Shankar's breath shook.
Not from fear.
But from fury.
This ends now.
He walked through the hallway, barefoot, heart pounding against his ribs like a warning drum.
Each step was silent.
But inside, his thoughts were screaming.
He didn't know what he was going to ask.
He didn't even know what he wanted to hear.
He only knew one thing:
He was done being lied to.
The door to the balcony room was open.
There, in the corner, Devi sat.
Still.
Arms crossed.
Eyes lost in the black canvas of the night sky, her silhouette framed by a dying ceiling light.
She hadn't moved since dinner.
Not a word.
Not a blink.
She looked like someone who had been hollowed out by time.
Shankar stood at the threshold, ring clutched tight in his fist.
His jaw clenched.
His breath shallow.
A thousand storms behind his eyes.
"Ma," he said—
Quiet, but sharp.
Like flint hitting stone.
Devi didn't turn.
Didn't flinch.
As if she knew this moment was coming.
"I need to ask you something," Shankar continued, voice trembling with heat. "And this time… you don't get to run. You don't get to change the subject or pretend like I'm too young to hear it."
He stepped forward. This time he won't hesitate.
Her eyes moved—just slightly.
And for the first time in years—
her expression changed.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't guilt.
It was resignation.
As if the truth she had buried for so long had finally crawled back to the surface…
and there was no shoving it down again.
The silence between them was unbearable.
Like the air had thickened.
Like time had stopped waiting.
Shankar slid the ring onto his thumb.
It shimmered.
Almost alive.
Then, through gritted teeth—his voice barely above a whisper:
"Tell me about my father."
The room didn't move.
But something cracked—deep inside it.
The ring warmed.
One question asked.
Truth could no longer hide.
And in that stillness…
Everything was about to change.
The room didn't move.
The air was thick, like old smoke.
Shankar stood frozen, the Ring of Truth still glowing faintly on his thumb—its warmth rising, pulse by pulse.
His mother sat beneath the rusted ceiling fan, arms clenched around herself like armor. She looked… older than he'd ever seen her.
"Your father…"
She exhaled like the name alone hurt her lungs.
"Bhairava wasn't just a businessman."
The words didn't feel like a confession.
They felt like an execution.
"He was fire, Shankar. Uncontainable. People didn't just respect him—they believed in him. Students, professors, scientists, politicians. Everyone. He was one of those men who could walk into a room and make you feel like you were a page in his story."
"To the world, he was the face of STRING industries —a business tycoon with power and prestige. But beneath the surface, he was also a scientist, a seeker of truths, and the man destined to inherit a legacy built on both innovation and secrets."
Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from weight.
"We met in London. College. He was loud, chaotic, brilliant. And me? I was just some girl who liked silence and science. I had dreams too—big ones. Neural science, experimental biology, alternative models of consciousness. I never told you that part… because I didn't want to be reminded of who I stopped being."
She looked away.
"He pulled me into his orbit. And I let him."
"Then Sekhar, your grandfather, fell sick. I came back to Kolkata. He promised he'd follow. We got married, quietly. No press, no cameras, no fanfare. Just us, your grandmother Martha, and a future we thought we had under control."
"And then you were born. My Little Nova. My universe."
The ring pulsed, and Shankar felt it—it was listening.
"I stopped being a scientist. Became a mother. A wife. A woman who folded your shirts and kissed your forehead and whispered lullabies she once learned in a different language, on a different continent."
"But he…"
Her hands balled into fists.
"He kept building. Secretly. Quietly. He said it was for good. He said the world needed disruption."
Shankar whispered.
"What happened to him?"
Devi's eyes turned glassy.
"The night before it happened, he called Martha—said he'd signed a big deal, was coming home, and even asked what dessert you liked these days… mango kheer, remember?"
Shankar nodded, barely breathing.
"Next morning—news. A crash. No body. Just a wallet. Burnt. And then the real explosion came."
"Every channel. Every front page. 'Bhairava Das under investigation.' 'Secret projects discovered.' 'Weaponization of knowledge.'"
"They painted him like a devil in a lab coat. A fallen angel. A traitor to science. Said he sold secrets. Said he compromised lives for power. Said he broke every rule of ethical research."
Her voice cracked now.
"People who once toasted him at conferences erased his name. Universities pulled down his portraits. The world pretended he never existed."
The ring burned—a sharp jolt of heat crawling up Shankar's veins.
"I couldn't explain it to anyone. Hell, I couldn't even explain it to myself."
"So I didn't."
"I locked his name away. For your sake. For mine. For Martha's."
"I came back to Siliguri, my home town."
"I made him a ghost you weren't allowed to mourn."
The silence stretched like a rope around Shankar's throat.
He forced the next words out—low and shaking.
"Did you believe it?"
Her breath hitched.
Eyes closed.
And for a terrifying moment—Shankar thought she wouldn't answer.
But then—
"No."
The word spilled out like blood.
"I hated him. Hated the things he hid. Hated the silence. Hated the fire he left behind. But no—"
She looked at her son now. Not like a mother. But like a survivor.
"I never believed he was a bad man."
She stood, her shadow stretching across the room like smoke.
"Because bad men don't build you telescopes out of broken pipe scraps and glue."
"Bad men don't cancel seminars just to come home and read you bedtime stories about supernovas and time dilation."
"Bad men don't look at their son and say, 'One day, you'll outshine even me.'"
She clenched her fists.
"But I'll never forgive him, Shankar. For turning truth into poison."
"He left me to rot in silence. He left you to grow up in a lie."
A single tear rolled down her cheek. But her voice was steady now.
Sharper. Heavier.
"So hate me if you want. But don't ever think I stopped loving him."
The ring heated up. The truth had been spoken.
But it didn't bring peace.
Only silence.
And somewhere beneath that silence—
A storm was forming.
Shankar couldn't feel his hands.
They were clenched—tight, trembling. Not from the heat of the ring, not anymore.
It was everything else.
Devi was crying.
He had never seen that before.
Not once in his entire life.
Not when she was sick.
Not when money was tight.
Not even when he first asked about his father.
But now—
She sat curled in that chair like her bones were hollow,
and her sobs were breaking through a silence decades old.
Shankar wanted to scream.
He wanted to say something—anything—
But the air had gone still. The moment had passed.
The questions were done.
The ring was still burning faintly on his thumb, but it didn't matter.
There was nothing more left to ask.