Mihir's POV

Something was wrong.

I knew it the moment the clock hit 5 pm.

Aayat's flight should have taken off at 4:25 pm. She should have texted. Called. Something.

But there was nothing.

By 6 pm, I had called her fifteen times. By 7 pm, thirty. By 8 pm, my hands were shaking too much to hold the phone properly.

Eighty seven missed calls.

From me.

And not one answer.

I paced the length of the room, the floor cold beneath my feet despite the heating. My breath refused to come evenly. Her location wasn't updating. Her messages weren't delivering. The last thing I saw was the small, stupid blue tick at 12:03 pm and then nothing.

I tried calling her again. Straight to voicemail.

"Aayat, pick up," I whispered, sinking onto the edge of the bed, fingers in my hair. "Come on, please, just pick up."

Why was I begging?

Why was my chest hurting like this?

Why did it feel like something inside me was ripping apart?

Seven months of a contract.

Seven months of pretending it was nothing.

Seven months of her soft laugh, her gentle chaos, her kindness, her ridiculous stubbornness, her way of apologizing with tea, her way of filling every quiet space in my life.

She wasn't supposed to matter this much.

She wasn't supposed to feel like this.

She wasn't supposed to be the first person I called when I opened my eyes and the last number I dialed before sleeping.

But she was.

And now she wasn't answering.

I stood abruptly, grabbing my keys. I couldn't sit here. I couldn't breathe.

I tried the airport helpline again. "Delayed? No, sir, all departures were on time."

Security? "No, we cannot disclose passenger details."

Her hotel? "She checked out early. No further bookings."

Checked out early. Before her flight. Where did she go?

My phone buzzed suddenly. I jumped to grab it.

Unknown number.

My heart slammed in my chest. I answered immediately. "Aayat?"

Silence.

Just the faint hum of air, someone breathing on the other side. Slow. Controlled.

Not her.

"Who is this?" I asked sharply, adrenaline tearing through my veins. "Where is Aayat? What happened to her?"

More silence.

A cold heaviness curled in my stomach.

Then the line clicked dead.

I stared at my screen, my pulse roaring in my ears, a fear I had never known tearing its way up my throat.

Something had happened to her. And she wasn't answering because she couldn't.

And the worst part?

I had no idea where to find her.

But I would.

Even if I had to tear London apart brick by brick, I would.

Because somewhere between pretending and surviving these two months, I had crossed a line I couldn't come back from.

And losing Aayat was not an option.

I grabbed my jacket, my phone, my wallet. My voice cracked as I spoke into the empty room.

"I'm coming for you. Wherever you are."

And I walked out. Not as her contract husband. Not as someone doing his duty.

But as a man who was terrified of losing the one person he wasn't supposed to care about.

The flight was unbearable. Every minute stretched like hours, every jolt of turbulence twisting my chest tighter. I couldn't stop checking my phone, even though I knew there would be no new messages from her.

Then, my phone rang.

The screen showed an unfamiliar number. I grabbed it, voice sharp with desperation.

"Hello?"

"Is this... Mr. Mihir Raghuvanshi?"

"Yes," I said, my pulse hammering. "Who is this? What happened?"

"This is St. Mary's Hospital, London. The patient, Aayat Mihir Raghvanshi, was brought here by airport staff. She sustained a head injury, and... we called this number because it was listed as an emergency contact."

My stomach dropped. Head injury. Hospital. Her.

"I... I'm coming. Where exactly? What happened?"

There was a pause on the line, then the voice repeated, calm, professional. "Sir, she's in stable condition now. But she was admitted urgently. Please come as soon as possible."

I barely processed the words. My grip tightened around the phone until my knuckles ached. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe properly. My mind scrambled over every worst case scenario, over everything I had failed to do, over how close she had been to

"I'm on my way," I said, my voice hoarse. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

The line went silent.

I stared at my phone in disbelief. Aayat. Hospital. Head injury. Emergency.

I had to see her. I had to know she was fine. I had to get to her before anything else could go wrong.

The plane felt like it would never land. Each second stretched into eternity. My mind kept drifting to the airport staff, to what must have happened in that corridor, to what I couldn't yet know.

And somewhere deep inside, I felt it, the panic, the helplessness, the fear of losing her before I even reached her side.

I had to get there. No matter what.

The plane touched down, but it felt like it hadn't moved at all. Ten hours of travel, every minute torturous, every jolt of turbulence a reminder of her being somewhere, alone, hurt. I barely remembered the car ride to St. Mary's Hospital. My hands gripped the steering wheel like it was a lifeline, knuckles white, and every red light felt like an eternity.

I burst through the sliding doors of the hospital, my heart hammering so violently I was sure they'd hear it echo in the corridor.

"Sir, Mr. Raghuvanshi?" a nurse called, pulling me up short.

"Yes! Ayat Raghuvanshi, where is she?" My voice was rough, desperate.

The nurse glanced at me, professional but wary. "She's been admitted here, sir. Head injury. The airport staff brought her in. We had to call the emergency number listed, so we reached you."

"She... she's awake? What happened?" My words stumbled over themselves, frantic, useless.

The nurse shook her head. "Sir, she's stable now, but we're monitoring her closely. You can see her, but please... go slowly."

Slowly? My chest felt like it was going to tear apart. I didn't want slow. I wanted to see her, to make sure she was okay, to know she was alive. Alive. That's all that mattered.

I followed the nurse down the corridors, my eyes darting to every corner, every stretcher, every door. The fear in me clawed upward, relentless. What if she didn't recognize me? What if, no. I couldn't let myself think that.

And then I saw her.

Bandaged, lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed, small and fragile against the crisp white sheets. My throat went dry. My hands shook, and yet I wanted to reach out, to pull her close, to make sure she knew I was here.

"Aayat..." I whispered, voice breaking, barely audible. "It's me... it's Mihir. I'm here. You're safe now. I've got you."

Her eyelids fluttered, a small, hesitant motion. Relief slammed into me like a physical force. She was okay. She was breathing. She was here.

I pressed my hand to the edge of the bed, almost unable to stop myself from touching her, from confirming that she was real, that this wasn't some cruel nightmare.

The nurse cleared her throat gently. "Sir... she needs rest, but she's stable. You can stay nearby, but please... no sudden movements or loud noises."

I nodded, though the world felt unreal. I stayed there, hands gripping the bedrail, eyes locked on her face.  months of contracts, pretending, keeping distance, it all vanished. There was only her.

I couldn't stop the words from spilling out, though she couldn't yet answer. "You scared me so much... don't ever do this to me again. You're not supposed to be alone like this. Not ever. Not without me knowing."

Her hand twitched slightly, as if reacting to my voice, and my chest tightened. Every second she remained unconscious, every breath she took without me knowing it, was unbearable.

I realized then, fully, how much she mattered to me, not as a contract, not as someone to tolerate, but as the one person I couldn't imagine losing. And I wouldn't. Not ever.

I sank into the chair beside her bed, refusing to leave. Whoever had hurt her, whoever had left her alone, they had no idea who they were dealing with. She was mine, and I would protect her. Even if it killed me to watch her sleep and wait.

I would wait. I would stay. I would be there.

Because she was everything. And nothing, no contract, no distance, no accident, could ever change that.

Her eyelids fluttered again, more deliberately this time. My pulse jumped, adrenaline surging so violently it was almost painful.

"Aayat..." I whispered, leaning closer, my voice rough, desperate. "Hey... it's me. Mihir. You're awake. You're safe now."

Her eyes cracked open, slow, unfocused at first, and then they found me. My chest tightened at the sight of her gaze, bewildered, fragile, but unmistakably alive. Relief washed over me in waves, but it was tangled with fear.

"I... Mihir?" Her voice was faint, barely above a whisper, hoarse from pain or fear, I couldn't tell.

"Yes," I said quickly, gripping her hand gently, as if letting go for even a second would undo everything. "It's me. You're safe. You're here. That's all that matters."

She blinked at me, and I could see the confusion, the lingering pain in her eyes. My throat went dry. "Don't try to move too fast," I said, voice breaking. "Just stay still... I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

Her hand twitched in mine, weak but deliberate. She tried to speak again, her lips moving, but no sound came out. I tightened my grip, careful, terrified. "It's okay... you don't need to say anything. Just... breathe. I'm right here."

Her gaze softened, a fragile recognition passing through her eyes, and I felt something inside me break and rebuild all at once. 2 months of pretending it was just a contract, gone. There was only this moment. Only her.

I pressed my hand gently against hers, just a whisper away, trying to anchor her in reality, in the now. "You scared me so much... don't ever do that again. I can't... I can't lose you."

She shivered slightly at my words, a quiet, almost imperceptible nod. And I realized she understood. She knew I was here. She knew I hadn't left her side. And maybe, just maybe, she felt safe again.

I stayed like that, holding her hand, refusing to let go. Outside, the hospital moved on, the world continued, but inside this small room, there was only her and me.

And I knew, without question, that nothing, no accident, no secret, no distance, could ever change what I felt for her. She wasn't just someone I cared for. She was mine. And I would fight, every second, every breath, to keep her safe.

Because after two months of pretending it was nothing... I knew, finally, that I could never let her go.

Her fingers moved again.

At first I thought it was just the after shock of pain, a reflex. But then her hand slid slowly, weakly, until her trembling fingers curled around mine.

My breath caught.

She was holding my hand.

Tightly. Like she was afraid that if she let go, she'd fall back into the darkness again.

"Aayat..." My voice cracked, God, I didn't even recognize the way it sounded. Rough. Unsteady. Too full.

She blinked once, twice, and her lashes trembled. And then

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. It trailed slowly down her pale cheek, catching the light, so small and so heartbreakingly fragile.

I felt something inside me twist violently.

I leaned closer, brushing my thumb along her cheek, wiping the tear away before it could fall any further. "Hey... hey, no. Don't cry," I whispered, unable to stop the shake in my own voice. "You're okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

Her lips parted, her voice a faint rasp. "Mihir... you came..."

The simple words hit me harder than anything else in my life ever had.

I swallowed, my chest tightening painfully. "Of course I came. You think I'd stay back? After eighty-seven missed calls? After you disappeared?" My voice cracked at the end; I hated how helpless I sounded, but I couldn't help it.

She squeezed my hand again, weak, but deliberate.

That tiny pressure... it shattered me.

"You scared me," I admitted, my forehead almost touching hers, my voice barely a breath. "I've never been this scared in my life."

Another tear gathered in her lashes, and she blinked hard like she didn't want me to see it. But I did. I saw all of it. I felt all of it.

Without thinking, I held her hand with both of mine, like I could transfer strength through touch. "You're safe. I'm here. I'm not leaving."

Her breathing steadied, slow and fragile, like she was anchoring herself to my voice, to this moment, to me.

Her eyes softened, glassy from pain, exhaustion... and something deeper. Something that twisted my heart in ways I wasn't ready for.

When she whispered again, it was barely a breath against my skin:

"I thought... you wouldn't come."

I closed my eyes, pain ripping through me. "Aayat, I would cross continents for you. Don't ever think otherwise."

Her fingers curled tighter around mine, this time stronger, intentional.

Like she believed me.

Like she needed me.

Like she didn't want to let go.

And in that moment, watching her cling to me, watching her tears fall quietly onto the white hospital sheets, I knew

I wasn't letting her go either. Not now. Not ever.

She fell asleep again with her hand still tangled in mine.

I didn't move all night.

Not once.

The chair was uncomfortable, my back ached, my eyes burned from staying open too long, but I didn't care. Every few minutes, I checked if she was breathing normally, if she stirred, if she needed water.

I watched the rise and fall of her chest like it was the only thing anchoring me to the world.

Morning light spilled into the room, soft and pale.

Around 7 a.m., she shifted.

Slow. Gentle. A small frown appearing between her brows.

Then her eyes opened.

A little confused. A little sore. A little disoriented.

But awake.

I straightened immediately. "Hey. Easy."

Her gaze found mine, and softened.

"You're still here..." she whispered.

"I'm not leaving," I said simply. "Not now. Not today. Not anytime."

Her cheeks warmed slightly, but she didn't argue. She didn't look away.

She just whispered, "I'm... hungry."

Thank God.

Normal words. Human words. No fear in them.

I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and stood up.

"I'll get you something light. Porridge, maybe? Or toast?"

She nodded, slow and careful, like even that movement hurt.

I squeezed her hand gently. "Stay still. I'll be right back."

Before I could step out, the door pushed open.

A woman rushed in, hair messy from travel, eyes wide with worry, clutching a small bag. Behind her, on her hip, sat a one‑year‑old baby blinking sleepily.

Aayat's breath caught.

Her face lit up instantly, like a warm sunrise breaking through storm clouds.

"Rhea...?"

Her best friend exhaled shakily and hurried to her bedside. "Oh thank God, Aayu... I came as soon as I heard, didn't even pack properly, oh my god, I hate you for scaring me like this!"

Aayat laughed, soft and pained but real, reaching out to hug her. Rhea shifted the baby, who gurgled and stared at Aayat like she was a new toy.

"Nishant..." Aayat whispered, smiling as she touched his tiny hand. "You brought him too?"

"I wasn't leaving him behind, idiot. And you didn't give me the luxury to plan," Rhea muttered, wiping her eyes. "Just be glad your husband didn't throttle me when I barged in."

I raised an eyebrow. "I almost did."

Rhea shot me a glare. "Next time she gets hurt, call me before you fly across the world."

Aayat froze at that sentence.

Rhea realized too late and cleared her throat, suddenly awkward.

I forced the conversation back to normal. "You two talk. I'll get her breakfast."

I carried the small tray, tea, a few biscuits toward the cashier when someone brushed past me too quickly.

A woman.

She whispered an apology over her shoulder, her hair falling forward as she bent to pick something from the floor.

I barely looked at her...

until she lifted her head.

And her eyes

My breath punched out of my lungs.

Those eyes.

My eyes.

Same shape.

Same sharpness.

Same honey‑brown center that I'd seen only in the mirror and

And in two other faces I had buried years ago.

My heart slammed painfully.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

She walked past me, unaffected, unaware of what she had just triggered inside me, and took a seat near the window.

I stood frozen, staring after her.

My head began throbbing, not normal pain but the kind that came from deep, buried places. My vision blurred at the edges. My breathing turned shallow.

Not here. Not now.

I dug into my pocket, pulled out the painkillers I always carried, and swallowed them dry.

But the pain didn't stop.

It intensified.

Images.

Faces.

Voices.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the edge of the table before I collapsed.

Twenty minutes passed before the world steadied. I rubbed my forehead, exhaling shakily, and looked toward the corner again.

She was still there.

Still sitting calmly. Drinking her tea. Scrolling on her phone.

Those eyes again.

My throat tightened.

My childhood flashed in fragments

• a girl laughing with messy hair, chasing me through the garden

• a boy barely 3 months old holding my hand so I wouldn't fall

• my mother screaming

• a door slamming

• Then years later:

"They didn't survive, Mihir. Forget them."

Forget them.

I had tried.

But now

I stared harder. Her profile. Her hair. Her posture.

Could it be...?

Could she be

No.

I forced myself to breathe.

She wasn't Naina. She couldn't be. Naina died. Naina died years ago. That's what I had been told. That's what everyone said. That's what I forced myself to believe.

Still... my feet moved toward her table before I realized it.

I stood just behind her chair, close enough to feel the familiar sting of panic behind my eyes.

If she turned around right now...

If she looked at me with those same eyes...

I braced myself, heart strangled between hope and terror.

She reached for her ID badge on the table.

It flipped.

And I froze.

AADHYA MITTAL

Printed clearly. Bold. Unmistakable.

Not Naina.

Not my sister.

A stranger with eyes too similar for comfort.

I stood there, numb.

She wasn't her.

She wasn't them.

She wasn't

But my father's words echoed through my mind again, louder this time, cutting through the denial I had built like armor:

"Your mother took Naina and Advit.

They could be alive.

Somewhere."

I swallowed hard, my pulse uneven.

Aadhya Mittal wasn't Naina.

But this world was small.

Too small for coincidences like this.

If someone alive could look this much like me...

then maybe

Maybe Naina and Advit weren't dead.

Maybe I had been lied to.

Maybe everything was just starting.

I stepped back, shaken, gripping the breakfast tray so hard my fingers ached.

I had come here for Aayat.

But now another storm was brewing, one connected to a past I had never escaped.

I hadn't moved from the spot. My chest still ached, my mind racing, my headache pounding like war drums. And then she looked up.

Aadhya.

Her eyes met mine. And for a moment... everything froze. The world shrank down to the sound of my heartbeat and the piercing echo of her gaze.

"Sit," she said softly, almost imperceptibly, but there was no mistaking the command in her tone.

I hesitated. My instincts screamed to retreat, to step back. But I found myself obeying, my legs moving as if pulled by some invisible force.

She slid a chair out for me across the small table she had taken, gesturing for me to sit.

"Why are you here?" she asked, voice calm, measured. But there was something in it, curiosity, and maybe... concern.

I swallowed, fighting the ache in my head. "My... my wife," I began cautiously, "she... she had an accident. Hospital... St. Mary's." My words stumbled over themselves, clumsy with fear and the residue of sleepless nights.

Aadhya's gaze didn't waver. She leaned slightly forward, resting her elbows on the table, hands folded. "Your wife?" she repeated, slower this time, almost teasingly. "And how is she now?"

The question hit harder than I expected. My chest tightened, and my mind immediately went to Aayat, small, fragile, awake now but still weak, still recovering. "She's... stable," I said hoarsely, gripping the edge of the chair. "She's awake. She... she's safe now."

Aadhya's lips curved faintly, almost imperceptibly. "Good," she said, and there was weight behind the word. Not judgment. Not pity. But... something else. Something I couldn't place.

I wanted to ask why she was here. Why her presence felt like a puzzle I hadn't been ready to solve. But her eyes... they held questions I wasn't ready to answer either.

She leaned back slightly, letting her gaze linger on me, calm, composed. "You've been running around, haven't you? Worrying, panicking. I can see it."

I didn't answer immediately. My head throbbed. Memories, flashes, warnings from the past, all colliding. But I forced myself to speak, steadying my voice. "I... I had to know she was okay. She's all that matters."

Aadhya nodded slowly, almost as if satisfied. Then, almost casually, she asked again:

"And now... how's your wife?"

Her tone lingered differently this time, like she knew more than she let on.

I felt my fingers tighten around the edge of the chair. I swallowed, unsure if I should answer honestly or keep it brief. "She's... she's fine. That's all that matters."

Aadhya's gaze didn't leave mine. Her expression was calm, unflinching. And in that quiet, in that moment, I realized... she knew something. Something I didn't.

And somehow, I knew this conversation had only just begun.

Her gaze lingered on me, sharp, deliberate, and for a moment, I felt like I was walking a tightrope I didn't even know existed.

"It was... a great meeting with you, Mr. CM," she said, her tone measured, almost casual, but then she lingered on the last word, slow, precise: "Raghuvanshi."

My pulse jumped. The emphasis wasn't subtle. It wasn't accidental. It carried weight. A warning. A reminder. Something I couldn't yet place.

"I-" I started, but she didn't give me a chance to speak.

She leaned back slightly, a faint, almost enigmatic smile tugging at her lips. "I do hope... we meet again," she added, her eyes locked on mine.

There was an unspoken challenge in her words. A promise, maybe. Or a threat. Something that made the hair on my neck prickle.

I nodded slowly, trying to keep my composure, even though my mind screamed, my headache pulsing harder, my thoughts a chaotic storm of Aayat, childhood memories, and the inexplicable connection this woman stirred in me.

She gave a small nod, collected her things, and rose from the table. Her eyes never left mine as she moved away, each step deliberate, leaving behind a quiet tension that made the air feel heavier, as if the world had shifted slightly while she sat there.

And just like that... she was gone.

But the echo of "Raghuvanshi" lingered in my mind, like a warning I couldn't ignore.

I remained seated for a moment, gripping the edge of the chair, trying to steady my pulse, trying to make sense of the whirlwind she had just left behind.

And deep down, I knew this encounter was only the beginning.

I sat there, heart still hammering, my fingers pressed against my temples. The headache had returned, sharper this time, like it was clawing at the edges of my mind. Aadhya's words, the deliberate "Raghuvanshi", they kept repeating in my head, echoing alongside fragments of memories I had tried to bury.

And then... flashes.

A little girl with wide, fearful eyes hiding behind a door. A boy clutching a stuffed toy, trembling. A woman's voice shouting, screaming. Names Naina, Advit, echoed in my mind, words my father, Anirudh, shouting, yelling.

The memories collided with the present. Aadhya's eyes, strikingly familiar, pulled me in, twisted something deep inside me. Were they... connected? Could it be possible?

I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table. My heart raced, my pulse pounding louder than the ambient noise of the café. Every instinct screamed that I had misjudged something, missed something crucial.

Aadhya's voice returned in fragments, teasing, casual, yet laced with intent. "I hope we meet again, Mr. Raghuvanshi."

Her words weren't just a greeting. They carried weight, a reminder of everything I had tried to forget and everything I had yet to uncover. And in that brief glance, something deep inside me stirred, something familiar, something lost.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the migraine wash over me as memories and reality collided. Naina. Advit. My mother. And now this woman, Aadhya. Could it all be connected?

I opened my eyes and scanned the room. She had moved, left her presence lingering like a shadow. My fingers tightened around the glass of water I hadn't even touched.

I realized something chilling: the past I had thought was gone, buried, was alive. And it had just found a way to re-enter my life.

I didn't know what game she was playing, or how far it reached, but one thing was clear: I couldn't ignore her. Not now. Not ever.

And for the first time in years, I felt the old, familiar dread rise alongside an unbearable curiosity.

I had to know.

I let out a shaky breath and forced myself to push everything else aside. Aadhya, the café, the migraine, it didn't matter right now. Not when Aayat needed me.

I stood, shoulders stiff, and headed back to the hospital. The corridor smelled faintly of antiseptic, comforting in its familiarity after the chaos of the café. I pushed the door open to her room, and there she was, sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling gently.

"Hey," I whispered, setting down the tray I had carried from the hospital kitchen. The porridge was still warm, the tea steaming softly. "Time to eat."

She blinked, her eyes squinting against the morning light, still fragile but awake. I knelt beside the bed, lifting the spoon carefully. "Just a little at a time," I said softly, guiding the food to her lips.

She let me feed her, silent, trusting. Every bite she took made my chest relax a little. I didn't allow my mind to wander to Aadhya, to the storm of memories her eyes had stirred. Right now, there was only Aayat, her small movements, her quiet breathing, her soft murmurs of thanks when I refilled her spoon.

Minutes stretched into an hour as I patiently made sure she ate enough. I adjusted her pillows, wiped a stray drop of porridge from her cheek, and spoke in hushed tones, offering quiet encouragement. "That's it... good. Almost done. You're doing so well."

Her gaze met mine briefly, the faintest smile appearing on her lips. I returned it with a soft one of my own, letting her know she wasn't alone, that I wouldn't leave her side, not for a second.

The tray was emptied, and I set it aside. "Rest now," I said, brushing her hair back gently. "You've done enough for one morning."

She nodded, eyes closing as she sank back into the pillows, her hand still loosely held in mine. I stayed there, holding it, silent, letting the rhythm of her breathing anchor me.

Nothing else existed. Not the headaches. Not the strange encounter. Not the nagging memories of the past. Only her. Only this moment.

Because for now, Aayat's safety, her comfort, and her recovery were all that mattered.

And I would stay. Always.

I stepped out of Aayat's room, trying to steady my breathing. The fear, the relief, it all collided in my chest, a weight I couldn't shake. I spotted Rhea waiting in the corridor, worry etched deep into her features.

"Rhea," I said firmly, my voice low but commanding. "I need you to take care of her. Don't let her leave the room without you. Make sure she eats, rests, and... stays safe. I'll be back."

She nodded, concern and understanding mixing in her gaze. "Of course. Don't worry, Mihir. I've got her."

"I need to find out who did this to her," I said, voice tight. "Whoever tried to hurt her... I'll find them. No excuses."

Rhea didn't argue. She simply nodded again. "Be careful," she whispered.

I left, my mind already racing as I made my way to the airport.

At first, they tried to deny me access. Security guards blocked the way, citing protocol, restricted zones, and passenger privacy.

"I'm Mihir Raghuvanshi, Chief Minister of Maharashtra," I said, my voice sharp, controlled but cold. "If you refuse to let me access the footage, you won't like the consequences. Now, show me the CCTV."

A brief murmur passed through the staff, hesitant glances exchanged. Finally, they relented. "Sir... this way," one of them said, leading me to the monitoring room.

I stared at the bank of screens, scanning every angle. Then I saw it, footage from the corridor near the gates.

Aayat. Following a woman. Calm, deliberate, yet the way she moved... tense.

Even more alarming, they were in a restricted area.

My heart thumped painfully in my chest. I paused the footage, zooming in. The woman led Aayat like a shadow, her movements confident, careful.

I clenched my fists. Whoever this was... whoever had caused Aayat's accident, it wasn't random. It was calculated. And the fact that Aayat had followed her, voluntarily, meant there was a thread I had to pull.

I replayed the footage. Every detail, every step, every turn. A woman in her early or mid twenties, hair tied neatly, calm but purposeful. Aayat trailing behind, unaware of the danger she had just brushed past.

I pressed my forehead against my hand. This wasn't just an accident. This was orchestrated.

And I wasn't going to let whoever did this get away.

Because the next time they touched her... they'd answer to me.

I froze, staring at the screen, my pulse hammering.

The woman Aayat had been following, the one who had led her into that restricted corridor, the one whose movements were calm, deliberate, unnervingly precise, her face, her posture, her gaze... I knew it.

It couldn't be. Could it?

Aadhya Mittal.

The name flashed in my mind like a neon warning. Sharp. Precise. Cold.

My breath caught. Questions swarmed, impossible to answer all at once. Why was she here? What did she want? And, most importantly, why had Aayat followed her?

I didn't wait to think further. I pushed the chair back violently, my heart hammering, and bolted out of the airport's monitoring room.

Outside, near a quiet corner of the terminal, I spotted her. Aadhya Mittal. Sitting there as if nothing had happened, calm, collected, scrolling on her phone.

No hesitation. No second thoughts. I ran toward her, each step fueled by a mixture of fear, rage, and disbelief.

"Aadhya!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the murmur of the terminal.

Her head lifted slightly, just enough to register my presence, but she didn't move. She didn't speak.

I reached her, grabbed her shoulder, shook her lightly. "Aadhya! What...what the hell is going on? Answer me!"

Her body slumped forward slightly. My heart froze.

And then I noticed the dark stain spreading across her white blouse. Blood.

My stomach dropped. Her hand fell limply to her side. My mind refused to process it. She, she'd been shot.

"No, no, no," I whispered, panic choking my voice. I didn't waste a second. I lifted her in my arms like she weighed nothing, adrenaline surging through every vein.

People moved out of the way as I sprinted toward the exit, my vision tunneled on her face. Her eyes were barely open, flickering with pain, confusion, but, thank God, still alive.

I barked at a nearby passerby, "Call an ambulance! Now!"

The driver came up in record time, the engine roaring as I loaded her into the back seat. I held her close, pressed my hand to the wound, whispering anything I could think of to keep her conscious.

Finally, we arrived at the hospital. I carried her inside, barking at the staff: "Emergency! Shoot wound! Now!"

They took her from my arms as I followed, refusing to leave her side. Machines, monitors, urgent voices, but my eyes stayed on her. Alive. Breathing. Fighting.

I sank into the chair beside her bed, shaking, bloodied, but refusing to look away.

And in that moment, I knew: whatever Aadhya Mittal was involved in, whatever threads had led her here... this wasn't over.

Because someone had tried to kill her.

And now I had to protect her.

No questions. No hesitation. Only one thought pulsing louder than the panic in my chest:

I won't let her die. Not today. Not ever.

Aadhya lay in the ICU bed, tubes and monitors surrounding her like a fragile cage. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath a battle. Blood had been wiped, cleaned, sanitized, but the threat of death still clung to her like a shadow.

I stood beside the bed, hands gripping the metal railing until my knuckles ached. My eyes refused to leave her face. Alive. She had to stay alive. She had to.

Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive...

The mantra repeated in my mind, faster with each shallow breath she took. Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive...

She had tried to harm Aayat. She had followed her. She had put my wife in danger. And yet... she wasn't dead. Not yet. Not if I could stop it.

I paced the length of the ICU room, stopping abruptly to peer at her monitor, heart hammering. Why? Why follow Aayat? Why?

Her eyes fluttered slightly, as if responding to my presence. A small twitch of her fingers. A sign of life.

Yes. Stay alive. You have to. You have to. I need answers.

I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of frustration, fear, and rage press into my chest. My mind ran over every possibility.

Did she know about my family? the Raghuvanshis? Was this all part of something bigger?

I sank onto the chair beside her, leaning over her frail body, whispering despite knowing she might not hear me. "Aadhya... you have to survive. I don't care what it takes. You're going to tell me why. Why you followed Aayat. What you know about my family. Do you know anything... about the Raghuvanshis?"

Her chest twitched again. Small. Weak. But alive.

Stay alive. Just stay alive. Don't leave me. Don't leave me without answers. Not now. Not ever.

I gritted my teeth, voice rough even if it barely left my lips. "You're not going to die. Not here. Not in front of me. I need the truth. I need to know why you targeted my wife... and whether you know my family. Everything."

The machines beeped steadily, a fragile rhythm that tethered her to this world. I pressed my hand over hers, willing her to fight, willing her to live.

You survive, Aadhya. You survive... and I'll get every answer. Everything. No lies. No games. Stay alive.

I repeated it in my mind like a prayer, a mantra, a command. Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive...

And in that sterile ICU room, with fluorescent lights humming above, I realized: she was the key to everything I had to uncover. And if she died... everything would be lost.

Stay alive, Aadhya. Stay alive. I need you. I need answers.

________

I stepped quietly back into Aayat's room, careful not to disturb the soft hum of the monitors. There she was, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling as Rhea guided little Nishant in a gentle game of stacking blocks on the bedside table.

Aayat's hair fell in messy waves around her face, her cheeks flushed with the faint color of health, and for a moment, I just watched them. The sight of her laughing softly, the tiny boy clapping his hands at a toppled tower, was a balm to every nerve that had been taut for hours.

"I told you not to play yet," I said softly, stepping closer.

Aayat looked up at me, eyes sparkling with mischief, and tilted her head. "Oh? And who's going to stop me, Mr. Raghuvanshi?"

"I am," I said, trying to sound stern, but my voice betrayed a slight tremor. "You need rest. You need proper rest, not.." I glanced at Nishant's delighted squeal, "building towers and conquering the world."

She laughed, a tiny, breathy sound that made something ache and bloom in my chest at the same time. "You survived two weeks without me, Mr. Mihir. Surely I can survive a few minutes with a toddler."

I froze, blinking. "Two weeks... without you? That... that was painful," I admitted, running a hand through my hair. "I might have... cried in secret. Once or twice."

She grinned, teasing, "Once or twice?"

"Okay, maybe a few more than that," I mumbled, my cheeks warming.

Rhea chuckled, looking at me like I was a man who had just confessed to a crime. Nishant, oblivious, banged his little fist on a block tower, making it wobble dangerously.

"See?" Aayat said, pointing to the disaster about to unfold. "This is why I need my husband here. Who else will keep me safe from tiny tyrants?"

I couldn't help it, I scooped Nishant up gently before the tower collapsed, holding him just above the floor. "Not a single block shall fall on my watch," I declared, and he giggled, kicking his legs happily.

"You're ridiculous," Aayat whispered, her voice soft, full of fond amusement. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. "You worry too much. You always do."

"I can't help it," I said honestly, my voice low. "I... I don't know how to stop worrying about you."

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, the room was filled only with the quiet rhythm of breathing, the clatter of a few stray blocks, and the gentle weight of something we hadn't said but both knew.

"Tell me," she said suddenly, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How did you survive... really? Two whole weeks without me?"

I pretended to think deeply, one hand resting on the edge of the bed. "Well... I survived on a strict diet of worry, coffee, the occasional silent scream into my pillow, and especially no burnt food" I said, voice solemn but my eyes laughing.

She laughed outright this time, leaning back against the pillows, and I felt some of the tension inside me finally ease.

"I imagine it was very heroic," she said, teasing further, "saving the world, leading Maharashtra, and yet... somehow managing to miss me at every possible hour."

"Exactly," I said, holding back a grin. "It was the hardest job of my life. And now that you're here, I officially retire from heroics... until the next crisis."

Aayat shook her head, mock exasperated. "You're hopeless."

I lowered my voice, "And you... are worth every moment of hopelessness."

She glared for a second and rhen softened, and Nishant, sensing the serious conversation, grabbed my finger and tugged, insisting I join the block game. I laughed, surrendering, and began to play, making a little fortress for him and letting Aayat watch us with an amused, gentle smile.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the weight of fear, the panic, and the danger of the past weeks lifted, replaced by the soft, grounding warmth of home, of laughter, and of small, irreplaceable moments that mattered more than anything else.

I stayed there, beside her, beside them, knowing that no matter what storms were coming, I had this, her smile, her trust, and the quiet, stubborn way she allowed me to care for her.

And for now, that was enough.

I lowered myself onto the floor next to Nishant, crouching so I could help him rebuild his toppled block fortress. Aayat's eyes followed every movement, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

"You know," she said, voice teasing, "I'm starting to think you survived those two weeks without me by... staring at walls and crying silently."

I glanced up at her, mock offense etched across my face. "Excuse me? I was... strategizing."

"Strategizing?" she repeated, laughter dancing in her tone. "Let me guess... plotting how to survive without your favorite wife?"

"Exactly," I said seriously, nodding. "It was... tactical. I had to ration my worry, plan my meals around panic attacks, and, most importantly, keep your memory alive in my heart."

Aayat shook her head, laughing softly. "You're ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."

I grinned, leaning back on my heels. "And yet... here I am. Fully survived. Stronger than ever. For you."

She rolled her eyes but her smile softened, warm and teasing. "You call yourself strong? The older you get, the more delusional you get."

"30 isn't that old," I said without missing a beat.

Aayat tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her gaze. "Hmm... shut up"

I smirked, leaning closer, lowering my voice. " I have seven white hairs and you've got eight, Mrs. Raghuvanshi. Age is winning on your side."

She glared again, shaking her head. "Unbelievable. You're impossible."

"I prefer... irresistible," I said.

"Budhe log are too delusional," she muttered.

( Old people are too delusional)

"I heard that," I replied, glaring at her.

"Sunne ke liye hi bola tha," she said, showing her tight-lipped smile.

(I only said it for you to hear)

Nishant, apparently unimpressed by our talks, clapped his tiny hands and toppled the fortress again. "Nooo!" I groaned dramatically, scooping him up. "The evil toddler strikes again!"

Aayat giggled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "You're a hopeless mess, Mihir Raghuvanshi. Two weeks without me, and you've clearly forgotten how to function normally."

"I function perfectly," I said, squinting at her. "Just... slightly more panicked than usual."

She rolled her eyes again, but her hand lingered on mine. "You know... you really are stubborn. How did you survive without me? Tell me the truth."

I looked at her seriously, my gaze softening. "Honestly? Every moment I wasn't with you... every second, I counted down until I could see you again. It hurt. Terribly. But it made me realize... how much I actually... need you."

Her eyes softened, but then she smirked again, leaning back into the pillows. "You better not make me regret recovering... because now I'm stuck with a hero who's obsessed, panicked, and ridiculously clingy."

"Deal," I said, grinning. "But only if you promise to stay this close forever."

She pretended to think, tapping her finger against her lips. "Hmm... well... I suppose I could consider it. For now."

I laughed, feeling the tightness in my chest ease a little. "That's all I ask."

And there we stayed, her playful teasing, my ridiculous overreactions, Nishant's chaos in between, all of it grounding me in the present. For the first time in weeks, I could breathe. For the first time, it was just us.

And I silently vowed: no matter the dangers, no matter the storms from the past or the threats of the future... I'd survive anything. For this. For her.

Night settled over the hospital like a heavy blanket.

Aayat had finally fallen asleep, peacefully this time, her breathing slow and steady. I tucked the blanket around her, brushed her hair back gently, and stood there for a moment longer, just watching her. Making sure she was safe. Making sure she was still here.

"Sleep, Aayat," I whispered. "I'm right outside."

I stepped out of the room, letting the door close softly behind me. The corridor lights were dimmed, shadows stretching long across the floor.

My phone buzzed

I  answered immediately.

"Mr. Raghuvanshi," a clipped, professional voice said, "this is St. Mary's Surgical Department regarding patient Aadhya Mittal."

My grip tightened.

"Yes. Tell me."

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said. "She lost a dangerous amount of blood, but we managed to stabilize her. She'll remain under observation through the night, but... she should regain consciousness by morning."

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.

Good.

Good, because I needed answers.

"Keep her under strict watch," I said sharply. "I don't care how many staff you assign. She stays alive. I want updates every hour."

"Yes, sir."

The call ended.

I lowered my phone, tension still wrapping around my shoulders.

Aadhya was alive.

Tomorrow... I'd finally know why she had been at the airport.

Why Aayat followed her.

Why she looked like someone torn straight out of my past.

Why she said my surname like it was a weapon.

I turned toward the waiting area.

And then

my phone vibrated again.

A single message appeared on the screen.

From: No number. No ID.

Just a message.

My blood froze.

"Stop digging, Raghuvanshi.

You already found one of them.

Don't force us to take the others."

My breath stopped mid-air.

One of them.

My mind spun.

Them...

As in?

Another message popped up instantly, before I could react.

"Next time... it won't be Aadhya who gets shot."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

AND YES TELL ME HOW WAS THE CHAPTER??????

To be continued

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