⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
"Shaam tak," Vidyut replied simply.
("By evening.")
Silence fell. Not heavy. Just... silent.
Ritvika lowered her gaze again. That strange hollow feeling in her chest grew heavier. Why did it feel like something was being taken away? She told herself not to overthink. But even then, her heart whispered questions she didn’t have the courage to voice.
She didn't say anything—just continued stirring her now-cold coffee.
And Vidyut? He didn’t look at her.
Not even once.
A soft ache settled between them—the kind of ache that doesn’t scream, but lingers
★
The mansion had returned to its quiet grandeur as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Vidyut had left earlier, his SUV disappearing through the front gates under the dimming sky. Everyone had bid him a simple goodbye, thinking it was just another business trip.
Even Tara had barely reacted, distracted with her toys and her “Mumma’s pallu,” tugging and playing, not realising what the farewell truly meant.
But as night fell… so did the silence.
And with that silence… came the storm.
A shrill cry echoed through the house.
“Daddaaaaaaaaaa!!”
“BIG MANNNNNNNNN!!”
Tara’s wails bounced off every wall, piercing through hearts and nerves alike. She was inconsolable. Her small fists beat against the couch, and her tear-streaked face was red from all the crying.
“Mummaaaa… daddaaaa… big maaaan!” she screamed again, her voice cracking.
Everyone was rushing—Parul tried to feed her chocolate, Lakshay brought toys, Aarush tried making faces, but Tara pushed everything away. She kept crying, looking at the door again and again like she was expecting him to walk in any second.
Manisha’s brows furrowed in worry.
"Ritvika, beta, ek kaam karo—video call karo Vidyut ko."
Ritvika, who was already holding Tara close on her shoulder, nodded. She didn’t say anything—her throat felt tight too. She carried Tara back to their room, rocking her gently, whispering, “Bas baby, Mumma’s here… let’s call Dadda, okay?”
The screen lit up as the call connected.
Vidyut’s face appeared—he looked visibly tired, shirt sleeves rolled up, laptop in front, files spread around—but the moment he saw Tara’s red swollen eyes, his entire posture changed.
"Tara?" his voice was soft, desperate, strained.
"Daddaaaaaa!! Big maaaannn… Daddaaa come!!!” Tara sobbed even harder, trying to climb into the phone, her tiny hands slapping the screen.
Vidyut’s jaw clenched, throat bobbing.
He wished he could just jump out of that phone and hold her.
"I’m here, baby… Dadda’s here… Bas, bas, shh…"
Ritvika tried holding Tara steady, wiping her tears, her own eyes wet.
"Tara… baby, look… Dadda’s right here. See?"
But Tara wasn’t listening. She kept crying, trying to pull him out of the phone, hitting her small fists on the bed.
“Come home! Big maaan… aajaaaooooooo…”
Vidyut blinked hard, unable to stop the burn in his chest.
"I’m missing you too, sweetheart..."
After some time—after much sobbing and soft murmurs—Tara finally began to tire, the hiccups slowing down as she rested her head on Ritvika’s shoulder.
Now only Vidyut and Ritvika remained on the call.
Silence.
Just a look passed between them… something unspoken.
A tension neither of them acknowledged aloud.
An ache neither of them wanted to name.
“Dinner kiya?” Vidyut finally asked, his voice low.
Ritvika nodded slowly.
"Yes"
"Medicine li?"
("Did you take your medicine?")
There was a brief pause. She nodded again.
But in that pause… so much hung between them.
Care. Distance. A strange growing thread that tied and tugged and tested them.
"Main kal fir call karunga," Vidyut whispered.
("I’ll call again tomorrow.")
Ritvika just hummed. And the screen went black.
?? ?
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.
The Rajvansh mansion lawn basked under the soft warmth of the sun.
Birds chirped in the trees, and the air smelled faintly of roses and freshly brewed tea.
Everyone had stepped out to enjoy the pleasant weather — a rare moment of calm in the usually chaotic Rajvansh household.
Manisha, seated comfortably on the swing, smiled at the chatter around her.
Beside her were Parul and Gaurav, lounging on the outdoor sofas with cups of chai.
Aarush was sprawled on the grass, his head resting on a cushion as he scrolled through his phone.
Hridhaan, his usual grumpy self but visibly more relaxed today, was tapping away at his laptop.
Ritvika sat quietly near them with Tara in her lap, trying to keep the little one still as she played with a cloth doll, her tiny feet kicking excitedly.
The conversation flowed lazily, laughter and teasing thrown in here and there — until Manisha suddenly asked,
"Hridhaan, how’s Divya now?"
A slight pause. All eyes shifted to Hridhaan.
He cleared his throat, "She’s good, Badi Mumma."
A trace of shyness crept into his otherwise flat voice — rare for someone like Hridhaan, and that was enough to raise eyebrows and smiles all around.
Divya Sharma had been a name floating in the Rajvansh household for quite a while now.
She was Hridhaan's long-time girlfriend, and the entire family had known about them for the past couple of years.
They had been dating for 2.5 years, and everyone — from Lakshay to Aarush — had already accepted her as one of their own. The only thing delaying their wedding had been Vidyut’s marriage, which was now finally done.
Parul, trying to hide her grin but failing miserably, said softly,
"Umm... now as Vidyut has got married and everything is kind of settled too, I think we should... maybe start thinking about these two as well."
She looked around at the others for agreement.
"Haan haan, bilkul!" Lakshay added enthusiastically, placing down his cup. "It’s time. They’ve waited enough, and so have we."
Aarush chuckled, "Finally! Someone else’s wedding now — I won’t have to be tortured with sangeet practice."
That made everyone laugh.
Gaurav raised a brow at his son, "What do you say, Hridhaan? Ready?"
"Dad, it’s not a business contract," Hridhaan muttered under his breath, ears turning pink.
Parul smiled warmly. "Toh ho gaya decide. Let’s call Divya’s family for dinner. Kal rakh lein? Just us and them — informal and sweet."
Manisha nodded, “Yes, tomorrow’s perfect. I’ll ask the kitchen to plan something light and homely.”
Ritvika, still new to the household's rhythm, stayed quiet, watching them with a soft smile.
The way everyone came together to plan something as simple as a dinner — the teasing, the warmth — it was slowly sinking in: this was how it felt to belong.
Parul supervised the helpers setting up the dinner table in the garden, while Manisha adjusted a centerpiece. Gaurav and Lakshay were inspecting arrangements for parking outside, and Hridhaan—visibly nervous—kept checking his watch every few seconds.
Inside, Ritvika was arranging the dessert table, trying to balance a tray of glass bowls filled with kheer. Dressed simply but elegantly in a soft peach suit, her hair was tied back as usual, and there was a calm focus in her every move.
Just then, her phone buzzed on the counter.
Vidyut.
She quickly wiped her hands and picked it up.
“Hello?” her voice held a softness that had unknowingly settled in over the past few days.
“How’s Tara?” came his voice, calm yet with a hint of urgency.
“She’s good… thodi masti kar rahi hai Aarush ke saath. (She’s playing around with Aarush.)” Ritvika replied, shifting her gaze momentarily toward the garden where Tara was laughing on Aarush’s shoulders.
There was a pause.
“Aur tum?”
His tone was quieter now—almost cautious.
(And you?)
Before Ritvika could respond, a sudden burst of laughter echoed from the hallway, followed by Manisha’s voice calling out instructions.
“What’s going on there?” Vidyut asked sharply, picking up on the background noise.
Ritvika stepped aside, tucking the phone closer to her ear.
“Umm… Divya’s family is coming for dinner today. Preparations ho rahe hain."
(Preparations are on.)
A short pause.
“Divya… as in Hridhaan’s Divya?” Vidyut asked, as if confirming a known fact.
“Haan.” Ritvika answered, keeping her voice even.
There was silence for a second longer than usual. And then—
“Tum kuch mat karna” Vidyut’s voice was firm now, a tone that sat somewhere between warning and care.
(You don’t do anything.)
“Aur Tara ka dhyan rakhna. Zyada bhaag-daud mat karna, Ritvika."
(And take care of Tara. Don’t run around too much.)
Her eyes softened slightly, lips parting like she wanted to say something—maybe argue, maybe ask something—but the words didn’t come out.
“I will call later” he said, and before she could respond, the call disconnected.
Ritvika stood still for a moment, phone still pressed against her ear.
The noise, the laughter, the movement of the house—all faded briefly in that one lingering second.
★
Divya’s family entered with warm smiles and folded hands, their presence instantly brightening the already festive atmosphere.
Divya, dressed in an elegant pastel pink suit, walked in with grace, her eyes scanning for Hridhaan.
She was tall, well-spoken, and carried herself with an effortless charm.
Her parents exchanged pleasantries with Parul and Gaurav, who welcomed them with warmth and pride clearly visible in their eyes.
The house came alive with voices, greetings, laughter, and clinking glasses.
Aarush was cracking jokes, and even Hridhaan—usually the brooding, reserved one—seemed relaxed for once.
Amidst it all, Ritvika stood quietly near the hallway, holding Tara close.
She had draped herself in a simple lavender saree, the soft fabric hugging her figure gently, a small bindi adorning her forehead. She looked beautiful—but no one seemed to notice. Or perhaps they did, but the moment never allowed them to pause and appreciate it.
Everyone was busy. Everyone belonged.
Ritvika’s eyes moved from face to face—smiles exchanged, hugs shared, stories recounted. She stood there like a polite guest in someone else’s home, not sure where to go, not sure if her presence was even required.
Tara wriggled slightly in her arms.
“Mujhe dadu ke paas jaana hai” she whispered, pointing towards Lakshay, who was deep in conversation with Divya’s father, his laughter echoing through the living room.
(I want to go to Grandpa.)
Ritvika gently turned Tara away from the scene.
“Nahi baby, abhi dadu busy hain. (No baby, Grandpa is busy right now.)”
Her voice was calm, but her throat felt tight.
Tara pouted, but Ritvika distracted her with a soft toy from the shelf nearby. She watched silently as the circle of conversations and familial warmth kept revolving—without her.
No one was being unkind. No one was ignoring her on purpose. But sometimes, the absence of invitation could hurt more than outright exclusion.
The evening had softened. Lights twinkled gently in the chandeliers above, and the aroma of snacks floated from the kitchen. Guests were seated with tea, laughter occasionally erupting. Divya’s mother, a woman of elegance and sharp eyes, took a seat beside Manisha, subtly scanning the surroundings.
Her gaze drifted toward the woman standing a little away, holding a child on her hip.
“Woh Vidyut ki wife hai na?” she asked softly, sipping her tea, her tone casual—but with an edge.
(That’s Vidyut’s wife, right?)
Manisha smiled graciously. “yes. Ritvika.”
She didn’t miss the calculating look in the woman’s eyes.
Divya’s mother now eyed Tara, who was clinging slightly to Ritvika’s shoulder.
“And this little one?” she asked innocently, tone dipped in sugar.
Manisha’s smile didn’t waver.
“Tara. meri poti hai. Ritvika aur Vidyut ki beti.”
The woman blinked—surprised. Then chuckled softly, but not kindly.
“Ohh... vaise aap logon mein toh kaafi himmat hai.”
She leaned slightly closer as if sharing a compliment, though the insult beneath was sharp.
“Pehle se vidhwa... aur ek chhoti bacchi ke saath... aur Vidyut ne shaadi kar bhi li.”
Her brows rose, almost in mock admiration.
“Impressive acceptance, I must say. Not everyone is this… open-minded.”
There was a brief pause.
Ritvika, who had accidentally heard the last part while walking past with Tara, froze mid-step. Her chest tightened, her grip on Tara instinctively grew firmer. The sting of those words—masked in politeness—landed exactly where they were meant to.
But before the awkwardness could settle in, Manisha set her teacup down and looked directly at the woman—her voice polite, but sharp like glass.
“Aap sahi keh rahi hain. Himmat sab mein nahi hoti.”
Her eyes didn’t blink.
“Par pyaar, zimmedaari aur insaniyat—yeh sab kuch paison se nahi aate.”
She tilted her head ever so slightly.
The woman looked slightly thrown off by the confidence in Manisha’s words.
Manisha smiled again—graceful, composed—and added one last line with a light nod.
“Aur haan, Tara issi ghar ki beti hai. Dil se.”
Ritvika, from across the hall, lowered her eyes, blinking back something she didn’t want to name.
She wasn’t sure what hurt more—the comment, or the fact that somewhere, deep inside… she’d feared someone would say this one day.
The air had just settled after Manisha’s calm yet firm retort when Divya’s mother spoke again, her voice deceptively casual.
“Achha... toh Vidyut kahan hain? Nazar nahi aa rahe.”
(So… where’s Vidyut? Haven’t seen him around.)
Manisha, still composed, replied, “Business trip par gaya hai."
(He’s gone on a business trip.)
Divya’s mother let out a low laugh, waving her hand dismissively.
“Business trip… ya phir biwi se pareshan ho gaya hoga.”
(Business trip… or maybe he got fed up of his wife.)
She chuckled at her own ‘joke’—but the room didn’t follow.
Silence.
Not a single smile. Not even a fake one. Just an awkward tension slowly crawling through the room.
Across the space, Ritvika, who stood near the pillar with Tara in her arms, froze. She wasn’t supposed to hear it. But she did.
And it hit like a slap.
Her fingers tightened slightly on Tara’s waist. Her ears echoed with just one sentence—
Is he tired of me?
Is that why he left?
Her mind started spinning, chest tightening with every passing second. He calls… yes. But maybe that’s just courtesy. What if he regrets it all?
Before her crumbling thoughts could take over, Divya’s mother sensed the shift in the air. Her laugh choked mid-breath as she looked around and saw the frozen faces.
She fumbled, trying to salvage her image.
“Arey nahi, mera matlab... mazaak tha woh. Aise hota hai na TV shows mein. Tension mat lo, main toh bas...”
(Oh no, I meant it as a joke. You know how it happens in TV serials. Don’t take it seriously, I was just...)
But her voice trailed off.
Right then, Lakshay walked in from the hallway, noticed the tension in the room, and silently made his way to Ritvika.
He gently scooped Tara from her arms, pressing a soft kiss on her cheek.
Then turning to Ritvika, he said in his usual composed tone, “Ritvika, ho... jaa kar baitho wahan. Divya se baat karo.”
(Ritvika, dear… go sit there. Talk to Divya.)
Ritvika, still stunned, blinked and gave a small nod. She walked slowly and sat exactly where Divya had been sitting just moments ago—Divya now busy scrolling through her phone beside her.
Lakshay adjusted Tara in his arms and stepped toward Divya’s father, who was quietly observing everything.
With a small smile, Lakshay said, “Yeh hai humari poti, Tara.”
(She is our granddaughter, Tara.)
The older man’s eyes softened as he glanced at the little girl nestled in Lakshay’s arms.
But Ritvika… she just sat there quietly beside Divya, a thousand thoughts crashing inside her—none of them showing on her face.
Divya looked up from her phone with a smirk, casually eyeing Ritvika's simple saree before flipping her hair.
“Aapki shaadi ko kitna time hua?”
(How long has it been since your marriage?)
“Almost a month” Ritvika replied politely, her voice soft yet firm.
Divya nodded slowly. “Nice… adjusting ho gaya hoga ab tak, right?”
(Nice… you must have adjusted by now, right?)
Before Ritvika could answer, Divya glanced at the child playing a few feet away and wrinkled her nose playfully.
“Waise, ek baat puchu? Tara naam kaun rakhta hai aaj kal?”
(By the way, can I ask something? Who even names a child ‘Tara’ these days?)
Ritvika’s eyes slightly widened, lips parting in surprise.
Divya continued, chuckling. “I mean, kitna purana lagta hai ye naam… Aaj kal toh Zoe, Kyra, Myra, yeh sab trend mein hai. Tara sounds like… daadi amma’s generation!”
Ritvika’s grip on the sofa fabric tightened. Her eyes fell on Tara, still happily wobbling around the center table.
“Har naam ka apna ek ehsaas hota hai. Tara means star… aur voh meri duniya ki chamak hai.”
(Every name has its own emotion. Tara means star… and she’s the brightest light in my world.)
Divya just blinked, unimpressed.
Suddenly, tiny feet padded across the floor.
Tara, with all her might, was holding a glass of juice with both hands. She stumbled forward—towards Ritvika—her tiny mouth smiling wide as if she had achieved a great feat.
“Mummaaa... joos!”
But before anyone could react—the juice slipped.
SPLASH.
Orange liquid spilled straight onto Divya’s pastel designer suit.
A sharp gasp escaped Divya’s mouth.
“Ughhh!! Ye kya kiya issne?!” she screeched, shooting up to her feet.
(What the hell did she do?!)
Her face contorted with pure rage as she looked at the drenched fabric.
And in a split second—she raised her hand, aiming straight at Tara.
“Tum—”
SMACK!
No—not on Tara.
Ritvika’s hand caught hers mid-air.
A loud gasp echoed in the room. All heads turned.
Ritvika stood up, shielding Tara behind her. Her eyes—red with fury.
“Haath neeche karo, Divya.”
(Put your hand down, Divya.)
Everyone rushed in—the entire Rajvansh family now alert and present.
Lakshay stepped forward, shocked. “Kya ho raha hai yahan?”
(What’s going on here?)
Manisha quickly picked Tara up, who had started crying softly, clinging to Ritvika’s saree.
Divya hissed, “Yeh dekho na aunty, yeh bachchi ne mere kapdon ka kya haal kiya hai!”
(Just look what this child did to my outfit!)
Ritvika’s voice cracked but didn’t lose strength.
“Galti hui… bachchi se. Main maafi mangti hoon.”
(It was a mistake… by a child. I apologise.)
She turned to the elders. " Lekin kisi ko haq nahi banta ki voh meri beti par haath uthaye.”
( But no one has the right to raise a hand on my daughter.)
There was a long, tense pause.
Everyone expected Divya to at least acknowledge her overreaction.
But she didn’t.
She simply rolled her eyes, muttering, “poora outfit kharab kr diya”
( ruined the whole outfit.)
She walked away to clean up, leaving the family stunned in silence.
Ritvika gently pulled Tara back into her arms, whispering soft nothings in her ear, hiding the storm churning inside her.
Hridhaan slowly followed Divya, who had angrily walked out into the corridor after the living room chaos. Her face was red with frustration, and she was brushing off invisible stains from her designer suit, mumbling to herself.
“Divya,” Hridhaan called out gently, his voice firm yet calm.
She turned sharply, arms crossed. “Kya hai Hridhaan? Tumne dekha nahi kya hua?”
(What is it, Hridhaan? Didn’t you see what just happened?)
“I saw. But she’s a little child… she didn’t do it intentionally".
Divya scoffed and looked away. “A child? Do you even know how expensive my outfit was? That juice completely ruined my impression."
“Tumhare kapde baad mein dhul jayenge... lekin agar tumne uspar haath uthaya hota toh... Divya, that wouldn’t have been okay.”
Her eyes watered instantly. And just like that, she slipped into drama mode.
“So now I’m wrong? She’s more important than me now? You used to understand me, support me in everything, and now... now I’m just a guest in this house?"
Hridhaan frowned, taken aback.
“Divya, tum jaanti ho aisa nahi hai.”
She wiped her fake tears quickly, as if trying to hide her emotional manipulation behind a veil of sincerity.
“Nahi Hridhaan, tum badal gaye ho. Tum Ritvika bhabhi aur unki beti ke saath zyada comfortable ho... tum mujhe ignore kar rahe ho.”
(No Hridhaan, you’ve changed. You’re more comfortable with Ritvika and her daughter… you’re ignoring me.)
He looked at her, conflicted. This wasn’t what he expected. He came to talk sense, but now he stood caught in a whirlwind of emotional blame.
“Divya, please... mujhe sabse zyada chinta yeh thi ki tum Tara par react mat karo. Uske liye sorry. But don’t twist this into something else.”
Divya didn’t respond. She turned her back, shoulders drooped, playing the role of the misunderstood one, hiding her smirk.
???????
Next Morning
The day had started quietly, with sunlight flooding the Mansion in warm golden hues. In her room, Ritvika stood in front of the mirror, draping a soft pastel saree with gentle hands. Her look was elegant and simple, her signature style.
On the bed sat Tara — dressed in a cute floral skirt and a matching pink top, her tiny hands clutching a stuffed bunny.
“Ready, baby?” Ritvika asked softly.
Tara nodded eagerly, “Mumma, office!”
Today, Tara was coming along. After many days of staying home, she'd suddenly become too clingy to leave behind. Vidyut had already appointed a personal driver for Ritvika’s safety during his absence — and today, he was instructed to take them both to the office.
They had breakfast quietly before heading out. Soon, the car pulled up at the main gate of the Rajvansh Corporate building. Ritvika stepped out first, helping Tara down carefully, adjusting her small sling bag on one side.
A few staff members glanced their way, smiling at Tara's bubbly presence — it wasn’t her first time here, but her visits were rare.
As they reached the elevator lobby, Meher appeared, tablet in hand, heels clicking sharply on the floor.
“Good morning, ma’am,” she greeted, her smile tight and practiced. Her eyes immediately landed on Tara.
“Oh… the little one is here today?”
Ritvika smiled politely. “Yes, just for today. She didn’t want to stay home.”
Meher’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Of course. It’s sweet… but a little office environment can be overwhelming for kids, don’t you think?”
Ritvika’s tone remained soft, unfazed. “She won’t be a problem. I’ve made arrangements.”
Tara leaned her head on Ritvika’s shoulder, eyeing Meher curiously.
Something about the reply in that response made Meher’s expression falter for a second.
Trying to recover, she quickly added, “Anyway, sir is out for site visits today, but a few urgent files need to be reviewed. I’ve kept them in your cabin.”
Ritvika gave a light nod. “I’ll go through them.”
Just then, the elevator doors opened. She stepped inside with Tara in her arms, offering a brief smile before the doors closed.
Meher stood outside, her fingers tightening slightly around the tablet.
The sight of Ritvika walking in with a child on her hip, calm and composed — it irked her more than she cared to admit.
???????
The floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of the under-construction towers below. It was a sleek, minimal office — neat, cold, efficient — just like the man sitting in the black leather chair.
Vidyut Rajvansh, dressed in a crisp black shirt, had his sleeves rolled up, fingers pressed against his temple in thought. His laptop was open, a few blueprints spread across the table. But his eyes… they were distant. Unsettled.
A knock interrupted the silence.
“Sir?”
One of his most trusted men entered — discreet, reliable, always silent unless spoken to. In his hand, a brown leather file.
“These are the documents you asked for,” he said, placing the file gently on Vidyut’s desk. “We’re still digging, but as of now, this is all we’ve managed to find... about Ritvika ma’am.”
Vidyut didn’t respond immediately. He glanced at the file, his jaw tightening subtly.
He hadn’t meant to go this far.
He had told himself he wouldn’t interfere in her personal life. He respected her silence, her boundaries. But something about Ritvika — her guarded smile, the way her eyes sometimes dimmed when she thought no one was watching — it had started to gnaw at him.
He hadn’t asked them to cross a line — just find out enough. Enough to understand what shadows she might be carrying… shadows she refused to speak of.
Finally, Vidyut leaned forward, fingers brushing the cover of the file, but not opening it yet.
His voice was quiet. Cold. Controlled.
“Nothing too personal.”
The man nodded. “Understood, sir.”
Vidyut nodded once, a silent dismissal.