hai."

{"When your own blood stains your name…
when your own daughter turns the honor of her family into something worthy of hate…
what can we even do to some worthless, uneducated boy?
Forget outsiders…
our own blood has become the poison.
The child who should have been the pride of my blood…
has become the reason for our ruin.
I am ashamed… ashamed that I ever gave birth to such a daughter.
One who drags her father’s name through the dirt is no daughter… she is a curse."}

With that, he turned and walked out, getting into his car. One by one, the others left for the office—still seething.
Flashback end

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Bhabhi’s voice was quieter now, almost breaking. She told me how, later that night, they had dragged Tanishi from her room—slapped her, yanked her by the arm, locked her inside a room. She said Tanishi didn’t even protest this time… didn’t say, “It wasn’t me.” She just stayed silent.And I knew why.

She knew that even if she spoke, they wouldn’t listen. They would only do what their anger told them to do.

and vrishka what she did i will not leave her cause I was there that day at that time. I saw it with my own eyes.

Maybe she edited everything… twisted it to look different,But I won’t let this go, She thinks she can ruin someone’s life and walk away? No. I’ll make sure she feels every ounce of the pain she caused. She won’t forget it—not in silence, not in sleep, not in peace, She’ll suffer, And I’ll be there to watch her fall

Bhabhi led me toward that room, but stopped in the kitchen to fill a bowl with water, handing me cotton cloths, a bottle of drinking water, and a quiet look that said more than words ever could. She couldn’t protect Nishi openly—but in these small ways, she still tried.

I couldn’t help but wonder again—what was her reason for marrying Viraj Bhai? I didn’t even want to call him “Bhai,” but seriously… why would she marry that man?

We reached the end of the corridor. I froze.
The door in front of us… I knew it.
It was the dark room.

Once, when I had come to see Tanishi, I had heard muffled crying from the back of the garden, near the secret exit door of the palace. That day, I had found her inside this very room—shaking, terrified of the darkness.

And now… they had locked her in here again.

I didn’t wait for Bhabhi to say anything. I took the bottle from her hand and ran toward the backyard.

I knew the small window there was sometimes left slightly open.

I was going to get to her—no matter what, The window was my only way in.

Its frame was old, paint peeling in uneven flakes, the metal latch already loose from years of neglect. The cold night air pushed against my back as I forced it open, the faint creak of rusted hinges cutting into the stillness. It wasn’t loud, but in the silence that hung over this part of Ajmer, it felt deafening. My heart was already pounding before I even stepped inside.

I slipped one leg over the sill, then the other, landing softly on the floor. My shoes barely made a sound, but somehow the thud echoed in my ears. For a moment, I just stood there, letting my eyes try to adjust.

It was useless.

The darkness was thick—like it wasn’t just an absence of light but a presence in itself. It clung to my skin, curled into every corner of the room. I couldn’t see the walls, couldn’t even see where the floor ended. It was as if the space around me had no shape, only this suffocating black. My instincts screamed that she was here, somewhere in this shadow, but I couldn’t see her.

The air smelled faintly of damp wood and dust. Each inhale felt heavier than the last. I could hear my own breathing—quick, uneven—and the faint hum of the night wind outside. But inside… nothing. No movement, no sound of life.

I lowered the small bowl and the bottle of water I had carried in, placing them gently on the floor beside me. My hands were already trembling, but it wasn’t from the weight. It was from the thought—What if I was too late? What if something had happened to her in the hours I wasn’t here?

My pocket felt heavier than it should, my phone resting inside. I reached for it, my fingers shaking so badly I almost dropped it. My pulse was loud in my ears now. It was as if my body already knew something my mind didn’t want to face.

Please let her be fine… please let her be fine… The silent prayer repeated itself in my head, over and over, like a heartbeat I couldn’t
control.

I unlocked my phone, the faint click sounding unnaturally loud. The bright screen lit my hand, pale and trembling. My thumb hovered over the flashlight icon, and for a second, I hesitated. I was terrified of what the light might reveal.

But the fear of not knowing was worse.
I tapped the screen.

The beam cut through the dark in one sharp slice. Dust floated in the path of the light, tiny silver particles drifting lazily. My eyes darted across the floor, the walls, the farthest corner of the room.

And then… I saw her.
Nishi.

She was trying to stand, one hand gripping the wall for support. Her hair fell forward in messy strands, hiding most of her face. She didn’t realise I was here—not yet. Her movements were slow, as if her body didn’t quite obey her anymore. Every attempt to straighten her posture seemed to take everything she had left. 

I held my breath.

The light shifted slightly, brushing over her figure.

She froze.

Maybe it was the sudden glow in the pitch-black space, or maybe she could sense the weight of my gaze, but she stopped moving. Her head tilted slightly, as if listening. And then, with small, trembling steps, she turned toward me.

The beam caught her face.

My stomach twisted.

Her eyes were red—so red it looked painful, the whites streaked with broken veins from too much crying. Her cheeks were blotched, her lips dry and trembling. There was fear in every line of her expression, but when her gaze found mine… something changed.

Her eyes locked on me. Not just looking—but clinging. Like I was an anchor and she had been drifting for hours, days, maybe longer. The moment our eyes met, I saw it—the fragile thread of hope she had been holding on to.

And then, it snapped.

She broke.

Her knees buckled beneath her. She didn’t even try to catch herself, just let herself fall, like she didn’t have the strength to stand anymore. But I didn’t let her hit the floor. In two strides, I was there, my arms wrapping around her before she could collapse completely.

She clutched at me instantly—no hesitation, no restraint. Her fingers dug into my back, gripping my shirt like if she let go, she’d vanish into the dark again. The sound that left her throat wasn’t just crying—it was something raw, something that came from deeper than pain. It was the sound of someone who had been holding herself together far too long, only to finally break.

I sank down with her onto the floor, my back against the wall, my legs folding automatically to hold her close. Her head pressed against my chest, and I felt her trembling through every layer of clothing. She buried her face there, as if trying to hide from the darkness around us.

And then… her breathing shifted. It was still uneven, still broken, but it matched something else now—my heartbeat. I felt it, this faint change. Like she was trying to ground herself in the one thing in this moment she could trust. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

I didn’t realise I was crying until a drop slid down my cheek and fell onto her face. She flinched—not in fear, but in surprise—then held me even tighter. And that was when I stopped trying to hold it back. My arms tightened around her, and my tears joined hers, silent but unstoppable.

I stroked her hair slowly, my palm moving over the tangled strands, not to fix them, but to remind her—I’m here. I’m not leaving. My fingers grazed the side of her face briefly, and I realised her skin was burning.

A fever, Her body was radiating heat, unnatural and alarming. I reached blindly toward the floor, trying to grab the bowl and bottle I had set down earlier. But the second I loosened my hold, even slightly, her grip on me tightened. She made a sound—small, almost like a child—wordless but desperate.

She didn’t want me to let go.

Not even for a second.

I froze, my hand halfway to the water, then let it fall back to my side. I stayed there, holding her, feeling every shiver, every hitch of her breath. She was still crying, but quieter now, her face damp against my shirt. My own tears hadn’t stopped either.

I lowered my head, pressing my lips gently to her forehead. The heat of her fever met the warmth of my kiss, and I wished—selfishly—that it was enough to take it away.

I stayed like that, my lips resting against her skin, my arms around her, the darkness closing in around us again. But this time, it didn’t matter, Because she wasn’t facing it alone.

then i remenber her Fever, Panic tried to push into my chest, but I forced it down. She needed calm—my calm—so I kept my voice steady. I reached for the bowl and bottle I’d brought, but the moment I shifted, her arms tightened around me like iron.

“Nishi… only for two seconds, bacha. Please. I’ll take the bottle,” I whispered, my voice almost breaking.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even seem to hear me. Her face stayed pressed against me, her grip refusing to loosen.

I tried again, gentler this time, “Just a second. I promise, I won’t go anywhere.”

Nothing.

So, I adjusted. One arm stayed around her, holding her steady. With my other hand, I reached out, feeling along the floor until my fingers closed around the bottle. It took several clumsy attempts, but I finally managed to open it, the cap rolling away somewhere into the dark.

With slow, careful movements, I brought the bottle to her lips. “Just a sip,” I murmured.

It took a moment, but she obeyed, the water slipping past her dry lips. She drank more than I expected, almost as if she had been parched for days.

When she finally leaned back, I guided her head gently onto my lap. She didn’t resist, just lay there with her eyes half-closed, breathing unevenly.

I dipped the cloth into the bowl of water, wrung it out, and placed it against her forehead. The contrast of cool against heat made her flinch, but then… she relaxed just a little.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of small, repeated motions. Dipping the cloth. Wringing it. Laying it against her skin. Brushing damp strands of hair away from her face. Checking her breathing. Whispering to her even when I wasn’t sure she could hear me.

The fever didn’t break. Not once. And I didn’t move—not for food, not for rest. The floor under me was cold, but her warmth against my legs kept me from feeling it. My body ached from staying in one position, but I ignored it. All that mattered was the rise and fall of her chest.

At some point, I noticed her trembling had eased—not gone, but less sharp. Her breathing, though still uneven, had a softer rhythm to it now, I didn’t even realize morning had come until a thin ray of sunlight slipped through the window, touching the edge of her face. The fever was still there. The shadows under her eyes were still deep, And yet… for the first time since I entered, her face looked a little less lost.

I bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m here,” I whispered. She didn’t answer, but her fingers tightened around mine, And that was enough.

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Tanishi  P.O.V

I woke slowly, as though I had been drifting somewhere far away and was reluctant to return. My eyelids felt heavy, my body still achy from the fever that had settled into my bones. When I finally blinked my eyes open, the first thing I saw was her — Lavanya.

She was sitting beside me, her face close, my gaze fixed on her. Her eyes were rimmed with concern, the kind that wasn’t casual or polite — it was the raw, unguarded kind that came from someone who had spent the entire night keeping watch.

I didn’t need to guess; I could see it in her. The way the faint shadows under her eyes betrayed a sleepless night, the slight slump of her shoulders telling me she’d been sitting there for hours without moving much. Her hair was slightly messy, as if she hadn’t cared to fix it, too focused on making sure I was okay.

She hadn’t realised I was awake yet. She was leaning forward, dipping a cloth into a small bowl of water, wringing it out gently before pressing it against my forehead. The cool touch was almost too soothing, and for a moment I kept still, simply watching her — wanting to memorize the quiet care in her movements.

Then, as if sensing my gaze, she turn to me. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw I was awake.

“Tanishi…” she breathed, her voice soft but filled with relief.

Before I could say anything, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me in a sudden, tight hug. I felt the warmth of her against me, her heartbeat quick but steady. Pulling back slightly, she placed her hand against my forehead, checking my temperature the way she always did — quick, worried, but gentle.

The fever wasn’t gone, I could tell from her face. But I was feeling a little better. Not cured, not normal, but lighter than last night — and I knew why. It was because she had been here. Because she had been taking care of me, the way no one else in this house would.

I turned my head toward the small window, and that’s when the panic began to stir in my chest. Through the thin curtain of morning light, I saw the pale glow of day outside. Morning.

My heartbeat quickened.

If it was morning… then people would be awake soon. They could come in here. They could see her.

My stomach twisted at the thought.

“Vanya… you have to go, please,” I whispered urgently, my voice still raspy from sleep. “They’ll come anytime now, and they’ll see you.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch at my words. She just looked at me, her eyes steady, her expression stubborn in that way I knew all too well.

But I couldn’t let her stay. Not because I didn’t want her here — God, if it were up to me, I’d keep her by my side every second — but because this house was not safe for her. Not when it came to being with me.

She wasn’t just my friend. She was my soul sister, my peace, my anchor. Losing her… even the thought of it made my chest ache. And I knew they didn’t hate her exactly, but they didn’t want her close to me. They didn’t like anyone being this close. And if they ever found out she came here regularly, sneaking into my room to take care of me, they’d find a way to send her far away from me. Somewhere I couldn’t reach her.

I couldn’t risk that.

I didn’t give her the chance to argue.

Pushing myself up, ignoring the way my head swam from the movement, I reached for her hand and pulled her gently to her feet.

“Vanya, listen,” I said, my tone firmer now. “I’ll take care of myself. I’ll take my medicine on time, I promise. But please… for now, you have to go. I’ll call you later.”

She still didn’t speak, but the look in her eyes said everything. She hated this as much as I did. But instead of arguing, she stepped forward and hugged me again, her arms tight around me, as though memorizing the shape of me before letting go.

“I’m going for you… okay?” she murmured against my ear. “But promise me you’ll call. And promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

I nodded, though my throat was tight.

She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to my forehead, her lips warm against my skin, and then she turned toward the window. Before slipping out, she glanced back at me one last time, her eyes scanning my face as if to make sure I was truly okay. I gave her a small nod, even though my heart was screaming for her to stay.

I closed the window behind her, locking it properly, my hands lingering on the frame for a second longer.

The room seemed even darker after she left. Even though it was morning, the curtains were drawn and the light outside barely seeped in. My chest still ached from the loss of her presence when I heard the creak of the door opening behind me.

It was Bhabhi sa.

“Nishi, go to your room,” she said quickly, her voice a little rushed. “They’re in the hall, but don’t  see them. I’ll send your breakfast to your room.”

She walked toward me, placing a hand on my cheek for a moment — a brief, almost hesitant touch. Then she picked up the bowl and bottle that were on floor and tucked them away in the folds of her saree pallu, hiding them expertly.

That’s when it hit me. She knew. She must have known Vanya had been here, instead of asking questions, she was quietly covering for us. I wanted to thank her. But I didn’t have the energy for words right now.

I turned to walk out, heading toward the hall, and I could feel eyes on me — sharp, measuring, heavy. I kept my gaze down, determined not to let it show on my face.

But then, from behind me, came the voice I dreaded.

“You’re fufa ji called me,” the voice said — cold, hard. “They want you and Vrishka to meet. Told me to send you both there. But Vrishka has work here, so you’re going alone. And there — don’t do anything that will make them feel shame. Go get ready. You leave at eight. Don’t be late. Be respectful.”

The words struck like stones. I kept my head low, nodding quietly, even though each syllable felt like it was chiseling something away inside me.

Seriously, Baba? I thought bitterly. I’m not respectful? I’m the one who’s always wrong? I’m the shame?

I didn’t say it out loud. I never did. I simply walked back to my room.

I had just started cleaning my room, humming softly to myself, feeling that light flutter of excitement in my chest. I wasn’t just happy about going to Ajmer… I was even more relieved that Vrishka wasn’t coming along this time.

It’s not that I hate her — no. She’s my little sister, my own blood. I love her in my own way. But sometimes, I need space. Some time away from the constant shadows, the words left unsaid, the way her presence reminds me of things I’d rather not think about. I wanted this trip to be just mine — a chance to breathe, to be with Bua, and maybe even feel like I belonged somewhere.

After my room was neat, I headed to the bathroom. The cold tiles under my feet, the soft sound of running water, the scent of my soap — these small things always calm me. When I stepped out, towelling my hair, I heard a knock at my door.

“Ghamma Ghani, Rajkumari sa… your breakfast,” came the voice from outside.

It was one of the helpers. But there was something in her tone — not warm, not welcoming. It was a disguised politeness, the kind you give when you have to, not because you want to. I’ve learned to hear such things, to notice what people don’t say. It’s a habit now, maybe even a survival skill. I smiled anyway, took the tray from her hands, and she left without meeting my eyes.

I closed the door and placed the tray on the table. The aroma of parathas and chai filled the air. I ate slowly, reminding myself not to let their silent rejections dull my mood. Then, almost as if on instinct, I picked up my phone and called Vanya. She picked up on the first ring, her voice lighting up the moment she heard me.

We talked for a while, my words spilling easily with her in a way they never did here. I told her the plan — that I would leave soon, and she promised she’d wait for me in front of the café.

After finishing my breakfast, I took the empty plate back to the kitchen. The helpers barely looked at me as I placed it down, and I didn’t expect them to. I returned to my room, opened my cupboard, and began packing. Just the essentials — clothes, my diary, a few books, and the small keepsakes that made me feel less alone.

Once my bag was ready, I sat down on the edge of my bed and reached for my diary. Writing is my anchor. I record everything — every day, every little moment, good or bad. It’s my way of talking to someone who will never interrupt, never judge.

When I finally checked the time, it was already 7:40 a.m. My heart gave a small leap. Time to go. I  my bag  reached for the door.

But when I opened it, I was startled to see Bhabhi sa standing there.

“Nishi… bye. Take care of yourself there. I know Bua will make sure you’re okay… Be happy there,” she said, her voice soft and full of genuine concern. Before I could respond, she pulled me into a tight hug.

Her warmth caught me off guard, and for a moment I just stood there, letting myself believe that someone cared.

“You also take care of yourself, Bhabhi sa. Where is everyone?” I asked, though my heart already knew the answer.

“Baba sa and Chacha sa have gone to the office. Your Bhai sa dropped Veer to playschool, then went to work. Maa sa and Chachi sa went to a friend’s house. Dadi and Dada sa went to the temple for kirtan. And… Vrishka went to her friend’s place. I’ll leave after you go.”

I nodded slowly. I knew this would happen — I always know — but hearing it still stung. They couldn’t even see me off. I hid the hurt behind a small smile.

“Bhabhi… give this to Veer. I brought it for him — he asked me to,” I said, handing her a small toy. Her eyes softened, and she accepted it with love.

She took my bag from my hand and walked with me to the car. I slid into the back seat, rolling down the window to wave goodbye.

“Take care, Nishi,” she said one last time.

The car started, pulling me away from the house that never felt like home. The streets blurred past as my thoughts drifted to Ajmer — to Bua, to the warmth I might find there.

When we reached the café, I saw Vanya standing outside, scanning the street. The moment she spotted me, her face lit up. She hurried over, opened the car door, and climbed in. Without a word, she hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek.

In that small gesture, I felt more welcome than I had in my own house.

  ------------------------------------------------
Ajmer – 9:00 AM{
AUTHOR P.O.V

The morning in Ajmer was slow and golden, the kind of day when the sun seemed in no hurry to rise too high, and the air carried the faint scent of wet earth from last night’s light drizzle. the world was quiet except for the distant chirping of sparrows on the balcony rail and the occasional creak of the old wooden ceiling fan in the hallway.

Vashudhara came from her room, with the ease of someone who had mastered the art of silence. Her steps were soft against the cool marble, her sari pleats swaying gently at her ankles as she carried a basket of neatly folded laundry to the living room. She had been up since dawn — washing, cooking, scrubbing, watering the plants — all without waking the two boys sleeping down the corridor.

Boys. She smiled faintly at the word, though both of them were fully grown men now, with broad shoulders and a stubborn streak that could rival the fortress walls of Ajmer itself. Still, to her, they were her boys — her Shaurya, the son she had brought into this world, and her Vayansh, the one fate had placed in her arms when he had no one else to call family.

They had both been overworked these past weeks — emergency surgeries, sleepless nights at the hospital, and the occasional dash to the orphanage when one of the children fell sick. and today they will go late cause today there is no surgery she insisted them. For once, they had listened. Now, they were catching up on rest, and she wanted to make sure they got every minute of it.

By the time she finished tidying up the kitchen, it was past 10 AM. The house was still quiet — suspiciously so. She carried the laundry basket to their shared room, intending to drop off fresh clothes. The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, and she found the bed empty, the sheets tossed about like a careless breeze had passed through.

Her brows knit together.

Where were they?

Then, faint but distinct, she heard it — the sound of water dripping.

Her eyes shifted toward the attached bathroom, where a narrow strip of light leaked through the gap at the bottom of the door. The sound of water wasn’t just dripping — there was splashing too, muffled laughter, and a muttered curse that she instantly recognized as Vayansh’s voice.

She blinked, lips twitching in amusement.

“They’re both in there…?” she muttered to herself.

With the kind of patience only a mother could possess, she decided not to knock. Instead, she began tidying their room — picking up discarded shirts, straightening the bedsheets, dusting the nightstand. Every now and then, more laughter spilled from behind the bathroom door, mingled with the sound of water hitting tile.

Finally, the doorknob clicked, and the bathroom door swung open.

Steam rolled out into the room, and from it emerged her sons — hair wet, skin glistening, both wrapped in nothing but bath towels. Shaurya’s hair was a dripping mess, sticking out in all directions, while Vayansh’s was plastered to his forehead, a mischievous grin already tugging at his lips.

Vashudhara crossed her arms, her expression somewhere between a smirk and outright amusement.

Vashudhara: “Arre wah… kya ho raha hai yahan? Itna romance toh main TV serials mein bhi nahi dekhti.”

{"Hey that… what is happening here? I don't see this much romance even in TV serials."}

Vayansh chuckled, reaching up to shake his wet hair like a dog would after a bath — deliberately flicking droplets in Shaurya’s direction.

Vayansh: “Maa, romance? This is called self-defense. Your son here just attacked me with a mug of cold water.”

Shaurya, still dripping, raised an eyebrow in mock offense.

Shaurya: “Attacked? Please. You started it when you accidentally poured my hair gel into the bucket. That was sabotage, not self-defense.”

Vashudhara’s smirk deepened as she took them both in — the wet towels, the banter, the way they moved around each other with the ease of people who had shared years of their lives.

Vashudhara: “Hair gel? In the shower? Beta, tum dono ka friendship ka level main samajh gayi hoon‥"

{“Hair gel? Were you in the shower? Beta, I understand the level of friendship between you two.”}

Shaurya feigned outrage, clutching at his chest as though she had wounded his pride.

Shaurya: “Maa! We’re just… uh… bonding.”

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head in mock disbelief.

Vashudhara: “Haan, haan… bonding. But I’ll tell you the truth — if you keep behaving like this, no girl will choose either of you. You look more like a couple than best friends.”

Vayansh tilted his head, clearly enjoying Shaurya’s discomfort.

Vayansh: “Acha?”

Vashudhara: “Bilkul. It’s giving… you know… gay vibes.”

Shaurya grinned, the teasing spark in his eyes now matching Vayansh’s.

Shaurya: “I’m okay with it… if it’s Vayansh.”

Vayansh: (laughing) “Same here… but only if he can become a woman first.”

Shaurya: (placing a hand dramatically over his heart) “For you, sweetheart, I’ll even wear a saree.”

Vashudhara: (walking away, chuckling) “Pagal dono…” {they both are mad}

As she left the room, still shaking her head, Vayansh called out after her.

Vayansh: “Love you too, maa!”

Shaurya muttered under his breath, still smirking.

Shaurya: “Guess I should start shopping for bangles.”

{to be continue.... }                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        ----------------------------------------------------------------   
This chapter i write cause of  Noor—someone I met online who quickly became a little sister to me. She doesn’t know this, but I haven’t been feeling well these past few days. While I was writing this chapter, I was also talking to her.

I don’t know what’s been happening to me… I’ve been struggling to find motivation. Every time I sat down to write, it felt like my thoughts scattered—I couldn’t remember what I wanted to say.

And whenever I told her I was working on the chapter, she’d quietly step back, not wanting to disturb me.

But what she doesn’t know is… I wrote the entire chapter while talking to her.

Her presence made me feel lighter, calmer—like the words finally had space to breathe.

So thank you, Noor… for being there, even without knowing how much it meant.

                      ----------------------------------------------------------  

I hope you enjoyed the chapter Roses, and I truly hope I didn’t let you down.

Your feedback means the world to me—

if you spot any mistakes or have suggestions, please don’t hesitate to share.

It helps me grow, a lot more than you know.

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