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Author's POV
The room was silent.
Too silent.
The kind of silence that doesn't soothe — it presses.
Isha turned in her sleep, brows knitting together as if something around her had shifted. A presence. A disturbance in the air. Her body sensed it before her mind did.
Another country thought her this.
She opened her eyes slowly.
And froze.
Someone was standing near the balcony.
Tall. Still. Leaning against the sliding glass door, one hand resting on the frame, head tilted slightly as he stared inside.
At her.
Her breath caught in her throat.
For one terrifying second, she thought she was dreaming.
Then the streetlight flickered. The shadow moved.
And her heart dropped.
"Shivansh…?" her voice came out broken, unsure.
He turned at the sound of her voice.
And God — the way his eyes softened when they met hers.
"You're awake," he said quietly.
She sat up abruptly. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer immediately. Just looked at her like she was something he had been searching for in every lifetime.
"I missed you," he said finally. Simple. Honest. Ruined.
"So much that it started hurting to breathe."
She swung her legs off the bed, anger replacing shock. "Are you out of your mind? How did you even come here?"
"By car."
She laughed once — sharp. Disbelieving.
"By car? Shivansh, this is Delhi."
"I know."
"How many hours?"
"One… maybe two."
Her eyes widened. "You drove like that?"
"I flew," he said quietly. "Because staying away from you felt worse."
She stood there, staring at him, emotions colliding inside her chest.
"You weren't supposed to come," she said, voice trembling. "I asked for time."
"I know," he nodded. "And I hate myself for breaking that promise."
He stepped closer to the door, resting his forehead against the glass.
"But when I woke up and realised you weren't near me… it felt like I lost you all over again."
Her throat tightened.
"I wasn't going to tell you," he added softly. "I planned to leave before morning. You were never supposed to know."
"Then why didn't you?"
A sad smile curved his lips.
"Because you woke up. And because I can't lie to you anymore."
Silence fell between them.
Heavy. Unforgiving.
She crossed her arms. "You don't get to show up whenever you feel like it."
"I'm not asking you to forgive me," he said immediately. "I just needed to say sorry. Face to face."
Her eyes burned. "Sorry doesn't erase five years."
"I know."
"Sorry doesn't fix what I became."
"I know," his voice cracked. "But it's all I have."
She turned away sharply, walking toward the window.
"If you really want forgiveness," she said, without looking at him, "then go outside."
He straightened. "Outside?"
"Yes."
She slid the window open slightly. "Stand there. Near your car."
"For how long?"
She swallowed. "Till I ask you to leave."
He didn't hesitate.
Not even a second.
He stepped back, goes down like he came inside, walked out into the driveway, and stood exactly where she pointed.
The night was still.
Then suddenly —
Rain.
Light at first. Then heavier.
Isha's breath hitched. She hadn't known it would rain.
Outside, Shivansh looked up at the sky once… then slowly went down on his knees.
Right there.
On the wet ground.
Facing her window.
Rain soaked his hair. His kurta clung to his body. Water streamed down his face — mixing with something else.
He didn't move.
Didn't complain.
Didn't look away.
Inside, Isha stood frozen.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the window frame.
"What are you doing…?" she whispered, unheard.
Outside, he lifted his gaze.
He knew she was watching.
And still — he stayed.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Rain grew heavier.
Her chest started aching.
Tears slid down her cheeks silently.
"This isn't fair," she whispered to herself. "This isn't how forgiveness works."
But outside, he remained.
Waiting.
Breaking.
Loving.
Finally, she opened the window fully.
"Get up," she said, voice shaking.
He didn't.
"Shivansh," she cried, "get up!"
"I will," he said softly, rain pouring down his face, "when you tell me to come back."
Her heart shattered.
Tears spilled freely now.
"Why do you do this?" she sobbed. "Why can't you stop hurting me?"
"Because loving you was the only thing I ever did right," he said.
"And I'll kneel my whole life if that's what it takes."
She closed her eyes.
She broke.
The rain hadn't slowed.
If anything, it had grown heavier.
She stood near the window, arms crossed around herself, watching the blurred outline of him outside.
Kneeling.
Still.
Unmoving.
Water ran down his hair, his shoulders, soaking him completely. His kurta clung to him. His head was tilted slightly upward — toward her window — like he was waiting for a sign.
Or forgiveness.
Her chest tightened.
She hadn't asked him to kneel.
She hadn't known it would rain.
And yet… he stayed.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Her fingers curled into her palm.
"This idiot…" she whispered, voice trembling. "Why do you have to take everything to the extreme?"
She turned away from the window.
Walked two steps.
Stopped.
Turned back again.
Outside, he hadn't moved an inch.
Her jaw clenched. "Fine."
She came out of the house through the main door and call him.
"Shivansh."
His head snapped up instantly.
Hope. Raw and helpless.
"Yes?"
"Come inside."
For a second, he didn't move — like he was scared the rain was playing tricks on him.
"What?" he asked softly.
"I said come inside," she snapped, irritating lace with something else. "Before you fall sick and I get blamed for it."
That was enough.
He stood up immediately, joints stiff, legs shaky, rain dripping off him as he rushed toward the door.
She stepped back as he entered the house then follow her to the room.
Water pooled beneath his feet.
He stood there — soaked, breath uneven, eyes fixed on her like she might disappear if he blinked.
"You're insane," she muttered. "Do you have any idea what you look like?"
"I don't care," he said quietly. "I just wanted to see you."
She looked away.
"Go change."
He froze. "What?"
"There are clothes," she said, pointing vaguely toward the cupboard. "Old ones. From before. Change. You're dripping everywhere."
A pause.
"You… kept them?" he asked, disbelief creeping into his voice.
"I didn't throw them," she replied sharply. "Don't read poetry into it."
His lips twitched despite everything.
He moved toward the wardrobe, opening it slowly — like it held memories sharp enough to cut.
She turned her back while he changed.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the rain and the soft rustle of fabric.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"I'm done."
She turned.
He stood there in dry clothes — familiar ones — hair still damp, eyes still the same.
Too intense.
"Sit," she said, grabbing a towel and tossing it at him. "Dry your hair. You'll catch a cold."
He caught it automatically.
Then paused.
"You're taking care of me," he said gently.
"Don't get used to it," she shot back. "Temporary hospitality."
He smiled faintly and did as told.
She leaned against the table, arms folded again.
"This doesn't change anything," she said after a moment. "I still need time."
"I know," he replied immediately. No argument. No hesitation.
"You can't keep showing up like this."
"I won't," he said. "Unless you tell me to."
Her throat tightened.
"I mean it," she added. "After tonight… you go back."
"I will."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
Another silence.
The rain softened outside.
"You shouldn't have come," she whispered.
"I know."
"…But you did."
"Yes."
She exhaled slowly.
"You can stay until the rain stops," she said. "Then you leave."
His eyes softened. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," she said, voice firm but tired. "This doesn't mean forgiveness."
"I'm not asking for it," he said. "Just… this."
She nodded once.
"After that," she added, "we go back to distance."
He met her gaze.
"Even if it kills me," he said quietly, "I'll respect that."
She turned away before he could see her eyes.
"Good," she murmured. "Now sit quietly. And don't say anything emotional. I'm not in the mood."
A pause.
"…Can I at least say I missed you?"
She didn't look at him.
"No."
A beat.
"…Okay."
The rain continued to fall.
And for the first time since everything broke—
Neither of them felt completely alone.
The room was still.
Too still for the storm that had just passed through it.
Shivansh stood near the edge of the bed, towel loosely wrapped around his neck, hair still damp. He hadn't even tried to dry it properly. Like rest wasn't something he remembered how to do.
Isha noticed it immediately.
"You didn't rest," she said.
Not a question.
An observation.
He smiled faintly. The kind that didn't reach his eyes.
"I rested enough."
She scoffed, turning her face away.
"That's a lie."
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he moved closer. Slow. Careful. Like she might disappear again if he moved too fast.
"I'll go," he said quietly.
The words landed heavier than expected.
Isha's head snapped toward him.
"So easily?" she asked. "You just came. In the middle of the night. In the rain. And now you'll just… go?"
He swallowed.
"I shouldn't be here," he said. "Not like this. Not when you asked for time."
Her fingers curled into the bedsheet.
"You didn't even sleep," she repeated, softer this time. "You drove for hours. You stood outside. You soaked yourself like you deserved punishment."
"I did deserve it," he replied immediately.
She laughed under her breath. Bitter.
"You're impossible."
"And you still love me," he said.
She looked at him then. Really looked.
Tired eyes.
Wet hair.
A man who hadn't rested because resting meant being away from her.
"You should've stayed in Jaipur," she whispered.
"I tried," he admitted. "I failed."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he spoke again, like remembering something important.
"Aarya came with me."
Her brows furrowed. "Aarya?"
"He's staying at the hotel," Shivansh said quickly. "I didn't bring him here. I told him to wait."
She sighed. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I didn't know if you'd even open the door for me."
That hit.
"And now?" she asked.
He hesitated. Just for a second.
"I'll ask him to come here in the morning," he said. "We'll leave together. Go back to Jaipur."
Her heart clenched, but her face stayed calm.
"So you really are going," she said.
"Yes."
A pause.
"You didn't even rest," she murmured again. "At least sit for a while."
"I will," he said gently. "Then I'll go."
She nodded once. Slowly.
"Dhruv bhaiyu will saw your car," she said, not looking at him.
His jaw tightened. "I thought so."
"He will say anything?"
"Never, " Shivansh replied. "He will n't."
Another silence.
He stepped back, already creating distance.
"I'll leave before anyone wakes up," he added. "I don't want questions. Or explanations."
She hugged her knees to her chest.
"You're really going," she said, like she needed to hear it again.
He looked at her. Long. Like memorizing.
"Yes," he said softly. "Because if I stay any longer, I won't be able to leave at all."
And that—
That was the most honest thing he had said all night.
The rain was still falling.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Heavier.
Like the sky itself had finally decided to cry for both of them.
Inside the room, everything was dark.
Still.
Too still.
Isha slept peacefully.
But.
Her brows were drawn together, lips trembling, breaths uneven.
Dreams tangled around her chest like vines.
Then—
She gasped.
Her eyes flew open.
A sharp inhale.
A broken sound escaped her throat as she sat up abruptly, hands pressing against her chest.
"No—"
Her voice cracked.
Tears followed immediately. Hot. Uncontrolled.
She shook her head, as if she could physically shake the nightmare away.
As if that pain could be erased by force.
Her fingers curled into her dress, knuckles white.
"I can't… I can't—"
Her breathing broke completely.
She hit her chest once.
Then again.
As if the pain lived there.
As if hurting herself would make it stop.
"Isha."
A voice.
Low.
Familiar.
Her head snapped up.
For a second, she thought it was another dream.
Because there he was.
Sitting on the chair near bed like he was waiting for this moment or just looking at her since she was sleeping.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
He crossed the room in two long steps.
"Isha," he said again, softer this time.
Before she could react, before she could even think—
two arms wrapped around her.
Firm.
Warm.
Unmoving.
He pulled her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head, fingers sliding gently through her hair.
"It's okay," he whispered.
"I'm here."
Her body froze.
Then—
It broke.
She clutched his tee with both hands, burying her face into his chest as sobs tore out of her.
"I saw it again," she cried.
"I couldn't stop it. I tried—"
"I know," he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair.
"I know."
His hand moved slowly, soothing, over and over.
"I've got you," he said.
"I won't let anything touch you."
She trembled violently.
"Don't leave," she whispered, barely audible.
"Please."
His arms tightened instantly.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said, voice rough.
"Not tonight. Not ever."
The rain thundered outside.
Inside, time slowed.
Her cries softened gradually, turning into shaky breaths.
His fingers never stopped moving, grounding her back to reality.
Minutes passed.
Maybe more.
Her grip loosened.
Her breathing evened out.
She didn't realize when her weight slumped fully into him.
She didn't realize when her eyes finally closed again.
But he did.
Shivansh looked down at her, asleep against his chest, tear-stained, exhausted.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe too loud.
Didn't dare disturb her.
He adjusted his hold just slightly, so she was more comfortable, resting her head against his shoulder.
One hand remained in her hair.
The other around her back.
Outside, rain continued to fall.
Inside, she slept again.
This time—
Safe.
Held.
Loved.
Maybe saw the nightmare and will not remember till morning.
Morning didn't arrive gently.
It crept in.
Through the half-open curtains.
Through the smell of rain still clinging to the air.
Through the quiet that felt too loud.
Isha woke up first.
She didn't move.
Because the moment she did—
She would have to acknowledge that he was still there.
Breathing.
Real.
On the chair near the window, Shivansh sat exactly where she had left him.
In the change clothes.
Hair is still damp.
Hands clasped together like he was afraid to touch anything.
He hadn't slept.
She knew that without looking.
"I told you to rest," she said finally, voice rough from sleep.
He lifted his head slowly. A small smile. Barely there.
"I did," he lied. "This is me resting."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"You're terrible at lying," she said.
"I know," he replied. "I only lie when I'm scared."
That made her turn away.
Silence fell again.
Heavy. Uncomfortable. Necessary.
"Isha," he said softly. "I'll leave."
Her fingers curled into the bedsheet.
"So soon?" she asked, hating how small her voice sounded.
"You asked for time," he said. "I came because I couldn't breathe without seeing you." "But I won't steal more than you're ready to give."
She swallowed.
"You always do this," she said. "What?"
"You make it impossible to be angry at you."
He smiled again. This one is sad.
"That's because I'm not asking you to forgive me," he said. "I'm just asking you to remember that I love you."
She stood up then.
Walked to him. Stopped just a step away.
"You drove all night," she said. "You stood in the rain." "You didn't sleep."
"Yes."
"And you're still ready to leave if I say so?"
"Yes."
Her chest tightened.
"You're stupid," she muttered.
He chuckled. Soft. Relieved.
"I've been called worse," he said. "Mostly by you."
She exhaled a shaky breath.
"I should go aarya came," he said.
She nodded. Walked him to the balcony door
Hand on the handle. Pause.
"You didn't lose me," she said without turning. "You just… scared me."
"I know," he replied. "And I'll spend my life making sure I never do that again."
She opened the door.
Rain had stopped. The world looked washed clean.
He stepped out. Then stopped.
"Isha?"
She looked at him.
"I'll wait," he said. "As long as you need."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't close the door immediately either.
And for now—
That was enough.
This scene before shivansh came out of Isha room..
Dhruv saw the car in the morning.
He stopped mid-step, keys still dangling between his fingers, breath catching somewhere between surprise and knowing.
Black. Low. Familiar.
Too familiar.
The headlights were off, but Dhruv didn't need them to recognize it.
"Of course," he muttered under his breath. "Of course he'd come."
He didn't go closer. Didn't knock. Didn't announce it.
He just stood there for a moment, staring at the car parked a little too carefully, like someone didn't want to be seen.
Behind him, Aarya stepped out of the shadows.
"You also came with him?" Dhruv asked quietly.
Aarya didn't look away. "Yeah."
Dhruv folded his arms, eyes fixed on the same car. "He really drove all the way, didn't he?"
Aarya let out a slow breath. "That man doesn't understand the concept of distance when it comes to Rani sa."
A pause.
Then Arya smiled. Soft. Almost fond. "He understands it. He just doesn't accept it."
Dhruv finally turned to look at him. "You stayed back at the hotel like he asked?"
Aarya nodded. "Barely. He looked like he might combust if I stayed another minute."
Dhruv huffed a quiet laugh. "Sounds about right."
They both fell silent again.
Dhruv glanced at him. "You worried?"
Aarya didn't deny it. "After everything? Yeah. I was."
Another pause.
"Is Rani sa okay?" Aarya asked, softer now.
Dhruv didn't answer immediately.
"She's not broken," he said finally. "But she's tired. And when she gets tired, she goes quiet."
Aarya nodded slowly. "And he hates silence."
Dhruv almost smiled. "He's terrified of it."
They heard a door creak upstairs. Footsteps. Muted voices.
Aarya straightened. "He's inside."
Dhruv shrugged. "I figured. She wouldn't leave him out there."
Aarya smirked. "Even when she's angry, she's still here."
A beat.
"Do you think the family knows?" Aarya asked.
Dhruv shook his head. "No. And they don't need to. If she wanted them to know, they would."
Aarya looked relieved. "Good. This… feels like something that should stay between them."
Dhruv glanced at the car again. "He said he'd go, didn't he?"
Aarya nodded. "Yeah. He said it like he was convincing himself."
Dhruv scoffed. "That's his thing. Saying goodbye like it's temporary."
Aarya hesitated. "He called me early in the morning and asked me to come here, so we can go back. Said he won't leave without making sure she's okay."
Dhruv sighed. "Typical."
They stood there a little longer, two men guarding a silence that didn't belong to them.
Aarya finally spoke. "You think she'll let him go?"
Dhruv's lips curved into something knowing. "She already has. That's why this hurts him."
Aarya nodded. "And he'll still leave."
"Yes," Dhruv said. "But not because she told him to."
Aarya looked at him. "Then why?"
Dhruv glanced once more at the glowing window upstairs. "Because loving her means listening. Even when it breaks him."
Aarya swallowed.
"I should call him," Aarya said quietly. "and tell him that I came, will he be able to leave her and come down"
Dhruv nodded. "He will."
They turned away together, leaving the car where it was.
Unmoved. Unannounced. Loved anyway.
The phone vibrated once.
Isha wasn't expecting it.
She was still standing near the window, watching the street below, watching nothing at all—just lights, shadows, passing lives that had nothing to do with her.
Another vibration.
She picked up the phone.
Unknown Number.
I want to meet you.
Cafe near your house.
Address sent.
Her brows knitted together.
"Who…?" she whispered to herself.
Her fingers moved before her thoughts did.
Old habits.
Sharp instincts.
Skills she never thought she would need again—but never really lost.
Seconds passed.
Then her breath hitched.
Her thumb froze above the screen.
"…Juhi?"
Why would Juhi message her like this?
Why now?
The name felt strange now.
Not bitter.
Not angry.
Just… heavy.
She sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.
Juhi.
The same girl she had once hated.
The same girl she had once blamed.
The same girl whose face had haunted her worst nights.
And now—
Isha let out a shaky laugh, pressing her palm against her forehead.
"Of course it's you," she murmured.
Her mind started spiralling.
Why now?
Why after everything?
Why after Shivansh left?
Her heart twisted—not with jealousy, not with rage.
With guilt.
A sharp, uncomfortable guilt.
Because somewhere…
somewhere in the back of her mind…
She had doubted her.
"I thought…" Isha whispered, her voice breaking.
"I really thought you were the villain."
She closed her eyes.
She picked up the phone again, rereading the message.
I want to meet you.
Not we need to talk.
Not explain yourself.
Just—
I want to meet you.
There was no threat in it.
Only urgency.
Only silence behind words.
Memories came rushing in—
moments that never fully made sense,
things that felt wrong but never proved wrong.
Juhi's silence.
Juhi's distance.
Juhi's eyes always looked like she was carrying something unsaid.
"What if…" Isha swallowed hard.
"What if you were protecting me all along?"
The thought made her chest ache.
She stood up abruptly.
"No," she said aloud, firming herself.
"I won't assume. Not again."
She fastly fresh up and were clothes.
She grabbed her bag.
She didn't tell anyone.
Not her parents.
Not Dhruv.
Not Ishika.
She only said one thing while passing through the living room—
"I need to meet someone. I'll be back."
No explanations.
No questions.
And just like that—
She walked out.
The café was quiet.
Soft lights.
Muted conversations.
The kind of place where secrets could sit comfortably between cups of coffee.
Soft music. Muted lights. The smell of coffee that used to feel like home and now felt like a reminder of everything she had survived.
Isha stood near the entrance for a second longer than necessary.
She spotted Juhi immediately.
Isha spotted her immediately.
Juhi was already there.
Sitting near the window. Sitting by the window. Straight posture. Calm hands around a cup she hadn't touched. Eyes lifted the moment Isha walked in—as if she had been waiting for that exact second.
They looked at each other.
Not enemies.
Not friends.
Not family.
Too calm.
Isha slowed her steps.
She didn't feel anger.
She didn't feel fear.
She felt… unfamiliar.
Juhi looked up.
Their eyes met.
For a second—just one second—
something flickered across Juhi's face.
Relief.
Isha took the seat opposite her.
Neither of them spoke.
Not immediately.
Finally, juhi spoke first.
"You came."
Isha nodded. "You asked."
A pause.
Isha broke the silence.
"So," she said softly,
"You found a new way to surprise me."
Juhi gave a small smile.
"I didn't know if you'd come."
"I didn't know if I should," Isha replied honestly.
Another pause.
Juhi nodded.
"I expected that."
Isha studied her.
She looked… different.
Not softer.
Not weaker.
Just… lighter.
"You look fine," Isha said slowly.
"That's not what I expected to feel."
Juhi exhaled.
"I didn't expect forgiveness."
"I'm not here for that," Isha said immediately.
"And I'm not angry either."
That seemed to surprise Juhi.
"Then why are you here?"
Isha leaned back, crossing her arms.
"Because I needed to see your face," she said.
"To know if my guilt was real… or imagined."
Juhi's eyes darkened.
"You know the truth now," she said quietly.
Isha nodded.
"I do."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then Isha spoke again—voice lower, steadier.
"I blamed you," she admitted.
"For years."
Juhi didn't interrupt.
"I thought you took something from me," Isha continued.
"I thought you stood there and watched me break."
Her throat tightened.
"But now…"
She looked up.
"…now I know you were standing in front of the fire."
Juhi's jaw clenched.
"I didn't want you to know," she said.
"Not then."
"I know," Isha replied.
She looked down at her hands.
"That doesn't erase what I went through," she added softly.
"But it changes where the blame rests."
Juhi nodded once.
"That's all I hoped for."
Then, carefully—
"Why won't you forgive him?" Juhi asked.
The question landed gently.
Not an attack.
Not a demand.
Isha laughed—a hollow sound.
"You already know the answer," she said.
Juhi didn't deny it.
"You survived alone," Juhi said.
"In a country that wasn't yours.
With scars no one saw."
Isha's eyes burned.
"I lost five years," she whispered.
"I lost myself."
She looked straight at Juhi.
"And loving him again won't give those years back."
Juhi didn't argue.
She only said—
"He isn't strong without you."
Isha closed her eyes.
"I know," she said.
"That's the problem."
They sat there.
Two women bound by a truth neither of them had chosen.
Finally, Isha stood.
"I won't forgive him yet," she said.
"But I won't hate you."
Juhi stood too.
"That's enough for me."
Isha paused.
Then added quietly—
"And thank you… for keeping me alive.
Even when I didn't know I needed it."
Juhi didn't smile.
She simply nodded.
And for the first time—
There was no enemy between them.
Only understanding.
Juhi studied her face—really studied it. The tired eyes. The quiet strength. The scars that didn't show on skin.
"You look…" Juhi stopped. "…stronger."
Isha let out a small breath. "Stronger people don't shake when they sit down."
Juhi's fingers tightened around the cup.
"I didn't expect you to forgive me," Juhi said softly. "I only expected you to listen."
Isha looked out the window. "I'm listening."
Another pause.
Juhi leaned back slightly, as if choosing every word carefully.
"You hate him," she said.
Isha didn't answer.
Juhi nodded. "You have every right to."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Juhi continued, slower now.
"But if this anger is only because you think he chose to hurt you—then you deserve the truth."
Isha finally looked at her. "I already know the truth."
Juhi's eyes flickered. "Do you?"
"Yes," Isha said quietly. "I know why you did what you did."
Juhi exhaled, relief mixing with something heavier.
"Then you know," Juhi said, "that if he hadn't played that role… he would've been dead."
Isha swallowed.
Juhi leaned forward. "They were watching him. Every move. Every breath. Waiting for weakness."
Her voice didn't shake. But her eyes did.
"And you were his weakness."
Isha's jaw tightened.
"They wanted you," Juhi continued. "To break him. To control him. To kill him slowly."
Isha whispered, almost to herself, "So you broke me first."
Juhi nodded. "Yes."
No denial. No justification. Just truth.
"We needed them to believe he was cruel," Juhi said. "That he could discard love. That he didn't care."
Isha laughed bitterly. "He played that role too well."
Juhi looked down. "He hated every second of it."
Isha's fingers curled on the table.
Juhi lifted her gaze again. "He never once thought you'd disappear."
Isha's eyes burned.
"We thought," Juhi said carefully, "that you'd go home. Delhi. The palace. Somewhere safe."
She shook her head slowly. "We planned to come to you the next morning."
Isha's breath hitched.
"We were going to tell you everything," Juhi said. "Every detail. My identity. The mission. The reason."
Her voice softened. "He wanted to kneel in front of you."
Isha's lips parted slightly.
"But instead," Juhi whispered, "we heard you were dead."
The words fell like glass.
"That plane crash…" Juhi swallowed. "It was supposed to be his birthday video that day."
Isha closed her eyes.
"That day became the day he stopped breathing," Juhi said quietly.
Silence.
Juhi continued, gently now.
"We thought Arya was with you," she said. "We thought you were safe."
Isha opened her eyes. "He dropped me at the airport."
Juhi nodded. "We found out later."
Her voice cracked for the first time. "We never imagined you'd leave the country. Never imagined you'd be alone."
Isha whispered, "I was."
Juhi leaned forward again. "He never knew where you were. He never stopped looking."
Isha shook her head. "He should have."
"No," Juhi said immediately. "He shouldn't have."
Isha looked at her sharply.
"If he had stopped," Juhi continued, "it would've meant he survived without you."
Her voice softened. "He didn't."
Isha's chest tightened.
Juhi lowered her voice. "There was a mole. We couldn't trust anyone."
She paused. "Except Arya."
Isha's breath trembled.
"He was trying to save your life," Juhi said. "Not destroy it."
Isha stared at the table. "And still… I lost five years."
Juhi nodded. "Yes."
No argument.
"You were left alone," Juhi said. "That was wrong."
She looked at Isha directly. "That pain is real. And it's yours."
Isha's eyes filled. "I died there," she whispered. "Every day."
Juhi's voice softened further. "And he lived here thinking he killed you."
Silence.
Isha wiped her cheek quickly. "So what now?"
Juhi didn't smile. "Now you decide."
She leaned back. "Not out of guilt. Not out of pressure."
Her voice was steady. "But because holding this anger will only punish you."
Isha whispered, "And forgiving him will undo nothing."
"No," Juhi said. "But it will free you."
Isha closed her eyes.
She didn't say yes. She didn't say no.
She just sat there.
Listening.
Understanding.
For the first time, not fighting the truth.
And that—
That was the beginning.
And that was the beginning of something.
The café felt quieter now.
Not because people had left.
But because something inside Isha had finally stopped screaming.
She sat there for a long moment after Juhi stopped speaking.
Her fingers wrapped around the cup she hadn't touched.
"So," Isha said finally.
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
"So this is what it was."
Juhi didn't interrupt.
She didn't rush her.
She just nodded, once.
"Yes."
Isha smiled.
Not happy.
Not sad.
Just… tired.
"You know," Isha said softly, eyes fixed on the table,
"for five years, I kept replaying that night in my head."
Juhi's breath hitched.
"Every version ended the same way," Isha continued.
"You both are laughing.
Me standing there like a fool.
Believing I was nothing."
She looked up then.
"And today," she said, voice barely above a whisper,
"I realised something."
Juhi leaned forward slightly.
"What?"
"I wasn't weak because I left," Isha said.
"I was strong because I survived."
Silence settled between them.
"I don't hate him anymore," Isha said slowly.
"And that scares me more than hate ever did."
Juhi frowned.
"Why?"
"Because hate gave me something to hold onto," Isha replied.
"It kept me standing when everything else fell apart."
Her fingers trembled slightly.
"If I let it go," she whispered,
"then I have to accept that I lost five years."
Juhi's voice softened.
"You didn't lose them."
Isha shook her head.
"I did," she said.
"But maybe… maybe I don't want to keep bleeding over them anymore."
Juhi didn't smile.
Didn't look relieved.
She only said, gently,
"Forgiving him doesn't mean saying what happened was okay."
Isha met her eyes.
"I know."
"It just means," Juhi continued,
"you don't let it decide the rest of your life."
Another pause.
Long.
Heavy.
Then Isha reached for her phone.
Juhi noticed.
But didn't ask.
Isha stared at the screen for a second…
Then scrolled.
Stopped.
Pressed call.
Juhi heard the ring.
"bhaiyu," Isha said when the call connected.
"Can you come pick me up?"
A beat.
"Yes," she added.
"I'm done here."
She ended the call.
Juhi finally spoke again.
"You don't have to decide anything today."
"I'm not deciding," she said.
"I'm breathing."
Juhi watched her carefully.
"You're not forgiving him because someone told you to," Juhi said.
"You're forgiving him because you're done punishing yourself."
For the first time, her smile reached her eyes.
The café had gone quieter than before.
Not silent.
Just… still.
Isha leaned back in her chair, fingers wrapped loosely around the cup she hadn't touched in minutes.
Then she looked at Juhi.
Really looked at her.
"You know," Isha said slowly, "the first thing."
Juhi blinked.
"What thing?"
Isha tilted her head slightly.
"I'm your bhabhi."
The word hung between them.
Juhi froze for half a second.
Then she smiled.
Soft.
Genuine.
"Of course," Juhi said gently.
"Bhabhi."
Something inside Isha loosened.
Just a little.
"Good," Isha said. "Then listen."
Juhi nodded.
"I'll go back to the palace in a day or two," Isha continued. "You should come with me."
Juhi's smile faded.
"I can't."
Isha frowned.
"Why?"
"I'm going on a mission."
"Oh."
Isha nodded at first.
Then her head snapped up.
"When will you come back?"
Juhi didn't answer immediately.
She looked away, out the glass window, where people passed by without knowing anything.
"I don't know," Juhi said quietly, "if I'll come back or not."
Isha's breath hitched.
"What?"
Her voice cracked. "What are you saying?"
Juhi turned back to her.
"This one is important," she said. "Dangerous. For everyone. Especially for me."
Isha shook her head immediately.
"No. No, that's not— I can help. I will help you."
Juhi smiled sadly.
"You can't."
"Why not?" Isha demanded. "I'm not weak."
"I know," Juhi said. "That's exactly why you can't."
Silence.
Then Juhi added, almost casually,
"If I need help… I'll ask Shiva."
Isha's eyes narrowed instantly.
"Shiva… bhaiya?"
Juhi chuckled softly.
"Okay, Shiva bhaiya, I will ask him. "
Isha looked away.
"That's my duty," Juhi continued. "This is mine. I don't borrow strength from anyone for it."
That hurt.
More than Isha expected.
She swallowed.
"So that's it?" she asked quietly. "You just… go?"
Juhi nodded.
"I'll be in different countries. Different faces. Different lives."
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
A pause.
"Maybe a year. Maybe two."
Isha's chest tightened.
"Stay safe," she said finally.
Juhi's eyes softened.
"You too, bhabhi."
They stood up together.
No drama.
No tears.
Just a tight hug.
The kind that meant I might never see you again.
Isha's phone buzzed.
She pulled back.
"Dhruv's bhaiyu is outside."
Juhi nodded.
"Go."
"Do you want me to drop you?"
Juhi shook her head.
"I have work here."
Isha hesitated.
Then she turned and walked out.
Dhruv was waiting near the car.
He frowned the moment he saw her.
"Why did you come by your car and then call me?" he asked.
"Your car is still parked outside."
"Ask the driver to pick it," Isha said, opening the door.
Dhruv started the engine.
"And you wanted to talk?"
"Yes."
He glanced at her.
"You met Juhi, didn't you?"
Isha nodded.
"She messaged me."
Dhruv stiffened.
"And?"
"I'm clear now."
He waited.
"I'm not holding the past anymore," she said slowly.
Dhruv frowned.
"Did she force you?"
Isha scoffed.
"No one can force me. Don't forget that."
She took a breath.
"I'm not forgetting," she continued.
"I'm letting go."
Dhruv stayed quiet.
"It was destroying my present," Isha said.
"And it would have destroyed my future too."
"So… you forgave Shivansh?" Dhruv asked carefully.
"Yes."
"And Juhi?"
"Yes."
Dhruv exhaled.
Then Isha's voice softened.
"But now I feel bad."
He looked at her sharply.
"Why?"
"She's going on a mission," Isha said.
"She doesn't know if she'll come back."
Dhruv slammed the brake.
"What?"
"She said she was joking," Isha rushed.
"But she wasn't."
Dhruv's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"She'll be gone for at least one or two years," Isha whispered.
"No contact. No family."
Dhruv restarted the car slowly.
His knuckles had turned white.
"What's wrong?" Isha asked.
"You're not even looking at me."
"I'm fine," he said.
"You're not," she replied softly.
He didn't answer.
The road stretched ahead.
And for the first time, letting go felt heavier than holding on.
Dhruv didn't speak for a long time.
The car moved, but his mind didn't.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles pale, grip rigid—like if he loosened it even a little, something inside him would spill out.
Juhi.
The name didn't need to be said. It was already everywhere.
"She's grown," Isha said softly, almost to herself.
Dhruv swallowed.
"Yes," he replied. Too quickly. Too sharp.
"She has," he added, slower this time.
The road blurred ahead, but his focus stayed stuck on one thought—
When did she grow so much that she stopped needing protection?
Juhi had always been fearless. But fearlessness wasn't the same as walking straight into danger and calling it duty.
"She talks like she's already accepted the possibility of not coming back," Isha said, her voice cracking just slightly. "Like it's normal."
Dhruv's jaw clenched.
"It's not," he said. Firm. Unyielding.
"It shouldn't be."
His foot pressed harder on the accelerator before he even realized it.
"She was never supposed to carry this alone," he continued, quieter now. "She was never supposed to be… this strong."
Isha turned toward him.
"That doesn't make sense," she said gently. "You're proud of her strength."
Dhruv laughed. A short, humorless sound.
"I'm proud," he admitted. "Terrified too."
Silence stretched.
"She grew up watching us survive," he said after a moment. "Watching everyone around her bleed quietly and call it responsibility."
His grip tightened again.
"And now she thinks that's the only way to live."
Isha didn't interrupt. She let him unravel at his own pace.
"She doesn't ask for help," he said. "Doesn't lean. Doesn't hesitate."
His voice lowered.
"And that scares me more than her enemies ever could."
Because enemies were predictable. Juhi wasn't.
"She doesn't see herself as someone who deserves safety," Dhruv continued. "She sees herself as someone who must protect others. No matter the cost."
He exhaled slowly, like it physically hurt.
"I don't want her to emulate this version of herself forever."
Isha's voice softened.
"She didn't become this overnight."
Dhruv nodded.
"No," he said. "She became this because she thought she had to."
The car slowed at a signal.
Red light.
Forced pause.
"I don't want to cage her," he said quietly. "I don't want to stop her growth."
Then, almost broken—
"I just don't want her growth to be built on self-sacrifice."
The light turned green.
He drove on.
Possessive. Protective. Helpless.
Not because he didn't trust Juhi—
But because he knew exactly how dangerous it was to be strong for too long without being held.
The house was unusually quiet.
Not silent.
Just… calm.
The kind of calm that comes after a storm decides it's done hurting you.
Isha stepped inside, shoes still on, bag still hanging from her shoulder.
Meher sat on the couch, little Riyan curled against her chest, half-asleep, tiny fingers clutching her dupatta.
Her parents were at the dining table, tea untouched, conversation paused the moment they saw her face.
They didn't ask anything at first.
They just looked at her.
And somehow… they knew.
"I'm going back to Jaipur," Isha said.
Just that.
No buildup.
No explanation.
Her mother blinked.
Once.
Then again.
"So suddenly?" her father asked gently. "What happened, beta?"
Isha walked closer.
Sat down.
Folded her hands in her lap.
"I didn't forget," she said softly.
"I never will."
Meher shifted, listening now.
"What happened five years ago… what I went through… what I survived…"
She swallowed.
"I'm not erasing it."
Her mother reached for her hand.
"Then why go back?" she asked, careful. Protective.
Isha looked up.
Eyes clear.
"I'm letting it go," she said.
"Not the pain.
Not the lesson.
Just the weight."
A pause.
"I don't want my past to decide my present anymore," she continued.
"And I don't want it to steal my future."
Meher stood up suddenly and hugged her.
Tight.
Warm.
Unbreakable.
"I'm proud of you," Meher whispered. "So proud."
Little Riyan woke up, rubbing his eyes.
"Mama… you going?" he asked sleepily.
Isha smiled and kissed his forehead.
"Only a little far," she said. "But whenever you call me…"
She tapped his nose.
"I'll be there."
Behind them—
A soft cough.
Ishika froze mid-step.
Luka and Alessandro stood right behind her.
They had heard everything.
Alessandro spoke first.
"No one forced you," he said quietly. "Right?"
Isha turned.
Met his eyes.
"No one can," she replied calmly.
"Don't forget… I'm Alina."
A small smile tugged at Luka's lips.
"You're choosing this," he said. "That's all that matters."
"I am," she nodded.
"And I won't let him forget what I went through."
Her father stood and kissed her forehead.
"Go," he said simply. "Live."
She changed quickly.
Comfortable clothes.
Hair tied.
Heart steady.
When she came downstairs again, there was lightness in her step.
She hugged her parents again.
Then Meher.
"Are you going to tell your family?" Isha asked softly.
Meher shook her head.
"Not yet," she said. "I need time. And… your parents shouldn't be alone."
Isha nodded.
"I understand."
Riyan hugged her legs.
"I miss you already," he murmured.
She crouched.
"So don't," she said gently. "Just call me."
Luka walked her out.
"Thank you," Isha said suddenly.
"For everything."
He smiled.
"You're not Isha right now," he replied.
"You're my Alina."
Dhruv dropped her at the airport.
No speeches.
No advice.
Just a long hug.
The private jet lifted into the sky.
And just like that—
Delhi disappeared beneath her.
The moment she stepped down—
She saw him.
Shivansh.
Standing there.
Waiting.
Still.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised.
"I called Dhruv," he said honestly.
"He told me you were coming."
She stared at him for a second.
Then smiled.
A real one.
Not forced.
Not careful.
"Let's go," she said.
And for the first time—
Neither of them looked back.
The car moved through the Jaipur roads in silence.
Not the comfortable kind.
Not the familiar one either.
This silence sat between them like something alive.
Shivansh's hands stayed tight on the steering wheel.
Too tight.
His jaw was clenched.
His shoulders are stiff.
He hadn't looked at her once.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he was afraid that if he did—
he wouldn't be able to drive anymore.
Isha sat beside him, her back straight, her fingers folded neatly in her lap.
She watched the road ahead.
The passing streetlights.
The empty stretches of asphalt.
She could hear his breathing.
Controlled.
Measured.
Like he was holding himself together with force alone.
Five years.
Five years of words stuck between them.
And now…
nothing.
The car slowed at a signal.
Red.
Shivansh swallowed, his throat bobbing slightly.
"I—"
He stopped.
Cleared his throat.
"I'm glad you reached safely."
His voice was low.
Careful.
Isha nodded.
"Hmm."
That was it.
The signal turned green.
The car moved again.
Minutes passed.
Too many.
Her chest felt tight.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
Not after everything she had decided.
Not after all the clarity she had finally found.
"Isha," Shivansh said suddenly, still not looking at her,
"If you don't want to talk… I understand."
She turned her head slowly.
"That's the problem," she said softly.
"I do want to talk."
He inhaled sharply.
"Then… say it."
She looked ahead again.
"Stop the car."
His foot hit the brake almost instantly.
"What?"
"Stop the car, Shivansh."
He didn't argue.
He pulled over near the side of the road, the engine still running, headlights cutting through the quiet night.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then—
"I forgive you."
The words landed quietly.
But they hit him like a collision.
Shivansh turned to her so fast it startled her.
"What?"
"I said," she repeated, her voice steady,
"I forgive you."
His eyes widened.
"No," he said immediately.
"No, don't say that."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"Because—" He shook his head, breathing unevenly. "You don't owe me that. Not after—"
"I'm not doing this for you."
That stopped him.
She turned fully toward him now.
"I'm doing this for myself."
He stared at her, frozen.
"I'm not forgetting what happened," she continued.
"I'm not erasing the five years. I'm not pretending I didn't break. Or that I didn't survive alone."
Her voice trembled—
just a little.
"But I can't keep carrying it anymore."
Her hands curled into fists.
"I don't want my present to keep bleeding because of my past."
Shivansh's eyes glistened.
"I never wanted you to suffer," he whispered.
"I know."
That was the hardest part.
"I know you didn't."
She exhaled.
"That doesn't mean it didn't hurt."
He nodded.
Slowly.
"I should have come after you," he said.
"I should have searched the world if I had to."
"You thought I was dead."
His breath hitched.
"I died that night anyway," he said quietly.
Her chest tightened.
She reached out before she could stop herself.
Her fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"Look at me."
He did.
And for the first time since she entered the car—
he really looked at her.
"I'm not forgiving you because you're innocent," she said.
"I'm forgiving you because I understand."
Tears slipped free from his eyes.
"Isha—"
She leaned forward suddenly.
Wrapped her arms around him.
The impact was instant.
Shivansh froze for half a second—
then broke.
His arms came around her tightly.
Too tightly.
Like if he loosened his grip, she would disappear again.
He buried his face into her shoulder.
His breath shook.
"I waited," he whispered.
"Every day. Every night."
She closed her eyes.
"I know."
They stayed like that.
Seconds.
Minutes.
The world outside faded.
When she pulled back slightly, her forehead rested against his.
"Shivansh."
"Yes?"
"Kiss me."
He stilled.
"What?"
"Kiss me," she said again, softer.
"I'm here. I'm choosing this."
He searched her face.
For doubt.
For hesitation.
There was none.
He leaned in slowly.
Gently.
Their lips met—
Tentative at first.
Then deeper.
Not desperate.
Not rushed.
Just… real.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads touched again.
He laughed breathlessly.
"I don't know what to do now."
She smiled.
"That makes two of us."
But this time—
The silence didn't hurt.
The palace gates opened without a sound.
Lights were dim.
Hallways quiet.
Everyone asleep.
Jaipur was resting.
And yet—
everything inside Shivansh was wide awake.
The car stopped.
He got out first, walked around, and opened her door.
Isha stepped out slowly.
She looked around once.
Not afraid.
Not hesitant.
Just… present.
"This feels strange," she said quietly.
Shivansh smiled, soft. "Coming home usually does."
She looked at him then. Home.
She didn't say it. But he felt it.
They walked in together.
No announcements.
No staff.
No royal formality.
Just two people crossing the palace threshold at midnight.
For the first time in years— together.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Isha stopped.
Turned.
Looked at him with narrowed eyes.
"I'm not sleeping in your room," she said.
He blinked. "What?"
She crossed her arms. "You forced me into marriage, remember?"
Her lips twitched. Teasing. Dangerous.
Shivansh opened his mouth—
Too late.
She squeaked as he suddenly lifted her in his arms.
"Shiv—!"
He leaned in. Kissed her.
Once.
Twice.
Slow.
Her words dissolved mid-air.
She laughed against his lips. "You're unfair."
"I know," he whispered, forehead touching hers.
"And you love me anyway."
She didn't deny it.
He carried her through the corridor.
Her head rested against his shoulder. Her fingers curled into his kurta.
This—
this felt like something they had lost and found again.
Inside the room, he gently placed her on the bed.
She pulled him down with her.
"Stay," she said softly.
As if he would go anywhere.
They lay together, facing each other.
Her head tucked under his chin. His arm wrapped tight around her waist.
He kissed her forehead.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each kiss is slower than the last.
Like he was afraid— if he stopped, she might disappear.
"I missed this," she murmured, half-asleep.
His voice broke. "I missed you."
Her breathing evened out.
Sleep claimed her quietly.
Trustingly.
Isha slept in his arms— like the world had never hurt her.
Shivansh stayed awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
Holding her tighter.
This girl had survived hell. Alone. In another country. With no answers. No closure.
And still—
She chose forgiveness.
Not because he deserved it.
But because she refused to let the past destroy her future.
His throat tightened.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair.
"For every night you cried without me."
"For every moment I failed you."
She stirred slightly. Didn't wake up.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead one last time.
This time— it wasn't fear.
It was a promise.
That he would spend the rest of his life making sure— she never had to be that strong alone again.
The palace slept.
But inside that room—
Two broken souls finally rested.
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