Aayat's POV

I stared at my phone for what had to be the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes.

Then I locked it.

Unlocked it again.

Locked it.

This was absurd.

I wasn't sixteen.

I was Aayat Raghuvanshi.

I negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking.

I had walked into boardrooms where people twice my age expected me to fail.

I didn't hesitate.

I decided.

So why was I sitting in a hotel room in Manhattan, arguing with a phone?

I sighed and dropped it onto the bed.

No.

He had called earlier.

He had made sure I'd reached safely.

Asked if I had eaten.

Asked if I was sleeping properly.

...

Twice.

Who even asked those questions?

Mihir.

Apparently.

A small smile threatened to appear.

I pushed it away.

"He was just being polite."

I muttered the words aloud.

The empty room didn't sound convinced.

Neither was I.

My eyes drifted toward the untouched coffee on the table.

The meeting had gone well.

The investors were satisfied.

The presentations had been flawless.

Everything had unfolded exactly as planned.

So why did the success feel...

quiet?

Maybe because there was no one here to look up from a file and ask,

"Everything alright?"

I frowned.

Ridiculous.

I picked my phone up again.

Should I call him?

No.

Why?

To say what?

"Hello, Chief Minister. I completed my meetings successfully."

He already knew I had meetings.

"I ate."

He would probably ask what.

And if I admitted it was only a sandwich...

he'd somehow sound disappointed through the phone.

I blinked.

Since when did I care what he thought about my meals?

I placed the phone face-down again.

Five whole seconds passed.

I picked it back up.

This was becoming embarrassing.

Maybe I just wanted to hear a familiar voice.

Not because I missed him.

No.

That wasn't it.

I simply...

preferred familiar things.

New cities.

Different time zones.

Unknown hotel rooms.

They always felt slightly detached.

A familiar voice made unfamiliar places easier.

That was all.

Perfectly reasonable.

I nodded once to myself.

Satisfied with the explanation.

Then paused.

If it was so reasonable...

why was I still hesitating?

Because he might be busy.

He always was.

Meetings.

Files.

Cabinet discussions.

State matters.

He had enough responsibilities without receiving unnecessary calls from me.

I looked at the clock.

The time difference made everything awkward.

Maybe he was still working.

Maybe he was finally resting.

Maybe...

I stopped myself.

There I was.

Wondering if he had eaten.

If he had slept.

If he had overworked himself.

...

That sounded familiar.

I frowned.

He was rubbing off on me.

That was the only explanation.

My thumb hovered over his contact.

Call.

Cancel.

Call.

Cancel.

"No."

I whispered.

"I'll just send a message."

That was easier.

Less intrusive.

I opened the chat.

Typed.

Finished the meetings.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Did you eat?

Deleted that even faster.

Absolutely not.

He would never let me forget it.

Another sigh escaped me.

"This is impossible."

The room answered with silence.

I stared at the screen.

Then at his name.

Terrible Human👺

Somehow...

seeing just his name made the hotel room feel a little less unfamiliar.

Before I could overthink it again...

my finger moved.

Not toward the message icon.

Toward the camera.

I blinked.

Wait.

No.

I meant to...

The screen changed.

Video Calling...

My eyes widened.

"Oh no."

I nearly pressed end.

Nearly.

But before I could...

The call connected.

And there he was.

Sitting on the edge of our bed back home, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking faintly surprised.

His phone was angled slightly too low, as if he'd answered without checking which button he'd pressed.

For a second...

neither of us spoke.

He looked at the screen.

Then at me.

Then, very calmly,

"...Aayat?"

I forgot every sentence I had rehearsed.

"I..."

Brilliant.

Excellent start.

His expression softened just enough for me to notice.

"I wasn't expecting a video call."

"I wasn't planning one."

The words escaped before I could stop them.

He blinked once.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted.

Barely.

"So..."

I looked away for a second, feeling strangely self-conscious.

"I pressed the wrong button."

A pause.

"I think."

Another pause.

"I was going to send a message."

Silence.

Then...

A quiet laugh.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just warm.

The kind of laugh he almost never let anyone hear.

I stared at him.

"You laughed."

"I did."

"Again."

"Hm."

I narrowed my eyes.

"This possession situation is becoming serious."

That earned another small laugh.

"I'll have it investigated."

I folded my arms.

"You should."

For a moment...

neither of us said anything.

But unlike the silence in the hotel room before...

this one didn't feel empty.

It felt familiar.

Comfortable.

Like somehow, despite an ocean between us...

home had answered the call.

The screen stayed quiet for a moment.

Neither of us seemed in a hurry to end the call.

I adjusted the pillow behind me.

"So..."

I looked at him.

"So?"

"You accidentally video called me."

"I already explained that."

"You blamed the phone."

"I did."

"I don't think the phone is responsible."

"It absolutely is."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"I'll have a word with the manufacturer."

I couldn't help it.

A small laugh escaped.

"Good."

"They should know."

"They should."

The conversation settled again.

Comfortable.

Oddly so.

He glanced at the clock behind me.

"It's late there."

"It is."

"You should sleep."

"I will."

"You said that yesterday."

"I slept."

"For how many hours?"

I looked away.

"That's not important."

"It answers the question."

"I got enough."

"Hm."

That sound again.

The one that clearly meant he didn't believe me.

"You don't believe me."

"I didn't say anything."

"You made the 'hm' sound."

"What 'hm' sound?"

"The doubtful one."

"I have a doubtful one?"

"Yes."

"I wasn't aware."

"You should be."

He looked almost amused.

"I'll keep that in mind."

I folded my arms.

"You won't."

"No."

"I knew it."

He smiled faintly before asking,

"What did you have for dinner?"

I looked at him.

"I thought we already discussed food."

"We did."

"So why are we discussing it again?"

"Because I'm confirming."

I sighed dramatically.

"I had sandwiches, rice and curry."

"From?"

"The hotel restaurant."

"You actually ate."

"I told you I would."

"I know."

There wasn't any suspicion in his voice.

Just... relief.

It was an odd reaction.

I decided not to question it.

Instead, I asked,

"What about you?"

"I ate."

"What?"

He paused.

"...Dinner."

I stared at him.

"Mihir."

"What?"

"That's not an answer."

"It technically is."

"No."

I narrowed my eyes.

"What did you eat?"

He thought for a second.

"Dal."

"And?"

"Roti."

"And?"

"Vegetables."

I nodded once.

"Good."

Now it was his turn to look at me.

"You sound like Naina."

"I sound practical."

His lips twitched.

"I've heard that before."

"You have."

A comfortable silence followed.

I looked at the screen for a moment.

It was strange.

Usually our conversations happened across a dining table.

Or while he read files.

Or between cups of tea.

Seeing him through a screen felt...

different.

Not bad.

Just unfamiliar.

He noticed me looking again.

"What?"

"I was wondering."

"Hm?"

"Do you always sit on that side of the bed?"

He looked behind him before answering.

"I suppose."

"I never noticed."

"You've been busy."

"True."

A pause.

"You're sitting on my side."

He blinked.

"I am?"

"You are."

He looked down as though only now realizing where he was.

"I didn't notice."

"You invaded my territory."

"I'll vacate immediately."

"There'll be legal consequences."

"I'm sure your lawyers are already drafting the notice."

"They're very efficient."

"I've heard."

Another smile.

Small.

Uncomplicated.

Then his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen before turning it face down.

"You can answer."

"It can wait."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"It might be important."

"If it were urgent, they'd call again."

I nodded.

Fair enough.

For a few moments, neither of us spoke.

I found myself looking out of the hotel window.

The city lights stretched endlessly below.

"So..."

I said quietly.

"How's home?"

He was silent for a second.

"The same."

I waited.

Then he added,

"...Quieter."

I smiled a little.

"Well, you don't have to listen to me arguing on the phone calls for a week."

"I suppose not."

"You say that like it's a benefit."

"I haven't decided yet."

"I'll take that as an insult."

"It wasn't intended as one."

"It sounded like one."

"I'll draft an apology."

"I'll have my lawyers review it."

"I expected nothing less."

Another quiet laugh.

I glanced at the clock.

"I should probably sleep."

"You should."

"You should too."

"I will."

I looked at him for another second.

"Goodnight, Mihir."

His expression softened in that calm, unreadable way of his.

"Goodnight, Aayat."

Neither of us ended the call immediately.

For some reason...

we both waited.

As if expecting the other person to disconnect first.

Finally, I reached for the screen.

"Bye."

"Bye."

The call ended.

The room fell silent again.

I placed the phone on the bedside table.

A small breath escaped me.

That had been...

nice.

Unexpectedly nice.

Perhaps it was because I was away from home.

Perhaps because familiar conversations made unfamiliar cities feel less distant.

Or perhaps...

our contract had made strangers surprisingly easy to talk to.

Whatever the reason...

I switched off the lamp with the faintest hint of a smile.

Tomorrow would be another long day.

And for the first time since arriving in Manhattan...

the hotel room didn't feel quite so unfamiliar.

Morning in Manhattan arrived with a pale golden light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my hotel suite.

The city was already awake.

Yellow taxis flowed through the streets below.

People hurried along the sidewalks with coffee in hand.

Everything moved with purpose.

I preferred that.

I stood before the mirror, fastening the cuffs of my ivory blouse before slipping on my charcoal blazer.

My hair was tied into a neat low bun.

Minimal jewellery.

A watch.

Nothing unnecessary.

Today's schedule was straightforward.

9:00 AM – Walker Holdings.

I had reviewed the presentation twice before bed and once again over breakfast.

There was nothing left to prepare.

Only to execute.

—

At precisely 8:45, the car pulled up outside an elegant townhouse tucked away on a quiet Manhattan street.

It was grand without being ostentatious.

White stone.

Tall windows.

Fresh flowers lined the entrance.

The place looked lived in.

Not displayed.

A member of the household staff opened the front door before I reached it.

"Good morning, Mrs. Raghuvanshi."

"Good morning."

Another member of the staff approached with a polite smile.

"Mr. Walker is expecting you. Please come this way."

I followed them through the foyer.

The house was beautiful.

Warm wooden floors.

Fresh lilies arranged throughout the hall.

Large family photographs decorated the walls instead of expensive paintings.

Interesting.

People with this kind of wealth usually showcased success.

The Walkers showcased memories.

I was led into a spacious study overlooking an immaculate garden.

A man in his mid-thirties stood beside the conference table, reviewing a file.

The moment he noticed me, he closed it immediately and walked forward.

"Mrs. Raghuvanshi."

His handshake was confident.

Professional.

"Aiden Walker."

Thirty-four.

Founder and CEO of Walker Holdings.

One of the most influential names in Manhattan's real estate industry.

"It's good to finally meet in person."

"Likewise."

He gestured toward the conference table.

"Please, have a seat."

As we sat, a member of the staff entered.

"Coffee, sir?"

Aiden glanced toward me.

"Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, thank you."

He nodded.

"Two coffees."

Within minutes, steaming cups were placed before us.

No unnecessary small talk followed.

Exactly as I preferred.

Aiden opened the proposal immediately.

"I've followed your developments across Singapore and Dubai."

He turned a page.

"Your execution timelines are... ambitious."

"They're realistic."

He smiled slightly.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

The meeting settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Financial projections.

Construction phases.

Environmental compliance.

Investment risks.

Unlike many executives, Aiden listened more than he spoke.

When he asked questions, they were thoughtful.

Specific.

Nearly forty-five minutes passed before he finally leaned back.

"I have to admit..."

He tapped the proposal lightly.

"This is one of the strongest expansion plans Walker Holdings has reviewed."

"I don't believe in presenting unfinished work."

"I can see that."

He marked a note.

"I'd like to discuss the logistics for the second phase."

"Of course."

I opened the next file.

We had barely begun when the study door opened.

Neither of us looked up immediately.

Then...

"Daddy!"

The tiny voice instantly transformed the room.

A little girl, no older than three, ran inside with determined little steps.

Aiden looked up.

His entire expression softened.

"There you are."

He bent effortlessly, lifting her into his arms before kissing the top of her head.

"I found you."

"You certainly did."

She giggled, wrapping her little arms around his neck.

Only then did I notice the woman walking in behind her.

She looked to be in her early thirties.

Elegant in a soft blue dress.

Her expression remained composed.

Almost serious.

Though there was something unmistakably warm beneath it.

Aiden smiled the moment he saw her.

"I'm sorry."

She folded her arms.

"I told Evara you were in a meeting."

He looked at the little girl nestled comfortably against him.

"I don't think she cared."

"She didn't."

There wasn't the slightest irritation in either of their voices.

Just familiarity.

He turned toward me.

"My apologies, Mrs. Raghuvanshi."

"No apology necessary."

The woman stepped forward.

She extended her hand.

"Hello."

"I'm Dr. Avantika Aiden Walker."

For a brief moment...

I simply looked at her.

Dr. Avantika.

Surely...

Not...

Recognition came almost instantly.

Of course.

Dr. Avantika.

One of India's most respected doctors.

The woman whose research papers were discussed in medical journals across the country.

The doctor behind multiple rural healthcare initiatives.

The recipient of international awards for public health.

I had read about her more than once.

Our foundation had even referenced one of her healthcare models while designing community medical projects.

Somehow...

I had never connected the renowned Dr. Avantika with Aiden Walker.

I shook her hand.

"Aayat Raghuvanshi."

A faint look of recognition crossed her face.

"The Aayat Raghuvanshi?"

I smiled politely.

"I suppose so."

She nodded once.

"I've heard a lot about your work."

"I could say the same."

Aiden looked between us.

"I take it introductions weren't necessary."

Avantika glanced at him.

"You married an American."

"I did."

She looked back at me.

"People usually forget I exist until they hear my name."

I almost smiled.

"I don't think anyone in India's medical community could."

She looked mildly pleased.

Only mildly.

Aiden, however...

looked absurdly proud.

As though I'd complimented him instead.

Avantika noticed immediately.

She sighed.

"Don't start."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was simply appreciating the moment."

"You appreciate my achievements more than I do."

"Someone has to."

She rolled her eyes.

"I live with this."

I watched them quietly.

Interesting.

I'd met powerful couples before.

Most admired each other's success.

Aiden seemed to admire her.

Entirely.

Every glance carried quiet affection.

Every smile reached his eyes.

He looked at her as though she had hung the moon herself.

It wasn't performative.

It wasn't exaggerated.

It was simply...

natural.

Almost instinctive.

And somehow...

watching him remind his wife to eat before leaving for the hospital...

reminded me of someone who had called from India just to ask if I'd had dinner.

The thought arrived unexpectedly.

I pushed it away.

I was here for business.

Nothing else.

"Now," Avantika said, glancing at Aiden and then at me, "I'll leave you two to your empire-building before my husband starts showing off your presentation to me as well."

"I was considering it," Aiden admitted.

"I know you were."

She kissed Evara's forehead, shook her head at her husband with practiced exasperation, and walked toward the door.

Aiden watched her leave with the unmistakable expression of a man completely, hopelessly in love with his wife.

Only after she disappeared from view did he turn back to me.

"So..."

He smiled.

"Where were we?"

150 minutes later...

the final document was signed.

Aiden closed the file with a satisfied nod.

"I think we're done."

"So do I."

I began arranging my papers back into my folder.

"I appreciate your time, Mr. Walker."

"Aiden."

He corrected with an easy smile.

"We've spent over an hour discussing business."

"I think we've earned first names."

I returned the smile politely.

"Thank you... Aiden."

He stood, extending his hand once more.

"It was genuinely a pleasure working with you."

"The feeling is mutual."

Before I could pick up my bag, he spoke again.

"Stay for lunch."

I blinked.

"That's kind of you, but I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't."

"I should head back."

"You've got another meeting?"

"No."

"Then you're staying."

His tone was friendly.

Not forceful.

Simply certain.

"I'll have lunch at the hotel."

A tiny voice interrupted us.

"Eat, Aunty."

I looked down.

Little Evara was looking up at me with complete seriousness.

One tiny hand still clutching her crayons.

I smiled despite myself.

"Next time."

She pouted.

"No."

Aiden chuckled.

"I think that's a direct order."

Before I could answer, another voice joined the conversation.

"I agree with her."

I turned.

Avantika had returned, now carrying her handbag and car keys.

She looked ready to leave for the hospital.

"You should have lunch with us."

"It's really alright."

She walked over with the calm confidence of someone accustomed to people refusing before eventually agreeing.

"It isn't every day we have one of India's most respected businesswomen in our home."

A pause.

"And I don't like guests leaving hungry."

I looked between the husband, the wife...

and the determined three-year-old staring at me.

Declining suddenly felt impossible.

"...Alright."

Aiden smiled.

"I knew we'd convince you."

"You didn't."

He looked at Isla.

"We did."

Evara nodded proudly.

"I did."

—

Lunch was served in a bright dining room overlooking the backyard.

Unlike the formal meeting earlier...

this felt surprisingly relaxed.

The staff moved quietly around us before leaving us alone.

Avantika noticed me looking toward the empty chairs.

"They always disappear once everything is served."

"They're very efficient."

"They've worked with us for years."

Aiden smiled.

"They know we prefer privacy."

I nodded.

That explained it.

Lunch began with easy conversation.

Nothing about contracts.

Nothing about investments.

Avantika asked about my flight.

The weather in Manhattan.

Whether I'd visited the city before.

The conversation flowed naturally.

Somewhere between discussing Indian food in New York and Evara proudly announcing she'd learned the alphabet...

Avantika looked at me thoughtfully.

Avantika smiled as she poured herself another glass of water.

"So..."

"How's married life?"

The question was simple.

Ordinary.

Yet somehow...

my mind answered before I did.

Mihir.

His calm voice.

"Did you eat?"

The way he'd insisted on dropping me to the airport.

The unexpected hug before I left.

The video call last night.

...

Why was I thinking about him?

I blinked once, forcing myself back to the dining table.

"It's..." I searched for a neutral word.

"...going well."

Avantika smiled.

"I've only ever seen the two of you in newspapers."

Aiden nodded.

"The Chief Minister and Asia's biggest businesswoman."

He chuckled lightly.

"People call it a power couple."

I almost smiled.

"If only they knew..."

The thought slipped through my mind before I could stop it.

If only they knew our marriage was built on signatures, conditions, and an expiry date.

No one at this table could know that.

No one could.

Avantika looked at me curiously.

"What is he like at home?"

Again...

my mind answered before logic did.

Quiet.

Patient.

Disciplined.

He leaves for work with three files and comes back with six.

He drinks tea instead of coffee.

He notices when I skip meals.

He remembers things I don't tell him twice.

...

I caught myself.

Why was I listing these things?

I cleared my throat.

"He's... very different from how the media portrays him."

"In what way?" Aiden asked.

I thought for a moment.

"People think he's intimidating."

"He isn't?"

"He can be."

I remembered watching officials become nervous the moment he entered a room.

"He takes his work seriously."

A small pause.

"But at home..."

I stopped.

At home?

What exactly was he at home?

He was...

Considerate.

Respectful.

Never intrusive.

Never demanding.

He had never once made me feel uncomfortable despite sharing a house... and a marriage... that neither of us had chosen for love.

"...he's respectful," I finished quietly.

Avantika smiled.

"That's a good quality."

I nodded.

"It is."

She tilted her head.

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you happy?"

The question lingered in the air.

Happy?

I didn't answer immediately.

Because happiness had never been part of the contract.

Only cooperation.

Mutual respect.

An ending after four more months.

Yet...

without meaning to...

I remembered a quiet breakfast.

His terrible joke about becoming my personal chef.

The way he'd laughed after I accused him of being possessed.

The airport.

His hug.

The call asking whether I'd eaten.

I looked down at my plate.

"...I'm still figuring that out."

It was the most honest answer I could give.

Lunch stretched longer than I had expected.

Not because of business.

Because somewhere between Evara's determined attempts to feed everyone from her own plate and Aiden and Avantika's effortless banter...

time had simply passed.

I stood, picking up my handbag.

"I should leave."

Aiden nodded.

"I won't keep you any longer."

"It was a pleasure meeting both of you."

"The pleasure was ours," Avantika replied warmly.

For a brief moment, I hesitated.

Then I stepped forward and hugged her.

It was brief.

Natural.

She smiled as we pulled apart.

"Take care of yourself, Aayat."

"You too... Doctor."

She laughed softly.

"I told you."

"Avantika."

I corrected myself.

"Better."

I looked toward Isla, who waved enthusiastically from her father's arms.

"Bye, Aunty!"

I smiled.

"Bye, Evara."

Aiden lifted her tiny hand again.

"Wave properly."

She waved with both hands this time.

I couldn't help laughing.

"Goodbye, Aiden."

"Safe drive."

I gave one last nod before walking toward the front entrance.

The staff opened the door.

A cool Manhattan breeze greeted me as I stepped outside.

My car was already waiting near the gate.

I had barely taken a few steps when voices drifted across the driveway.

"...I'm telling you, we can't do that."

I glanced instinctively toward the security post.

Two officers stood a short distance away.

One of them...

I stopped walking.

I knew that face.

Not from India.

Not from business.

Russia.

My mind flashed back instantly.

Cold concrete walls.

Steel doors.

The prison.

He had been one of the officers assigned to my block.

He hadn't spoken much.

But he'd always been respectful.

Unlike many others.

He hadn't noticed me yet.

"...Mrs. Kapoor doesn't understand."

The other officer lowered his voice.

"We can't just shoot him."

My footsteps slowed.

"There are procedures."

"The court proceedings are still ongoing."

"I know it's been twenty-one years..."

"...but rules are rules."

Twenty-one years?

The first officer sighed.

"Try explaining that to Mrs. Shruti Kapoor."

Everything inside me went still.

Shruti...

Kapoor.

The name struck with terrifying precision.

My mother.

The woman who had given birth to me.

The woman who had abandoned me after my father's death.

The woman who had looked at a frightened little girl and decided she was no longer worth keeping.

For a second...

I couldn't hear anything else.

Then another sentence reached me.

"...Jailer Number 726."

The number hit just as unexpectedly.

A face surfaced in my memory.

A quiet man.

Kind.

Unusually polite for someone working inside that prison.

His cell...

One entire wall had been covered with scratches.

Not random ones.

Lines.

Notes.

Fragments of melodies.

A roughly carved guitar.

Half-finished lyrics etched into the concrete.

As though music had refused to leave him...

even after everything else had.

I remembered asking one of the guards about it.

"He writes songs," the guard had muttered.

"When they take away paper..."

"...he uses the walls."

At the time, I'd thought it strange.

Now...

hearing that number again...

something felt horribly wrong.

Why were they talking about him?

And why...

why was Shruti Kapoor name connected to it?

I remained perfectly still behind the stone pillar near the gate.

Neither officer had noticed me.

My heartbeat slowed into that dangerous kind of calm that always came before difficult truths.

Something about this conversation...

wasn't a coincidence.

And for the first time in years...

I found myself wanting answers about a past I had spent my entire life trying to bury.

I stayed where I was.

Hidden behind one of the stone pillars bordering the driveway.

The officers hadn't noticed me.

"...Mr. Tej Kapoor keeps calling."

The younger officer rubbed the back of his neck.

"He wants the court to move faster."

The older one sighed.

"As if that's going to change anything."

"The case has been pending for twenty-one years."

"And until the court gives its final order..."

"...nothing happens."

The younger officer lowered his voice.

"But Mrs. Shruti Kapoor isn't willing to wait anymore."

My breath caught.

Tej Kapoor.

For one fleeting second...

my mind tried to reject it.

No.

Kapoor wasn't exactly an uncommon surname.

There could be hundreds of Shruti Kapoors.

Thousands, even.

It didn't have to be...

her.

It couldn't.

Then the older officer spoke again.

"Mr. Tej Kapoor has enough influence to pressure half the system."

"...but even he can't bypass the court."

Every doubt inside me dissolved.

Tej Kapoor.

Shruti Kapoor's husband.

There wasn't another explanation anymore.

It was her.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my handbag.

Why?

Why was she involved?

And more importantly...

who was Jailer Number 726?

The number echoed inside my head.

Russia.

The prison.

His face appeared again.

Quiet eyes.

Measured voice.

The strange kindness he carried despite working in a place that had very little of it.

I remembered the day I'd briefly walked into his cell.

And one wall...

covered in scratches.

At first, I had thought someone had vandalized it.

Then I'd looked closer.

They weren't scratches.

They were musical notes.

Fragments of lyrics.

A guitar carved carefully into the concrete.

As though someone had refused to let music die...

even inside prison walls.

I still remembered asking one of the guards.

"Who did this?"

The guard had shrugged.

"704."

"He writes songs."

"When they take away paper..."

"...he writes on walls."

At the time...

I'd thought it was simply another strange story hidden inside an even stranger prison.

Now...

it didn't feel random anymore.

Twenty-one years.

The same number.

Shruti Kapoor's name.

Tej Kapoor.

None of it fit together.

And yet...

somehow...

it all seemed connected.

My heartbeat became uncomfortably steady.

Twenty-one years ago.

The accident.

I had lost Father.

I had lost my younger brother.

And with them...

I had lost the only family that had ever truly been mine.

A few months later...

Shruti Kapoor had walked out of my life as though I had never belonged in it.

No explanations.

No looking back.

Just...

gone.

Then another memory surfaced.

Russia.

Outside the prison.

I frowned.

I'd seen her there.

I was certain of it.

Only for a moment.

A familiar profile stepping out of a black car near the administrative entrance.

I'd dismissed it then.

Jet lag.

Stress.

My imagination.

After all...

what possible reason could Shruti Kapoor have to visit a Russian prison?

But now...

The memory no longer felt imaginary.

It felt real.

Painfully real.

I looked toward the officers again.

They had already changed the subject.

The conversation was over.

But mine...

had only just begun.

Who was Jailer Number 726?

Why had Mrs. Kapoor been visiting that prison?

Why was Tej Kapoor trying to pressure the court after twenty-one years?

And...

what exactly had happened twenty-one years ago that still hadn't reached its end?

For the first time in years...

I wasn't thinking about balance sheets.

Meetings.

Or billion-dollar negotiations.

I was thinking about a prison.

A man known only as Number 704.

And a past that suddenly refused to stay buried.

I wasn't going to stand there wondering.

I walked toward the officer.

He noticed me immediately and straightened.

"Mrs. Raghuvanshi."

"I need a word."

He nodded respectfully.

"Of course."

I looked him in the eye.

"I want to meet Jailer Number 726."

For the first time, his expression changed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"I can't help you with that."

"Why not?"

"I'm not authorized to disclose any information regarding him."

"I didn't ask for information."

"I asked for a meeting."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

I frowned.

"Not possible... or not permitted?"

He remained silent for a moment.

"Not permitted."

"His case is still before the court."

"Until the proceedings are over..."

"...no one is allowed access."

"Not even me?"

He shook his head politely.

"Not even you, Mrs. Raghuvanshi."

I studied him for a long second.

"You know who he is."

"Yes."

"And you won't tell me."

"I'm sorry."

"It's the law."

With that, he gave a respectful nod and walked away.

I stood there, more confused than before.

Who exactly was Jailer Number 726...

and why was everyone so determined to keep him hidden?

The officer refused.

Fine.

I stepped into my car and immediately called a senior official through one of my international government contacts.

The call connected within seconds.

"Mrs. Raghuvanshi."

"I want a meeting arranged."

"With Prisoner Number 726."

Silence.

Then...

"I'm sorry, ma'am. That cannot be authorized."

"Why?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

I leaned back in my seat.

"I'm not asking for classified files."

"I want thirty minutes."

Another pause.

"Denied."

I exhaled slowly.

"Listen carefully."

"I don't enjoy repeating myself."

"I want that meeting."

"I'm afraid that's impossible."

My voice hardened.

"Impossible... or inconvenient?"

"Mrs. Raghuvanshi..."

"If this requires speaking to your superiors, I'll do that."

"If it requires involving ministries, I'll do that."

"I want the meeting."

The official's tone became noticeably more cautious.

"Ma'am..."

"...he is considered extremely dangerous."

I frowned.

"Dangerous?"

"Yes."

"He is classified as a high-risk prisoner."

"He is not permitted visitors."

"Not even under special circumstances."

I stared out of the window.

"And yet..."

"...I still want to meet him."

"Mrs. Raghuvanshi, I strongly advise against it."

"I wasn't asking for advice."

A long silence followed.

Finally, the official sighed.

"I'll forward your request."

"But I cannot promise approval."

"I don't need promises."

I ended the call.

One thought echoed in my mind.

If everyone was trying this hard to keep me away from Prisoner Number 704...

then meeting him had just become even more important.

......

The call connected.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then...

"Aayat."

Her voice was calm.

Too calm.

"I need answers."

A pause.

"About what?"

I didn't hesitate.

"Jailer Number 726."

Silence.

A very brief one.

But I heard it.

The hesitation.

"I don't know who that is."

I closed my eyes.

"Don't lie to me."

"I am not."

"You know exactly who he is."

"Aayat..."

"Twenty-one years ago."

My voice lowered.

"The accident."

"The deaths."

"Everything that happened after."

Silence.

I continued.

"You know the truth."

Her breathing changed slightly.

A small reaction.

But enough.

"You were connected to him."

"No."

"You saw him in Russia."

"No."

"You were outside that prison."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I tightened my grip on the phone.

She knew.

I was certain.

She knew everything.

But she was choosing silence.

"Why?"

A pause.

"Why are you protecting him?"

"I am not protecting anyone."

"Then tell me."

"I can't."

The answer came quietly.

Not because she didn't know.

Because she did.

"You can't..."

"or you won't?"

No response.

That was my answer.

I let out a slow breath.

"Fine."

"If it's about money..."

"I'll give you half my property."

Another silence.

"I don't want your property."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to stop digging."

The words came out before she could stop them.

And the moment they did...

I froze.

There it was.

The truth hidden inside a denial.

"You know."

She didn't answer.

"You know everything."

"Aayat..."

"No."

My voice became sharper.

"You don't get to disappear for years and then tell me nothing."

"I lost my father."

"I lost my brother."

"I lost my entire family."

"And you..."

"You knew something."

Her voice softened.

"You don't understand."

"Then make me understand."

"I can't."

"Why?"

A long pause.

Finally...

"Because some truths destroy more than they heal."

I stared ahead.

My anger mixed with confusion.

Fear.

"What happened twenty-one years ago, Mrs. Kapoor?"

Silence.

She didn't answer.

Because she knew.

She knew exactly who Jailer Number 726 was.

She knew what happened.

And she was still choosing to protect the secret.

The call ended without a goodbye.

I sat there silently.

More certain than ever of one thing.

Mrs. Kapoor wasn't hiding because she didn't know.

She was hiding because she knew everything.

I had barely returned to the hotel when my laptop notified me.

New emails.

Unknown sender.

I frowned.

The first email contained only a few lines.

Subject: Information regarding Prisoner Number 726

I opened it.

My eyes moved across the screen.

And then stopped.

"Jailer Number 726 is the man responsible for the accident twenty-one years ago."

My fingers went still.

I continued reading.

"He is a dangerous criminal."

"The incident that caused the death of your father and brother in Russia was not an accident."

"It was caused by him."

For a moment...

I couldn't breathe.

My father.

My brother.

Twenty-one years.

The pain I had buried.

The memories I had forced myself not to revisit.

All of it was suddenly connected to one name.

I opened the next email.

Then another.

The same story.

Different words.

The same accusation.

Murderer.

Dangerous.

Responsible.

I stared at the screen.

No.

Something felt wrong.

Because I had met him.

I had seen him.

I remembered the man behind that number.

The quiet one.

The man who spoke politely even when he didn't have to.

The man who spent years carving music into walls because he had nothing else.

The man whose eyes didn't carry cruelty.

They carried exhaustion.

Pain.

Loneliness.

Could that person really have taken away my father?

My brother?

I closed the laptop.

Hard.

"No."

The word escaped quietly.

I didn't know him.

Not truly.

But I knew enough.

Enough to know that the man I saw didn't match the monster they were describing.

People could hide things.

People could pretend.

I knew that better than anyone.

But...

something inside me refused to accept it.

Because when I had looked at Jailer Number  726..

I hadn't felt fear.

I hadn't felt danger.

I had felt...

sadness.

Like he was carrying something far heavier than a prison sentence.

My phone buzzed again.

Another email.

Another warning.

"Do not attempt to contact him."

"He is not who he appears to be."

I stared at those words.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe I was being foolish.

Maybe I was letting one impression override facts.

But then I remembered the wall in his room.

The music.

The lyrics.

The way he had looked at the world like someone who had already lost everything.

And I remembered something else.

The officer's words.

"He is not the man the world believes him to be."

I looked back at the emails.

Someone wanted me to believe he was a monster.

Someone wanted me to stay away.

The question was...

why?

If Jailer Number 726 truly was guilty...

why was everyone so desperate to control the story?

And if he wasn't...

then who had spent twenty-one years making sure no one knew the truth?

I spent hours going through everything.

Every report.

Every statement.

Every piece of evidence.

And the more I read...

the harder it became to deny.

The documents weren't rumors.

They weren't assumptions.

They were official records.

Twenty-one years of investigation.

Twenty-one years of court proceedings.

And every path led back to the same person.

Jailer Number 726.

My hands went still over the file.

The man I had met in Russia...

The quiet prisoner.

The man who wrote music on his walls.

The man who looked broken instead of dangerous.

Could that have all been an act?

A part of me still resisted.

Because memories were powerful.

But facts...

facts were different.

The accident that took my father and my brother wasn't a story.

It wasn't something I could ignore because I had seen another side of him.

I looked at the photographs again.

The reports.

The statements.

Everything I had received.

My chest felt heavy.

"Why?"

The question escaped quietly.

Why did someone who seemed so human do something like that?

Why did he spend twenty-one years behind bars?

Why did Shruti know?

Why was everyone hiding pieces of the same truth?

I closed the file.

For the first time since hearing about him...

I wasn't defending him.

I wasn't trying to find excuses.

Maybe I had been wrong.

Maybe I had judged him based on the few moments I saw.

Maybe the man who appeared kind could still be the person responsible for destroying my family.

That thought hurt.

Because somewhere inside, I had wanted to believe he was innocent.

But the evidence was overwhelming.

I picked up my phone and looked at the message warning me about him.

"He is extremely dangerous."

This time...

I didn't dismiss it.

I didn't argue.

I simply stared at it.

Jailer Number 726.

The man connected to the worst day of my life.

The man whose truth I had been chasing.

I whispered,

"I don't know who you really are."

A pause.

"But if you really did this..."

My eyes lowered.

"...then I need to know why."

Because even if the evidence said he was a murderer...

somewhere deep inside, one question remained.

Why did the man I met feel like someone who had already been punished enough?

I thought I had seen everything.

The reports.

The statements.

The investigation files.

But then another document arrived.

One file.

One piece of evidence.

And somehow...

that one thing broke the last bit of doubt I had left.

It wasn't an accusation.

It wasn't a witness statement.

It was a verified piece of evidence from the original investigation.

Something that directly connected Jailer Number 704 to the accident.

I read it once.

Then again.

My hands slowly tightened around the paper.

No.

This couldn't be wrong.

Not this.

Not after twenty-one years.

My eyes moved back to the names.

My father.

My brother.

The two people I lost.

The two people whose absence shaped my entire life.

And the person responsible...

was the same man I had been trying to understand.

A bitter laugh escaped me.

How ironic.

For a moment, I had looked at him and wondered how someone could mistake kindness for weakness.

I had thought he couldn't be the monster everyone described.

I was wrong.

My anger came before my sadness.

How dare he?

How dare he live all these years knowing what he had done?

How dare he write music?

How dare he look broken?

While I grew up without my father.

Without my brother.

While I carried those losses every single day.

My hands shook slightly as I closed the file.

I needed answers.

Not from officials.

Not from reports.

From him.

I needed to look him in the eyes.

I needed to ask him why.

Why my family?

Why them?

Why did he take away the two people who meant everything to me?

I picked up my phone and called the officer again.

This time, my voice was different.

Not curious.

Not confused.

Controlled anger.

"I want the meeting arranged."

A pause.

"Mrs. Raghuvanshi..."

"No."

I interrupted.

"I don't want another warning."

"I don't want another explanation."

"I want to meet Prisoner Number 726."

The officer remained silent.

"Ma'am, you understand the situation—"

"I understand perfectly."

My grip tightened around the phone.

"I know who he is."

A pause.

"And I need to hear it from him."

"Why he did it."

"Why he took my family away."

The line went quiet.

Finally, he spoke.

"I will forward the request."

I ended the call.

Then I looked once more at the file in front of me.

The name that had haunted my family for twenty-one years.

Jailer Number 726.

This time...

I wasn't going there to understand him.

I wasn't going there to find reasons.

I was going there for answers.

Because before I could forgive someone...

I needed to know why they destroyed everything I had left.

Russia felt colder than I remembered.

Maybe because this time...

I wasn't coming back as a victim.

I was coming back for answers.

The journey was long, but my mind never rested.

Every document.

Every photograph.

Every piece of evidence

Everything kept leading me back to one person.

Jailer Number 726.

The man who had taken my family away.

The man who had lived behind those walls for twenty-one years.

The man I had once looked at and wondered if everyone had misunderstood.

Now...

I wasn't sure anymore.

The prison was exactly as I remembered.

The same walls.

The same silence.

The same heavy air.

The officer led me through the corridors until we stopped.

In front of his cell.

I stood there.

For a few seconds, I didn't move.

Because behind those bars was the person connected to the worst pain of my life.

Then I looked inside.

There he was.

Older.

Tired.

Quiet.

The same man who had once written music on his walls.

The same man who had looked so broken.

And suddenly...

my anger became stronger.

Because how could someone who looked so human do something so cruel?

My fingers tightened.

"Why?"

He didn't move.

I stepped closer.

"Why did you do it?"

Silence.

My voice grew louder.

"Why did you kill my family?"

His eyes remained lowered.

Nothing.

No answer.

That only made my anger burn more.

"Look at me."

Still nothing.

"Twenty-one years."

My voice shook.

"Twenty-one years I lived without them."

"My father."

"My brother."

"Do you have any idea what you took from me?"

His silence felt like an insult.

Like he didn't care.

"Answer me!"

The sound echoed through the corridor.

"WHY?"

Still nothing.

I stared at him.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Anything.

A denial.

An explanation.

An apology.

Something.

But he gave me nothing.

And that hurt more than I expected.

"You won't even defend yourself?"

My eyes filled with anger.

"You won't even tell me why?"

The man behind the bars finally looked up.

For one second...

our eyes met.

And I saw something I didn't expect.

Not guilt.

Not anger.

Pain.

But I pushed the thought away.

No.

I couldn't let myself forget the evidence.

The proof.

The years of suffering.

"You destroyed my life."

My voice became quieter.

"You destroyed my family."

A pause.

"Why?"

He remained silent.

And somehow...

his silence made me angrier than any answer could have.

Because I had crossed countries.

I had fought through every barrier.

I had come here to hear the truth.

And he was choosing not to give it.

I stepped back.

"Fine."

My voice was cold.

"If you won't tell me..."

"I'll find out myself."

I didn't leave.

I couldn't.

Not after coming this far.

Not after carrying this pain for twenty-one years.

I stood in front of his cell, my anger barely under control.

"Answer me."

Nothing.

My jaw tightened.

"Do you hear me?"

He remained silent.

That silence...

that unbearable silence...

made something inside me break.

"Why are you not saying anything?"

My voice echoed through the corridor.

"Is it because you don't care?"

"No."

The word came out sharp.

"You don't get to sit there quietly after destroying my life."

I stepped closer to the bars.

"You took my father away."

"My brother."

"You took away the people who were supposed to be there for me."

My eyes burned.

"And you have the courage to say nothing?"

Still nothing.

I laughed once, but there was no happiness in it.

"Twenty-one years."

"Twenty-one years everyone told me what happened."

"Twenty-one years I lived with questions."

"And now I finally stand in front of the person who has the answers..."

I pointed at him.

"...and you refuse to speak."

His hands remained still.

His eyes lowered.

That made my anger rise even more.

"Look at me."

Slowly...

his eyes lifted.

And somehow that made it worse.

Because he didn't look like a monster.

He looked tired.

Broken.

But I refused to let that change anything.

"Why?"

My voice softened for a second.

"Why did you do it?"

Silence.

I swallowed the emotion building inside me.

"Did you hate them?"

"No answer."

"Did you plan it?"

Nothing.

"Did you even remember their faces?"

The question came out harsher than I intended.

His expression changed slightly.

Barely.

But I noticed.

"You remember."

My voice lowered.

"You remember everything."

For the first time, there was a reaction.

A flicker of pain.

But still no words.

I gripped the edge of the bars.

"I am not leaving."

The statement was calm.

Certain.

"I crossed countries to stand here."

"I waited twenty-one years for this moment."

"So you will answer me."

He looked away.

And that angered me more.

"No."

I shook my head.

"Don't do that."

"Don't hide behind silence."

"Not from me."

"Not after what happened."

The corridor remained quiet.

The officer standing behind me looked uncomfortable.

But I didn't care.

For years, everyone had decided what happened.

Everyone had moved on.

Everyone except me.

I deserved answers.

"You can hate me."

"You can refuse to explain."

"You can stay silent for the rest of your life."

My voice trembled.

"But I will stand here every day if I have to."

"Because I need to know."

I looked straight at him.

"Why did you take my family away?"

For the first time...

his expression changed.

Not anger.

Not guilt.

Something else.

Like those words hurt him.

But still...

he said nothing.

And I stayed.

Because this time, his silence wasn't going to protect him.

Not anymore.

The silence stretched for what felt like hours.

I refused to move.

I refused to look away.

He had hidden behind silence for twenty-one years.

I wasn't going to let him hide from me now.

Then...

finally.

A sound.

His voice.

Quiet.

Rough.

Almost unfamiliar.

"You think I killed your father?"

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

So guys, I've been thinking about rewriting Aiden and Avantika's story. 😝

Most of you probably don't know this, but Broken Alliance isn't actually my first book. My first book was Aiden and Avantika's story. Unfortunately, due to some issues, I had to delete it.

Lately, I've been thinking about bringing it back and writing it again from scratch. It's a Desi × Videshi romance with lots of grumpy banter, slow-burn chemistry, and plenty of chaos between the two. 🤭

Would you guys be interested in reading their story if I rewrite it? Let me know in the comments! 🫶

———

1. If Mihir finds out Aayat flew to Russia alone, how many lectures is she getting?

2. What's one thing you desperately need answered in the next chapter?

3. Who's more stubborn: Aayat chasing answers or 726

refusing to speak?

4. What do you think happened twenty-one years ago that no one is willing to say aloud?

5. Team 'Confess Now' or Team 'Slow Burn'?

Tell me how was the chapter?

DO NOT FORGET TO VOTE AND COMMENT