Mihir's POV

"I killed him."

For a moment, I thought I had heard wrong.

Advit was barely conscious.

His head hung forward.

Blood stained his hands.

His breathing was uneven.

Yet the words had been perfectly clear.

I killed him.

The room fell silent.

Aayat said something.

I didn't properly hear it.

Because my attention was fixed entirely on Advit.

On the blood.

On the look in his eyes.

A look I had never seen before.

Not because I knew him well enough to recognize it.

The truth was, I didn't.

Not really.

Twenty years was a long time.

Long enough to turn brothers into strangers.

Long enough to leave entire lives unlived between two people.

I knew facts about Advit.

His education.

His work.

His habits.

The things people could tell you.

But the man sitting in front of me?

The man shaking with rage and exhaustion?

That man was still largely unknown to me.

And somehow that realization felt heavier than usual.

"You knew."

His voice dragged me back.

My gaze lifted.

His eyes were open now.

Fixed on me.

"You knew."

The accusation landed immediately.

Not because of what he said.

Because of how he said it.

Like he'd spent years carrying those words.

Waiting for somewhere to put them.

"Advit."

His jaw tightened.

"You knew he was alive."

The room stopped breathing.

I didn't answer.

Advit laughed.

A broken sound.

Humorless.

Dangerous.

"You knew."

Twenty years.

Two decades of silence.

And somehow every one of them stood between us now.

I looked at him.

Really looked.

The dark circles beneath his eyes.

The tension in his shoulders.

The blood drying across his fingers.

And suddenly I understood.

Not everything.

But enough.

Enough to know where he'd been.

Enough to know who he'd seen.

Enough to know why he was here.

The old house.

Anirudh Raghuvanshi.

Our father.

Advit's hands shook.

"Why?"

The question came quietly.

That made it worse.

If he had shouted, it would've been easier.

If he had lost control, it would've been easier.

But he didn't.

He simply looked at me.

Waiting.

"Why?"

I exhaled slowly.

Because there was no answer that would satisfy him.

No answer that satisfied me.

Not anymore.

"He murdered her."

Advit's voice cracked.

The words seemed torn out of him.

"He murdered our mother."

I closed my eyes briefly.

The old wound opened immediately.

Not because it was new.

Because it never truly healed.

Advit laughed again.

"Do you know what's funny?"

I remained silent.

His eyes glistened.

"I don't even remember her."

The room became very still.

"I was two months old."

His voice shook.

"Two months."

A pause.

"I don't know what her voice sounded like."

Another.

"I don't know how she laughed."

His fingers curled into fists.

"I don't remember a single thing."

The pain in those words was unbearable.

Because he was right.

He had been robbed of memories before he was old enough to create them.

Robbed of a mother before he even understood what one was.

And the man responsible had continued breathing.

Continued existing.

While she hadn't.

Advit swallowed hard.

"Everything I know about her came from stories."

His eyes met mine.

"Stories."

The word broke.

"That's all I got."

I looked away.

Because there was nothing I could say to that.

Nothing.

Advit's breathing became uneven again.

"I wanted to meet him."

The confession surprised me.

"I thought..."

He laughed bitterly.

"I don't know what I thought."

For the first time, his anger seemed to falter.

Making room for something worse.

Disappointment.

"I thought maybe there'd be an explanation."

His gaze lowered.

"Maybe regret."

Silence.

"He wasn't sorry."

The words landed heavily.

"He wasn't sorry for her."

I already knew that.

Yet hearing it spoken aloud still felt like a knife between my ribs.

Advit's eyes filled.

"He smiled."

The room froze.

I felt something inside me go cold.

Because that sounded exactly like him.

Exactly.

Advit stared at the blood on his hands.

Then back at me.

And for the first time, the anger disappeared entirely.

Leaving only exhaustion.

Only grief.

Only a son who had spent twenty years searching for answers and found none.

"You knew."

His voice was quieter now.

Smaller.

"All this time."

I met his gaze.

And for once, I didn't hide behind politics.

Didn't hide behind responsibility.

Didn't hide behind duty.

"Yes."

The word seemed to hollow him out.

His eyes closed briefly.

As if hearing it hurt more than he expected.

When he opened them again, they looked older.

Tired.

Defeated.

"Why?"

There it was again.

Not shouted.

Not demanded.

Simply asked.

A question carried for twenty years.

A question only one person in the room could answer.

And the worst part was...

after everything...

I still wasn't sure I had one.

"Why?"

Advit's voice cracked.

Not from weakness.

From twenty years of carrying a question nobody had ever answered.

The room was silent.

Rain pressed softly against the glass walls of the cabin.

Outside, employees walked past.

Inside, it felt as though the world had narrowed to three people and a dead woman.

My mother.

His mother.

The woman whose absence had shaped every life in this room.

Advit's eyes were fixed on me.

Demanding.

Relentless.

"Why?"

His blood-stained hands clenched.

"You knew where he was."

A pause.

"You knew he was alive."

Another.

"You kept him hidden."

The final words landed like an accusation.

Because they were one.

For twelve years.

Twelve years of secrets.

Twelve years of silence.

Twelve years of a man breathing while the rest of the world believed him dead.

I looked at my brother.

At the anger burning through exhaustion.

At the grief underneath it.

And suddenly I was tired.

Tired of carrying it.

Tired of defending it.

Tired of pretending there had ever been a right answer.

"You think I did it to protect him?"

My voice was quiet.

Advit laughed.

A bitter sound.

"What else am I supposed to think?"

I looked away.

Toward the rain.

Toward memories I spent years burying.

The answer came before I could stop it.

"I hated him."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Advit's expression changed.

Just slightly.

Aayat didn't move.

Neither did I.

Because once spoken aloud, the truth became impossible to take back.

"I hated him."

The words sounded strange.

Like something that had lived inside me for so long it no longer belonged in the outside world.

Advit's brows furrowed.

Then he shook his head.

"No."

His voice hardened.

"No."

As if rejecting the statement itself.

"As much as you hated him, you still let him live."

The accusation found its mark.

I felt it.

Every word.

Every ounce of truth inside it.

Slowly, I met his gaze.

"You were two months old when she died."

The room froze.

Advit's jaw tightened immediately.

Not because he disagreed.

Because he knew where this was going.

I continued.

"I wasn't."

The words came quietly.

Steadily.

Like opening a door that should have remained closed.

"I remember her."

For the first time since this conversation began, my voice almost faltered.

Almost.

"I remember everything."

The rain outside seemed louder now.

Or maybe the silence inside had become unbearable.

"I remember her laughing."

A pause.

"I remember her singing."

Another.

"I remember the way she used to wait near the gate whenever I came home."

The memories arrived uninvited.

Sharp.

Painfully clear.

Years had passed.

Decades.

Yet some wounds never faded.

They simply learned how to hide.

Advit's eyes never left mine.

And for the first time, his anger seemed to hesitate.

Just slightly.

I swallowed.

Then continued.

"I remember the fear."

The room grew colder.

"I remember the bruises she tried to hide."

My jaw tightened.

"I remember the nights she locked herself in a room because she was afraid of him."

Aayat's gaze dropped.

But I couldn't stop now.

Not anymore.

The words had already escaped.

"I remember watching her disappear."

The confession hung heavily between us.

"I remember standing beside her funeral."

A pause.

"And I remember him."

My voice became colder.

Harder.

"He cried."

Advit frowned.

I laughed.

A humorless sound.

"He cried."

The bitterness in my own voice surprised even me.

"As if he loved her."

The room fell silent.

The years collapsed inward.

And suddenly I wasn't standing in a corporate office.

I was standing beside a grave again.

Watching a man mourn a woman he had destroyed.

Watching people offer condolences.

Watching the world move on.

Watching justice never arrive.

Advit's breathing had slowed.

Not calmer.

Just quieter.

Listening.

I looked directly at him.

"When I found him twelve years ago..."

The memory surfaced instantly.

The old house.

The locked gate.

The shock on my father's face.

The realization that he had survived.

That he had escaped consequences.

That he had continued breathing.

While she hadn't.

My hands curled slightly.

"He was afraid."

A pause.

"For the first time in his life..."

Another.

"He was afraid."

The words tasted bitter.

Even now.

After all these years.

Advit stared at me.

Waiting.

I held his gaze.

"And it wasn't enough."

The admission settled heavily between us.

Because there it was.

The truth.

The ugly truth.

Not justice. Not duty. Not law.

Something darker.

Something far more human.

"It wasn't enough."

The room was completely still.

I looked toward the rain-covered window.

Toward the city.

Toward the life I had built on top of old ruins.

And finally said the thing I had never admitted to anyone.

Not even myself.

"Death would've been too easy."

The words barely rose above a whisper.

Advit's breath caught.

I continued.

"He deserved to wake up every morning knowing nobody was coming for him."

A pause.

"He deserved to sit alone."

Another.

"He deserved to spend years with nothing except his own thoughts."

The rain struck harder against the glass.

Steady. Unforgiving. Just like memory.

I met my brother's eyes one final time.

"He took years from her."

My voice was calm now.

The calm that came only after a wound had finally been opened.

"So I took years from him."

Silence. Heavy. Endless.

Advit stared at me.

And for the first time since he had walked into this office, there was no anger in his face.

Only understanding.

Not agreement.

Never that.

But understanding.

Because he could finally see it.

The truth neither of us wanted.

That somewhere along the way, grief had become vengeance.

And vengeance had become a prison.

For Anirudh Raghuvanshi.

For me.

And perhaps for our entire family.

The room fell silent.

Advit's gaze stayed on me.

Not angry anymore.

Not accusing.

Just... searching.

For the first time since he'd spoken those words, since he'd walked into this office covered in blood and grief, he looked at me like he was trying to understand.

Really understand.

A tired laugh escaped him.

"I thought you protected him."

I said nothing.

His eyes dropped briefly.

"I thought you chose him."

The words landed heavily.

Then, quieter...

"I thought you forgot her."

Something tightened in my chest.

I looked away.

Toward the rain.

Toward anything except him.

Because after all these years, after everything, that was the one thing I could never bear to hear.

Forget her.

Advit watched me for a long moment.

And then I saw it.

The realization.

Slow. Painful. Complete.

"You hated him that much."

Not a question.

A fact.

My jaw tightened.

"Yes."

The answer came immediately.

Without hesitation.

Advit's gaze lingered on me.

Not on the Chief Minister.

Not on the man who had hidden a secret for twelve years.

Just me.

His brother.

A stranger who wasn't quite a stranger anymore.

Then, very quietly, he said,

"You never moved on."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because they were true.

I hadn't.

Not really.

Not ever.

And judging by the look in his eyes...

for the first time, Advit understood that.

For a second, neither of us moved.

The silence after Advit's last words wasn't empty.

It was full.

Too full.

Of everything we had not said for twenty years.

Then he stepped forward.

Slowly.

Like he wasn't sure I would still be there when he reached me.

Like I might disappear if he moved too fast.

And then...

his arms wrapped around me.

Just like that.

No hesitation. No distance. No protocol.

Just a hug.

A real one.

The kind we hadn't shared since we were children who didn't yet understand what it meant to lose someone.

My breath caught.

For a moment, I didn't react.

I couldn't.

Because something inside me simply... stopped.

Like it didn't know how to exist in this moment.

Then it hit me.

Hard.

I lifted my arms around him.

Careful at first.

Then tighter.

As if something in me had finally been given permission to break.

He was warm.

Real.

Here.

My brother.

My brother.

The thought didn't feel familiar.

It felt new.

Too new.

My grip tightened before I even realized it.

And something inside my chest cracked open in a way I hadn't allowed in years.

Not anger. Not calculation. Not control.

Just relief.

Advit's hold didn't loosen.

Neither did mine.

For the first time in two decades, there was no distance between us that couldn't be crossed.

Only the years we couldn't undo.

He exhaled shakily against my shoulder.

And I realized...

he was holding on like he was afraid I might vanish again.

That realization did something dangerous to me.

Something I didn't have words for.

My eyes closed briefly.

And when I spoke, my voice came out lower than I expected.

"Advit..."

He didn't answer.

Just held on tighter.

So I did too.

Because I didn't know what came after this moment.

Only that I wasn't ready to let it end yet.

For a moment, I didn't notice Aayat.

Not because she wasn't there.

But because everything else had narrowed to Advit's arms around me.

Real.

Warm.

Unbroken.

Two decades collapsed into something I didn't know how to hold.

Then I saw her.

Aayat stood near the doorway.

Still.

Watching. Not intruding. Just present.

Understanding enough to stay silent.

Advit's grip tightened slightly, like he was afraid I'd slip away again.

I didn't move away.

Neither did he.

My hand stayed on his back, steadying him without thinking.

Aayat's eyes met mine briefly.

No questions.

No shock anymore.

Just recognition.

That this moment didn't need to be interrupted.

Advit exhaled shakily against my shoulder.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered.

I closed my eyes for a second.

Then answered simply,

"I'm here."

And for the first time in years, that felt true.

Advit didn't let go immediately.

Even after the silence settled.

Even after the moment stopped shaking.

His arms stayed around me like his body hadn't fully accepted the truth yet, that I was real, that I was here, that I hadn't disappeared again.

Slowly, I placed a hand on his shoulder.

Firm.

Grounding.

"Go home," I said quietly.

He pulled back just enough to look at me.

His eyes were still raw.

Not angry anymore.

Just... exhausted.

I continued, softer this time.

"Change your clothes. Sleep. Eat something."

A faint, almost disbelieving breath left him.

I nodded once toward the blood still marking him.

"And stop standing here like you're going to collapse."

A pause.

Then I added,

"I'll be home in the evening."

That word landed differently.

Home.

Not the house.

Not the arrangement.

Something older.

Something he remembered.

Advit searched my face for a moment, like he was making sure I meant it.

Then he gave a small, tired nod.

Finally, he stepped back.

Not fully gone.

But no longer holding on.

Aayat was still by the doorway.

She didn't speak.

But her eyes followed everything carefully, quiet, steady, understanding that this wasn't ending anything.

Just pausing it.

Advit turned toward the door.

Before he left, he looked back once.

Just once.

And I knew what he wasn't saying.

Don't disappear again.

I gave him a slight nod.

He left.

The door closed softly behind him.

And only then did I realize,

I had been holding my breath too.

like it hadn't recovered from Advit leaving.

Like the air was rearranging itself around what had just been revealed.

The door closed behind Advit.

And this time, the silence felt different.

Not because he was gone.

Because he had finally stopped being a stranger.

Aayat remained near the doorway.

Watching me.

I knew that look.

She wasn't angry because she didn't understand.

She was angry because she understood enough.

"You knew."

I looked at her.

Not surprised.Not confused. Just tired.

"Aayat."

"No."

Her voice was calm.

Which meant she was more upset than if she had raised it.

"You knew all this time."

I didn't answer.

Because there was no point pretending.

She already knew.

She knew Advit.

She knew the history between us was complicated.

She knew there were parts of my family I never spoke about.

But she didn't know this.

Not this.

That my father wasn't gone.

That I had known.

That I had kept it buried.

"How long?"

"Twelve years."

Her expression shifted.

Only slightly.

But enough.

"Twelve."

She repeated it.

Like she needed to hear the number again.

I nodded.

Aayat looked away.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then...

"Do you understand how strange this feels?"

I stayed quiet.

"Not because you didn't tell me every detail of your life."

A pause.

"I know what this marriage is."

There it was.

The reminder. The contract. The boundary. She continued.

"I am not expecting you to suddenly start sharing everything with me."

Her eyes met mine.

"But this?"

A beat.

"This was different."

I looked down.

Because I knew.

"You knew Advit was searching for answers."

I didn't deny it.

"You knew what he was walking into."

Another pause.

"And you still let him find out this way."

The accusation wasn't cruel.

That almost made it worse.

"I thought I was protecting him."

Aayat's eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Advit?"

I nodded.

"Everyone."

She gave a small, humorless smile.

"There it is."

"What?"

"You always say that."

I frowned.

"Say what?"

"That you are protecting people."

A pause.

"But somehow you're always the one deciding what everyone else can handle."

I looked away.

Because again...

she wasn't wrong.

Aayat sighed.

"I know why you did it."

That made me look back.

She continued before I could misunderstand.

"I know what your father did."

Her voice became quieter.

"I know what your mother meant to you."

A pause.

"And I know Advit."

That last part mattered.

Because she wasn't talking about some stranger.

She knew the person who had walked through that door.

The person who had spent years carrying pain he couldn't name.

"I saw his face, Mihir."

Silence.

"When he looked at you..."

She stopped.

Then shook her head slightly.

"He wasn't looking at someone he hated."

I said nothing.

Because I knew.

"He was looking at his brother."

The word stayed there.

Brother.

Not responsibility. Not obligation. Not guilt.

Just brother.

Aayat looked at me.

"And maybe that's what you were afraid of."

I frowned.

"Afraid of what?"

"That he would still choose you."

The answer was so unexpected that I didn't respond.

Aayat looked away.

"Because then you would have to accept that maybe you weren't carrying this alone."

The room went quiet.

I hated that she could say things like that.

Not because they were wrong.

Because they were close.

Too close.

After a moment, she picked up her phone.

"I am not going to ask you why you did it."

I looked at her.

"You aren't?"

"No."

A pause.

"Because I think I know."

That surprised me.

Then she added,

"But I am going to ask you something else."

"What?"

Her eyes met mine.

"Now that Advit knows..."

"What are you going to do?"

For years, I had imagined this moment.

Not this exact one.

Not Advit standing in front of me.

Not him looking at me like he had finally found something he had lost.

But the ending.

I had imagined the ending.

My silence stretched too long.

Aayat noticed.

Of course she did.

"Mihir."

I looked at her.

And for once, I didn't give her the answer she expected.

"I was going to kill him."

The room went completely still.

Aayat's expression changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Because she knew me.

Enough to know when I wasn't making a statement.

Enough to know when I was saying something I had carried for too long.

"What?"

My gaze moved toward the window.

The rain blurred everything outside.

"I found him twelve years ago."

My voice stayed calm.

Too calm.

"I thought that would be the day it ended."

A pause.

"I thought I would finally do what everyone else failed to do."

Aayat didn't speak.

"I thought if there was no justice..."

I swallowed.

"Then I would become it."

The words sounded ugly.

Because they were.

"I had already planned it."

Silence.

"Every detail."

Aayat's face tightened slightly.

"Mihir."

I looked back at her.

"I didn't."

A pause.

"Because I realized something."

"What?"

I looked down at my hands.

"The worst punishment wasn't him dying."

The rain continued.

"He wanted everything to end."

My jaw tightened.

"Death would've given him that."

Aayat stayed quiet.

Listening.

"I wanted him to live with what he did."

A pause.

"To wake up every day knowing what he took."

Then I looked at her.

"And if one day Advit finds him..."

I exhaled.

"If Advit decides he can't forgive him..."

My voice lowered.

"I won't stop him."

Aayat stared at me.

Not shocked by the anger.

She knew it existed.

What surprised her was something else.

The acceptance.

"You would let him?"

I nodded once.

"Yes."

A pause.

"Because Advit lost more than I did."

That changed something in her expression.

Not agreement.

Not approval.

Just understanding.

"He was two months old."

The words came quietly.

"He doesn't have memories of her."

Aayat looked down.

"He only has the pain."

I continued.

"And I had her."

A silence.

"I remember her voice."

A pause.

"I remember her smile."

My throat tightened slightly.

"He doesn't have any of that."

Aayat didn't interrupt.

"And for twenty years, he had nothing."

The room felt smaller.

"So if one day he decides he wants an answer..."

I looked away.

"I won't take that from him too."

Aayat was silent for a long time.

Then...

"You really believe you deserve that?"

The question caught me off guard.

I looked at her.

She wasn't asking about my father.

She was asking about me.

I didn't answer.

Because maybe I did.

Maybe somewhere along the way, punishment had stopped being about him.

And started being about me.

Aayat watched me carefully.

Then said quietly,

"You know what's strange?"

"What?"

"You talk about letting Advit choose."

A pause.

"But you never let yourself choose anything except guilt."

I looked away.

She didn't push further.

Because this wasn't a conversation between two people who knew how to comfort each other.

Not yet.

We were still two people bound by paper.

Still learning where the boundaries were.

Still pretending the boundaries mattered.

The room stayed silent.

Aayat looked at me for a long moment.

Not with anger this time.

With calculation.

She was putting pieces together.

Not about Advit.

About me.

"This was never a normal relationship where we promised each other every part of ourselves."

I stayed quiet.

Because she was right.

There was a contract.

An arrangement.

A reason behind every decision we had made.

Aayat looked toward the door where Advit had left.

"But Advit is different."

I looked at her.

"He's not some secret from your past that only affected you."

A pause.

"He is someone I know."

Her expression tightened slightly.

"Someone who walked into that room carrying twenty years of pain."

The guilt returned before I could stop it.

"I thought I could handle it."

Aayat gave a small, humorless laugh.

"There it is."

I frowned.

"What?"

"You always say that."

The rain continued against the glass.

"You always think if you carry something alone, nobody else has to suffer."

I looked away.

"That was the point."

"No."

Her answer came immediately.

And somehow, that was worse.

"You convinced yourself it was the point."

I looked back at her.

Aayat didn't look away.

"You made a choice for Advit."

A pause.

"You made a choice for me."

Another.

"And you never stopped to think whether either of us would have chosen differently."

The words stayed between us.

Because I had no answer.

Not one that didn't sound like an excuse.

"I was trying to protect him."

Aayat's expression changed slightly.

"I know."

That surprised me.

She continued.

"I'm not saying you did it because you wanted to hurt him."

A pause.

"But intentions don't erase consequences."

Silence.

For once, I didn't argue.

Because she wasn't attacking me.

She was simply stating what I had spent years avoiding.

Aayat's office was quieter than usual.

Not empty.

Just controlled.

The kind of quiet that belonged to people who worked too much and said too little.

Aayat closed the file in front of her and leaned back in her chair, rolling her shoulders slightly.

"Done," she said.

I looked at her.

"You've been saying that for the last hour."

She didn't look impressed.

"I was finishing things properly."

I nodded once.

"Still sounds like done."

Aayat shot me a glance.

"Are you here to comment or to leave?"

I stood from the chair near the window.

"I'm here to leave."

She picked up another file out of habit, then stopped halfway, realising she was actually done.

That small pause didn't go unnoticed.

"You're not going back to work?" I asked.

"I am," she said.

A beat.

"Tomorrow."

I nodded slightly.

The office outside was slowly emptying. Footsteps in the corridor. Lights being switched off in other rooms.

Normal end-of-day rhythm.

Aayat grabbed her bag.

"Driver's waiting downstairs," she said.

"I know."

She moved toward the door.

I didn't move immediately.

That made her pause.

Aayat turned slightly.

"What?"

I looked at her.

"You're not leaving alone."

Her expression shifted.

Not surprised.

Just mildly resistant.

"I'm not leaving alone. The driver..."

"I mean with me."

Silence.

She studied me for a second.

"You're going home separately."

"I'm not."

That made her turn fully now.

"Mihir."

I adjusted my watch, unbothered.

"You're done for the day."

Aayat frowned slightly.

"That's not the point."

"I think it is."

She exhaled once, like she was trying not to turn this into an argument.

"We don't need to go together every time I leave work."

I met her gaze.

"I didn't say every time."

A pause.

"I said today."

That softened the argument slightly, but not fully.

Aayat crossed her arms.

"Why?"

I looked at her for a moment.

Then answered simply.

"Because you're tired."

Her expression paused.

Then she gave a short, almost dry laugh.

"I'm always tired."

"I know."

A beat.

"That's not a new condition."

Aayat tilted her head slightly.

"So this is sympathy?"

"No."

That made her pause again.

I corrected myself slightly.

"Not only that."

The honesty hung there for a second.

Aayat studied me carefully now, like she was deciding whether to challenge it or let it pass.

Then she sighed.

"This is unnecessary."

"Probably."

"Then why are you insisting?"

I picked up my coat.

Because saying I don't like you going alone when you're exhausted felt too direct.

So I didn't say that.

Instead...

"Because I'm already here."

Aayat blinked once.

That wasn't an answer she could easily argue with.

She looked away briefly, adjusting her bag strap.

"This is not part of the contract, you know."

I almost smiled.

"I'm aware."

Another pause.

She walked past me toward the door.

"Fine," she said finally.

A beat.

"But I'm not sitting quietly the whole way."

I opened the door for her.

"I wouldn't expect that."

She walked out first.

Then stopped just outside the office, glancing back.

"You're getting used to this."

I followed her out.

"Used to what?"

Aayat started walking toward the elevator.

"Coming with me."

I matched her pace.

I thought about it.

Then replied,

"Maybe you're just less difficult to leave behind than before."

She glanced at me.

That look again.

Half disbelief.

Half something she didn't name.

"Careful," she said.

"About what?"

"If you keep saying things like that, I'll start thinking this marriage is improving."

I looked at her.

A pause.

"It is."

The elevator arrived.

The doors opened.

We stepped in together.

And for once, neither of us corrected what that meant.

Aayat pressed the elevator button and stepped inside first.

I followed her in.

The doors slid shut with a soft chime.

For a moment, there was only the low hum of the elevator moving downward and the faint reflection of both of us in the mirrored surface.

Aayat stood slightly ahead, facing forward, one hand loosely holding her bag strap.

Her hair had come slightly undone from the day. Not messy. Just softer than it had been in the morning. A few strands fell near her cheek, moving slightly whenever she shifted her weight.

She didn't notice.

Or maybe she did and didn't care.

I found myself watching her without meaning to.

The way she tilted her head slightly when she was thinking.

The calm focus she carried even when she wasn't speaking.

The way her eyes stayed steady, like she was always a step ahead of whatever she was dealing with.

It wasn't something new.

Just something I had started noticing more often lately.

Aayat adjusted her grip on the strap and exhaled quietly, rolling her shoulder once as if trying to release the last of the day from her body.

The movement was small.

But for some reason, it stayed with me longer than it should have.

She turned her head slightly, catching my gaze for a brief second.

"What?"

I hadn't realized I was staring.

"Nothing," I said.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction.

"That sounded suspicious."

I looked away first.

"It wasn't."

Aayat didn't push it further.

She never really did, not when she decided something wasn't worth arguing over.

The elevator continued its descent.

Floor numbers changed softly above the doors.

I glanced at her again, briefly.

She was looking forward now, expression neutral, but not closed off. Just... present.

And for some reason, the silence between us didn't feel like distance.

It felt like space.

Not empty.

Just shared.

The elevator slowed.

Aayat straightened slightly as it approached the ground floor.

Without thinking, I shifted a little closer to her side—not touching, just there.

She noticed.

She always noticed.

But she didn't comment.

The doors opened.

Light from the lobby spilled in.

We stepped out together.

She tucked one side behind her ear without thinking.

That small gesture caught my attention more than it should have.

We reached the car.

The driver opened the door as soon as he saw us.

Aayat stepped in first.

I followed after her.

Inside, the city lights blurred past the window as the car pulled out smoothly.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because nothing needed to be said.

Aayat leaned back, gaze resting outside, calm but slightly tired.

I found myself glancing at her again.

Not thinking.

Just noticing.

And this time, she didn't turn to ask what.

She already knew I was looking.

She just didn't interrupt it.

The car had stopped outside our house, engine still running softly.

She had already reached for the door handle when I said something careless, and it turned into a laugh I didn't expect from myself.

Not loud.

Just... brief.

Unfiltered.

It slipped out before I could correct it.

And then she paused.

Aayat didn't move immediately.

She turned her head slowly toward me, like she was checking if she had actually seen it.

"You're laughing," she said.

I straightened slightly.

"I'm not."

That earned me a look.

Not surprised.

Just unconvinced.

Then her gaze shifted, slightly softer now.

To my face.

"...Your dimples," she said, almost like she was thinking out loud.

I blinked once.

"What about them?"

Aayat hesitated for half a second.

Not enough for most people to notice.

Enough for me to.

"They show when you smile," she said simply.

A pause.

Then, a little more casually, like she was trying to make it sound normal...

"It's... nice."

The word landed quietly.

But it didn't feel quiet.

For a moment, I didn't respond.

Not because I didn't know what to say.

But because I did.

And none of it felt appropriate for how simple she was trying to make it sound.

I looked away first, toward the window, clearing my throat slightly.

"...It's nothing."

Aayat had already turned slightly toward the door.

But I caught it.

The smallest shift in her expression.

Not visible to anyone else.

But enough for me to notice.

The way her eyes softened for just a second longer than necessary before she looked away.

Like she hadn't meant to look at me that long.

Like she hadn't meant to feel anything from it at all.

"Don't overthink it," she added, adjusting her bag strap.

Her tone was steady again.

Controlled.

But her fingers lingered on the strap a little too long.

I noticed that too.

And for the first time, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest.

Not embarrassment exactly.

Not discomfort.

Something quieter.

Warm.

I shifted slightly in my seat, looking forward again.

"...You say that like it's easy."

Aayat didn't answer immediately.

She opened the door.

Cool air drifted in.

Then, just before stepping out, she said without turning fully,

"It should be."

And left.

The door closed.

I stayed still for a moment.

My hand resting loosely near my lap.

And then I realised...

my face still felt slightly warm.

Not from the car.

Not from the day.

From something far more inconvenient.

And I didn't move for a few seconds longer than necessary.

The door had already closed behind Aayat.

But I was still sitting in the back seat.

Not moving.

The city outside continued as if nothing had happened.

People walking. Lights shifting. Traffic flowing.

Normal.

I reached for my phone almost automatically.

Unlocked it.

Didn't really think about why.

My thumb hovered for a second.

Then I typed.

"If someone compliments your dimples and you blush, is it normal or something else?"

The screen filled with results.

Romantic psychology.

Social behavior.

Attraction responses.

I stared at it without really reading.

None of it felt relevant.

My thumb moved again before I consciously decided to.

Another search.

Shorter this time.

"Why do people notice dimples when someone smiles"

Still nothing useful.

Just explanations.

Still no answer that fit what had just happened.

I leaned back slightly, exhaling once through my nose.

Then my thumb paused again.

A new thought appeared before I could stop it.

I didn't type it immediately.

That was the problem.

The thoughts came faster than logic.

After a second, I typed:

"If your wife compliments your smile, is it different?"

The word sat there on the screen.

Wife.

I didn't move for a moment.

My grip on the phone tightened slightly.

Then, slowly, I deleted the word "wife."

Replaced it.

"If someone close to you compliments your smile..."

Still didn't feel right.

I stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then locked the phone.

Set it down beside me.

And leaned back against the seat again.

Outside,  house lights were still on in a few windows.

I looked at it without really focusing.

And realised something I didn't want to name yet.

It wasn't the compliment.

It was the fact that it had come from her.

And stayed longer than it should have.

The phone was still in my hand when I heard her voice.

Not from inside the car.

From ahead.

Aayat had already reached the entrance.

She was holding the door open slightly, looking back at me.

"Come inside," she said.

Then, after a pause...

"...or are you planning to sit there and overthink traffic too?"

I blinked once.

Looked at her.

Then at the phone still in my hand.

Locked it.

Put it down.

And got out of the car.

The air outside was cooler than I expected.

She waited until I reached her.

Then turned and walked in first.

The gate opened with a soft metallic click.

A voice came from outside before I even fully stepped in.

"Zyraan Malhotra here."

I stopped.

Aayat, just beside me, slowed as well.

And then I saw him.

Zyraan was leaning casually near the entrance gate, hands in his pockets, like he had been waiting only because it was convenient, not urgent.

When his eyes landed on me, he nodded.

"Mihir."

Simple. Familiar.

Then his gaze shifted.

And his expression changed slightly.

A different kind of softness came in.

"Aayat," he said, and the tone immediately lost its edge.

Aayat looked at him, her face easing almost instantly.

"Zyraan."

No formality. No hesitation.

Zyraan stepped a little closer, not invading space, just enough to bridge familiarity.

"You're looking thinner," he said bluntly.

Aayat frowned.

"I'm not."

"You are," he replied.

Then, after a pause, softer...

"Stop skipping meals."

It didn't sound like advice from an outsider.

It sounded like something he had said before.

Aayat rolled her eyes slightly.

"I don't skip meals."

Zyraan gave her a look.

"You also don't lie well."

That earned the smallest exhale from her, almost a laugh, but controlled.

I watched it silently.

The ease between them wasn't loud.

It was... established.

Zyraan finally turned his attention back to me.

"Don't stand there like a security guard," he said casually. "I'm not here to steal anything."

I frowned slightly.

"You're standing at my gate."

"And you opened it," he replied immediately.

A beat.

Then he added, lighter,

"So technically, you invited me in."

Aayat shook her head slightly.

"This is exactly why people don't trust you," she said.

Zyraan looked at her.

"You trust me."

Aayat didn't even pause.

"I tolerate you."

"That's basically love," he said.

I exhaled once through my nose.

"Are you done?"

Zyraan smiled faintly.

"Almost."

Then, he looked at Aayat again, softer for a moment.

"Take care of yourself, alright?"

Aayat nodded once.

"Same to you."

It was simple.

Nothing dramatic.

But it carried something unspoken between them, maybe months of knowing each other without needing explanation.

Zyraan straightened, then finally looked at me again.

"Alright," he said. "Now I can deal with you."

I stared at him.

"Charming."

He grinned.

"You missed me."

"No."

A beat.

Zyraan walked inside first, still smiling to himself.

Aayat followed, calm as ever.

And I stayed a second longer at the gate...

watching the way she had spoken to him.

We had barely stepped inside when Zyraan stopped near the living room.

He checked his phone once, then looked up at me.

"Your sister called me."

My expression changed immediately.

The air between us tightened, but my voice stayed steady.

"Don't casually take my sister's name."

Zyraan didn't flinch.

"I'm not taking it casually," he said simply. "I'm answering it."

A pause.

Then he added,

"She called to confirm I'm coming tomorrow."

I frowned slightly.

"Coming where."

"Rakshabandhan," he replied.

Silence settled for a second.

Aayat, who had been standing slightly behind, glanced between us but didn't interrupt.

Zyraan continued, tone lighter again.

"She said I don't get to skip it anymore."

A faint, reluctant exhale left him.

"So I'm here."

I stared at him.

"You came to my house for that?"

He shrugged.

"And to tell you directly."

A pause.

"So you don't act surprised tomorrow."

My jaw tightened slightly.

"You could've called."

"I did," he said. "You didn't pick up."

That made me pause for half a second.

Then I said flatly,

"That still doesn't require you to show up at my gate."

Zyraan leaned back casually.

"It's Rakhi," he said. "Feels more appropriate to say it in person."

Aayat finally spoke quietly from the side,

"That actually sounds... considerate."

Zyraan pointed at her lightly.

"See? She understands me."

I shot him a look.

"Don't involve her in this."

He grinned.

"Relax, Mihir."

A pause.

Then, softer but still teasing...

"It's just Rakhi. Not a war."

I didn't respond immediately.

Because it wasn't the Rakhi part that bothered me.

It was the ease with which he said my sister's name.

And the fact that he had been included in something I didn't even remember including him in.

Zyraan watched me for a second.

Then added, a little quieter this time,

"She's fine. I didn't do anything wrong."

I held his gaze.

"I know."

A beat.

Then, more controlled,

"But don't make it a habit to show up uninvited."

Zyraan nodded once.

"Fair."

And just like that, the tension didn't disappear...

but it settled.

Not resolved.

Just contained.

The room was still after Zyraan's words.

Rakhshabandhan.

It sat there quietly between them.

Aayat adjusted her bag strap once, then spoke.

"I'm sorry," she said evenly, "but I won't be able to make it tomorrow. I have a very important meeting."

Her tone was calm.

Practiced.

Controlled.

Zyraan looked at her immediately.

Not surprised.

Not questioning.

Just watching her a second longer than usual.

"Alright," he said simply.

No push. No curiosity. Just acceptance.

Aayat gave a small nod.

"Thank you."

She was already turning slightly away when I noticed it.

what she told.

Years ago, she lost her brother Arush in...

An accident.

Russia.

After that, she had never spoken about Rakhi again.

No family calls.

No celebrations.

Always work.

Always meetings booked on that day like it was routine, not avoidance.

And yet...

the way she said it now was too smooth.

Too prepared.

Not a truth she was offering.

A version she was maintaining.

Zyraan exhaled lightly beside me.

Not a laugh.

Not a sigh.

Just something knowing.

He didn't look at me.

But he didn't need to.

He already understood what I had just realised too.

Aayat didn't wait for either of us to respond.

She simply adjusted her grip on her bag and stepped further inside.

"I'll be upstairs," she said.

And then she was gone down the corridor.

Zyraan finally spoke again, quieter now.

"She's been like that for a long time."

I didn't answer.

Because there was nothing to correct.

Only something to notice.

And this time...

neither of us called her back to change what she had said.

Aayat had already reached the staircase.

Halfway up.

One hand on the railing, the other still holding her bag strap.

She didn't stop immediately when Zyraan spoke.

"Aayat."

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

1. Mihir or Aayat...who is better at pretending they are not affected?

2.Who do you want to hug more right now: Mihir or Advit?

3. Did Advit hugging Mihir heal something in you too or are you emotionally unstable now? 😭

4. If Aayat ever does celebrate Rakhi again, who do you think would be the first person she'd allow into that moment?

5. Which song do YOU think fits this story perfectly?

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

To be continued

Don't forget to VOTE and COMMENT.