⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟒˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
Ritvika carefully arranged the golden tray of snacks and cups on the centre table, her eyes scanning every little detail one last time.
Everything looked perfect — the samosas were crisp, the dhokla fluffy, and the tea was just served piping hot.
She gently handed the first cup to Geetanjali, then to Manisha, and finally to Parul.
“Didi, pijiye. Ritvika na bahut accha khaana banati hai, sach mein.” Manisha said, smiling warmly.
(Sister, do have it. Ritvika really cooks very well, truly.)
Ritvika's smile widened just a bit at the compliment, heart fluttering softly. But Geetanjali’s face barely twitched. Her lips curved into a tight, insincere smile as she accepted the cup.
“Ji, bhabhi… aap bhi pijiye na.” Geetanjali replied, voice dripping with artificial politeness.
(Yes, bhabhi… you too please have it.)
Manisha took a sip, and the moment the tea touched her tongue, her eyes widened. Her entire face scrunched up in a mix of confusion and disgust. Before she could react, she instinctively spat the tea back into the cup and began coughing violently.
“Beta yeh… yeh kya banaya hai?” she asked Ritvika, her voice barely able to contain the shock.
(Child, what… what is this you made?)
Parul looked at Manisha in surprise, brows furrowed. “Kya hua, bhabhi?” she asked, trying to understand.
(What happened?)
Just then, Geetanjali arched a brow dramatically. “Arre bhabhi, kya hua? Aapko chai pasand nahi aayi kya?” she said, lifting her cup and pretending to take a sip.
(Hey Bhabhi, what happened? Did you not like the tea?)
Not even a second later, she too burst into exaggerated coughing, banging her hand on her chest.
“Hai Ram! Kitna namak daal diya ismein!” she shouted, placing the cup back with a bang.
(Oh God! So much salt in this!)
Parul blinked in confusion, taking the cup to sniff and taste, but before she could do so, Geetanjali launched into her theatrics.
“Kuch aata nhi hai kya? Do baar shaadi ho gyi hai abhi bhi kuch nhi aata?” she spat venomously, her gaze locked on Ritvika.
(Don't you know anything? You have been married twice and still you don't know anything?)
Ritvika froze. Her hands trembled. Her lips quivered. The humiliation was piercing, each word like a slap. Her smile vanished, her eyes glossing up as tears welled in them.
“Aisi bahuon ka toh ghar ke khaane se zyada... ghar ka sukoon chala jaata hai.” Geetanjali added with a mocking scoff.
(Such daughters-in-law don’t just ruin food... they ruin the peace of the house.)
“Didi, please…” Parul tried to interrupt, clearly uncomfortable.
“Ritvika ne jaan bujhkar thodi kiya hoga. Chai mein galti ho gayi hogi.” Manisha added, trying to salvage the situation.
(She must’ve made a mistake, not on purpose.)
But Geetanjali held up a hand. “Galtiyan toh tab hoti hain jab samajh ho. Samajh toh ho pehle.”
(Mistakes happen when there's understanding. First she needs to have that.)
Ritvika’s eyes finally gave away. A single tear rolled down her cheek, unnoticed by anyone — or perhaps just ignored. She clenched her saree pallu tightly, swallowing down the lump in her throat.
Just then, a little voice filled the room like sunshine cutting through stormy clouds.
“Daddaaaaaa!”
Tara came running into the living room, her giggles echoing ahead of her. Behind her walked Vidyut, his shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding Tara’s favorite bunny toy.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The air was tense. The energy — cold. His eyes scanned the scene — Ritvika standing like a statue with red-rimmed eyes, Manisha and Parul shifting uncomfortably, and his Bua seated like a queen on her throne, smugness thick in her gaze.
“Kya ho raha hai yahaan?” Vidyut’s voice came, calm but sharp.
(What’s happening here?)
Ritvika wiped her tear quickly and stepped back.
But it was already too late.
Vidyut’s frown deepened as he glanced at the table, the untouched snacks, the scattered glances, and most importantly, Ritvika’s shattered expression.
Tension now had a name: Vidyut Rajvansh
Vidyut stepped forward, holding holding Tara in one arm, and bent respectfully to touch Geetanjali's feet.
Geetanjali gave him a tight-lipped blessing. “Khush raho.” But the moment he straightened, her eyes flicked dramatically toward the tray and then to Ritvika.
((Stay blessed.)
“Tumhare ghar mein kya ho raha hai, Vidyut? Yeh dekho, chai mein namak! Ek baar nahi, do do baar shaadi ke baad bhi tameez nahi aayi.”
(What’s happening in your house, Vidyut? Look at this — salt in tea! Even after being married twice, she hasn’t learnt manners.)
Vidyut’s jaw tensed.
“Bua ji, galti ho sakti hai. Aur Ritvika koi aisi waisi nahi hai jo jaan bujhkar...”
(Bua ji, it could be a mistake. And Ritvika isn’t someone who would do this intentionally...)
“Haan haan, tum toh ab uske paksh mein hi baat karoge. Pehle sehi dekha tha maine — patni ka jadoo chal gaya tum par.” Geetanjali scoffed.
(Yes yes, now you’ll defend her no matter what. I saw it coming — your wife has clearly cast a spell on you.)
Vidyut’s eyes flicked toward Ritvika, who was standing frozen, her head bowed, and her hands clutching the edge of her saree.
His grip on Tara tightened slightly. The little girl, sensing something strange, simply blinked in confusion, her small arms circling her Dadda's neck, not understanding the storm in the room.
Manisha stepped forward nervously, “Didi, bas kijiye, abhi bacchi bhi yahaan hai...”
(Didi, please stop now, the child is also here...)
But Geetanjali wouldn’t stop. “Main toh sirf sach keh rahi hoon. Yeh sab tareeke nahi hote sanskaari ghar ki bahuon ke. Jab pati ghar mein ho, toh aise harkatein...?”
(I’m only speaking the truth. This is not how daughters-in-law of cultured families behave. When the husband is around, this kind of behavior...?)
Just then, Ritvika, unable to bear it anymore — the accusations, the disgusted looks, and the tension building — took a step forward. Her voice was soft. Barely a whisper.
“Maybe... maybe I added salt instead of sugar. M-mujhse galti ho gayi hogi... I... I’m sorry, bua ji.”
(Maybe... maybe I added salt instead of sugar. I might’ve made a mistake... I... I’m sorry, bua ji.)
Silence.
Vidyut froze.
His head snapped toward her, eyes wide in disbelief. She… was taking the blame? His lips parted slightly, shocked.
Geetanjali’s eyes gleamed. This was her moment.
“Dekha? Maana na? Ab bolo Vidyut — ab bhi bachaoge? Yeh sanskaar diye hain iske maa baap neghar ki izzat ko?”
(See? She admitted it. Now say, Vidyut — will you still defend her? Are these the values her family taught her?)
Before Vidyut could say anything, Manisha gently came forward and touched Geetanjali’s shoulder.
“Didi, aap mere saath aaiye.”
(Come, dear, come with me.)
The room fell into silence. Now only three remained.
Vidyut. Tara. Ritvika.
He stood there, his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling heavily, anger burning in his eyes — not for Ritvika, but for what she just had to endure.
?? ?
The door clicked shut behind Vidyut as Ritvika stepped in first, her pace slower than usual. Her fingers gripped the edge of her saree, knuckles pale with tension. Her eyes were cast down, her mind reeling from the humiliation she had silently swallowed moments ago.
Vidyut followed her, jaw clenched, breath shallow. He closed the door and leaned against it for a second before pushing himself forward.
"Did you really put salt in the tea?"
His voice wasn’t loud, but it had that sharp edge — controlled, yet cutting. Ritvika turned around, surprised. She blinked rapidly, then shook her head.
"No. I didn’t. I clearly remember adding sugar. I always double-check everything... I don’t know how it happened..."
She looked up at him, eyes wide with hurt and confusion, but Vidyut wasn’t ready to let it go.
"Then why did you say it was your fault?" he asked, stepping closer. "Why did you let everyone think you were careless?"
She hesitated, looking away again. “Because I didn’t want things to get worse.”
Vidyut’s brows furrowed. “And taking blame for something you didn’t do... that makes it better?”
“I thought if I stayed quiet... it would end there. Bua ji already doesn’t like me. If I argued, it would’ve only added fuel. I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of everyone... especially with Tara there.”
Vidyut exhaled harshly, brushing a hand through his hair. He started pacing.
“You always do this. You let people walk all over you, Ritvika. You stay silent even when you’re right.”
She looked at him, finally letting her pain surface. “Because sometimes peace matters more than being right.”
He stopped mid-step, turning sharply. “But not at the cost of your self-respect.”
Her eyes welled up again, and this time, she didn’t try to hide it.
“I didn’t do it for me,” she said softly. “I did it for.....”
That hit him like a punch to the gut.
She looked down again, voice quieter now. “I didn’t want you to get insulted. I didn’t want Bua ji to say anything more that might hurt you. So if I had to take the blame, I didn’t mind.”
Silence.
Vidyut’s shoulders stiffened. He turned his face away for a second before walking up to her slowly. “That’s not your job, Ritvika. You don’t have to fight my battles by putting yourself in the fire. You’re not a doormat. Don’t reduce yourself like that.”
“I’m not reducing myself,” she whispered. “I’m just... trying to protect what little peace we have.”
He stared at her for a moment. His expression unreadable — a storm brewing quietly behind his eyes.
“Still,” he said after a pause, “you should’ve told me.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let it go. And I didn’t want to create more chaos.”
Vidyut sighed again, rubbing his jaw.
He hated how logical her reasoning was, and yet how unfair it felt to her. He hated that someone had taken advantage of her silence, and she let it happen — all for his sake.
After a long pause, his voice dropped lower, softer.
“You really don’t remember switching sugar with salt?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I remember measuring the sugar. I don’t even keep the salt jar close to the tea items. But... I don’t know. Maybe I slipped.”
Vidyut’s gaze stayed on her, quiet and observing. Something in him itched with suspicion, but he didn’t voice it. Not yet.
Instead, he stepped closer — now just a few inches between them. His voice softened more.
“Ritvika, I’m not angry because of the tea,” he said. “I’m angry because you keep doing this. Taking the blame. Bearing the brunt. Silently.”
Her eyes brimmed again, but this time she didn’t look away.
“Sometimes silence is easier than explanations,” she murmured. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve always had a voice.”
Vidyut’s chest tightened.
“I want you to use yours,” he whispered.
She blinked, startled at his closeness — not just physically, but emotionally. For a moment, his eyes locked with hers, holding a strange tenderness. A soft current pulsed between them.
Then Vidyut looked away, exhaling through his nose.
“Next time something like this happens,” he said, “you tell me. No matter what.”
She nodded softly. “Okay.”
“I mean it, Ritvika. I won’t always be able to protect you... but I want to stand beside you when you protect yourself.”
A small, unsure smile curled her lips. She nodded again. “Okay.”
Vidyut finally sat down on the edge of the bed, raking his hands through his hair. His head felt heavy — not just from the fever, but the weight of everything that just unfolded.
Ritvika moved quietly to the side table, poured him a glass of water and handed it to him.
He accepted it without a word, his fingers brushing hers briefly. A moment lingered — quiet, soft.
?? ?
The house was dipped in the warm golden hues of sunset. The faint aroma of coffee lingered in the air as Vidyut sat on the living room couch, dressed in a casual black T-shirt and joggers, quietly sipping from his mug — the exhaustion of the day slowly melting away.
His eyes were fixed on nothing, lost in thought, when suddenly—
“Daddaaaaa!”
A tiny voice squealed and before he could react, a soft weight dropped into his lap.
“What the—?”
Vidyut jerked slightly, looking down—
A puppy.
A tiny, golden-furred, floppy-eared puppy, now curled in his lap, wagging its tail like it had just won the lottery.
Vidyut’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Tara?! What the hell is this?”
Tara, in her pink frock, grinned like she just solved world peace. She clutched her hands together, bouncing in excitement.
“Big maaaaan! Daddaaa! Ise nayi nayi kla do!!”
(Big man! Dadda! Give him a bath!)
She gazed at the puppy with her sparkling big eyes like it was her long-lost sibling.
“Where did this come from?” Vidyut asked, confused.
But before he could get an answer—
The puppy suddenly jumped out of his lap and took off running.
“Oh hell—”
“Daddaaaaa paklo ushe!!”
(Dadda! Catch him!)
Tara pointed dramatically like a general giving a command, and without thinking, Vidyut stood up and the chase began.
The puppy zig-zagged across the marble floor, dashing beneath the dining table, around the couch, behind the curtains.
Vidyut—THE FEARED VIDYUT RAJVANSH—was now chasing a dog with a serious face, dodging vases and furniture while Tara giggled and ran behind him, her two pigtails bouncing.
“Tara, sambhalke! You’ll fall!”
“Noooo, I catch him!” she screamed with excitement.
The madness continued for a full two minutes until— Tara, while turning swiftly, bumped straight into a stiff cotton saree.
She froze.
It was Geetanjali.
Bua ji.
Her sharp eyes immediately narrowed as she looked down at the panting toddler and then her sharp gaze went to the bouncing puppy that now sat calmly beside Tara wagging its tail.
“Yeh kya hai?” Geetanjali’s voice was cold.
(What is this)
Vidyut stopped mid-step.
Geetanjali’s eyes turned sharper, colder.
“Puppy? Ghar ke andar?! Yehi sanskaar sikhaaye ja rahe hai tumhari beti ko?”
(Puppy? Inside the house?! Are these the values being taught to your daughter?)
Tara clutched the puppy closer, slightly confused.
“Bua ji—” Vidyut began, trying to de-escalate.
But Geetanjali raised a hand. “Do baar shaadi ho chuki hai uski maa ki... ab yeh bhi tumhari tarbiyat mein aisi cheezein seekhegi? Jaanwaron ko godh lena ab ghar ke niyam mein hai?”
(Her mother has been married twice... will she also learn such things in your upbringing? Is adopting animals a household rule now?)
Vidyut’s face darkened.
He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone turned deadly calm.
“Bua ji, bas kijiye.”
Manisha and Parul, standing near the staircase, froze.
Geetanjali blinked, stunned.
“Yeh meri beti hai. Agar usey puppy chahiye, toh usse milega.”
(She is my daughter. If she wants a puppy, she can get it.)
“Par—”
“No.” Vidyut cut her off sharply. “You don’t get to comment on what makes my daughter happy. And yes, she’s a toddler. She deserves joy, love, and animals too, if that makes her smile. This is my house. My daughter. My decision.”
Tara looked up at him, eyes wide and lips pouted.
Vidyut knelt to her level, brushing her cheek softly.
“Princess, do you want to keep this puppy?”
Tara nodded, hugging the puppy tight.
“Haan daddaaa! Yahi wala. Yeh melaa baby hai.”
(Yes, Dadda! This one. He’s my baby.)
Vidyut stood up and announced:
“Then we’re keeping him.”
Geetanjali’s jaw twitched.
But Vidyut didn’t spare her another glance. He gently took Tara in his arms—puppy and all—and turned to walk back.
???????
A cold, sharp silence cloaked the luxurious penthouse, nestled deep in the heart of the city’s elite district. The curtains were drawn, allowing only slivers of amber streetlight to filter in through the sheer blinds, casting elongated shadows on the floor.
In the center of the room, a plush white couch faced a flickering fireplace. Seated upon it were two figures—one young woman, eyes filled with a deadly glint of rage, and a mature, regal-looking lady, her posture calm yet laced with unmissable venom.
The younger girl clenched her jaw, her long fingers digging into the velvet cushion beneath her. Her dark eyes burned with fury.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I’ll handle everything.”
The woman beside her turned her face slightly, a chilling smirk tugging at her deep red lips. She looked every inch the woman who had witnessed destruction — and perhaps delivered some herself.
“I know, dear,” she replied with quiet pride. “But make sure they don’t just suffer — they should be begging for mercy. They should see hell.”
The fire crackled louder, almost as if responding to the rising tension in the room.
The girl leaned forward, her eyes narrowing like a predator about to strike.
“They will mom,” she whispered. “I swear on her name... I will make them pay for what they did to her. They took everything from her, and now—” she chuckled darkly, “Now, I’ll take everything from them.”
The woman nodded, satisfied, her smirk curling into a wicked grin.
The girl stood up slowly, walking toward the window, staring out at the city as the lights flickered far below. She folded her arms, her reflection distorted in the glass.
“Get ready, Vidyut Rajvansh…” she murmured, her voice laced with venom and vengeance, “Your countdown has begun.”
And then, as if on cue, the room echoed with their combined laughter—low, dangerous, and echoing like a storm about to break loose.
A sinister game had just begun.
And the Rajvanshs had no idea.
???????
The mansion was unusually quiet. Tara had finally dozed off after playing for hours with her new puppy.
In the master bedroom, Ritvika was folding clothes neatly, her movements calm, her mind still processing the strange tension from the day. Her saree was slightly loose from a long day, her bangles stacked lightly as they clinked every time her wrist moved.
Vidyut walked in from the balcony, now in a fresh grey t-shirt and joggers. His eyes landed on her — the soft arch of her back as she tucked clothes into the wardrobe, the faint hum of an old song leaving her lips, the flicker of calm in the chaos they’d lived today.
"You're still not done?" he asked, voice relaxed, leaning casually against the doorframe.
Ritvika turned, a bit startled. “Almost. I just thought I’d sort Tara’s clothes too.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
He walked in, stepping closer. “You do realize it’s almost midnight, right?”
She smiled softly, folding the last of the tiny dresses. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. Tara’s wardrobe is my therapy.”
Vidyut chuckled faintly. “I think you need better hobbies, Mrs. Rajvansh.”
Ritvika blushed a little at the way he said that — not mocking, not sarcastic. Just… calm. Soft.
As she turned to place the last item in the drawer, Vidyut stepped behind her and gently took the pile from her hands.
“I’ll do it.”
Ritvika blinked, surprised. “No, I—”
“Shhh. Sit down”
His voice wasn’t commanding — it was caring. And that’s what made her listen. She quietly sat on the edge of the bed, watching him place the baby clothes inside with more gentleness than she expected.
After a few moments, Vidyut sat beside her.
“You’re tired.” He said, looking at her. “You shouldn’t stretch yourself this much.”
Ritvika hesitated before nodding slowly. “I know… but it’s hard to slow down when your mind’s so full.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned slightly and gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear — his fingers grazing her cheek lightly, making her freeze for a second.
“You can talk to me, you know,” he said softly.
Her eyes widened at that. “Talk… about what?”
He shrugged lightly. “Anything. Everything. You don’t always have to carry things alone.”
Ritvika’s lips curved into a small smile, her heart fluttering from the unexpected kindness. A warmth spread through her chest that she wasn’t ready to name yet.
They sat there, quietly for a few seconds. Just breathing.
And then Vidyut reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a chocolate from the bowl there, and unwrapped it.
He held it out toward her. “Peace offering. For surviving my terrifying bua today.”
She giggled softly, taking the chocolate from his fingers. “I think I deserve two.”
He smirked. “Don’t get greedy, Mrs. Rajvansh.”
And for the first time in days, they both shared a light laugh. No tension. No drama. Just two people… finally beginning to find comfort in each other.
?? ??
The sun had just begun to cast its golden glow over the Rajvansh Mansion. The clinking of tea cups, soft murmurs of good morning wishes, and aroma of breakfast filled the air. Ritvika moved through the kitchen with grace, ensuring everything was perfect.
In the living room, most of the family had gathered—Lakshay reading the paper, Gaurav sipping his tea, Manisha and Parul speaking in low voices, Aarush scrolling through his phone, and Hridhaan adjusting Tara’s hair who sat on his lap.
Vidyut leaned against the pillar, watching Ritvika serve tea with a calm smile.
Everything seemed fine—until Geetanjali entered.
The sharp sound of her sandals on the marble made the room pause. Bua ji's eyes scanned the room and then landed on Ritvika.
"Still here?" she muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Ritvika froze momentarily, then continued placing the cup in front of Lakshay.
Geetanjali didn't stop. Her words now sharp, piercing through the peace like a knife. "Kya din aa gaye hain Rajvansh parivaar ke... aisi ladkiyon ko bahu banane lage hain. Do-do shaadi ke baad bhi akal nahi aayi kisi ko."
(What times have come for the Rajvansh family... they have started making such girls their daughters-in-law.)
The room fell silent.
Ritvika lowered her eyes, but her trembling hands were noticed by Vidyut. Before anyone could respond, she added another line, this time dragging Tara into it.
"Aur ye bacchi? Iski parvarish kis tarah se ho rahi hai, sab ke saamne hai. Na sanskaar, na tameez."
(And this girl? The way she is being brought up is in front of everyone. no manners.)
Vidyut’s eyes narrowed.
"That’s enough," he said firmly, walking forward.
Geetanjali raised an eyebrow, taunting. "Haan haan, ab toh biwi ki tarafdari mein maa, pita, sab bhool gaye ho tum."
(Yes, yes, now you have forgotten your mother, father, everything in favor of your wife.)
"Didi, please," Parul stepped forward. "Itna toh mat kahiye."
Manisha joined, "Didi, she is our daughter now. Don't judge her like this."
"Daughter?" Geetanjali scoffed. "Tum logon ne toh isse rani bana diya. Rajvansh gharane ki izzat mitti mein mil gayi."
(You people have made her a queen. The honour of the royal family has been ruined.)
Ritvika stood quietly, her fingers digging into her palms.
Lakshay put down his paper. "That’s not fair, Geetanjali. Ritvika ghar sambhal rahi hai. Aur Tara... she's the light of this house. Don't you dare speak about her like that."
Lakshay added, "We accepted Ritvika with full heart. You should too, or at least respect the peace of this house."
Geetanjali looked around, seeing every face turned against her. Even Aarush looked up, his voice calm but serious, "Bua, you've crossed the line."
Still, she refused to back down. Her face turned red with anger.
"Tum sab log andhe ho gaye ho. And now this girl is teaching all of you to go against me? Against your own blood?"
"Nobody is against you," Hridhaan replied, his tone firm. "But insulting Ritvika bhabhi again and again is not acceptable. She’s earned her place here."
Vidyut walked to Ritvika and stood beside her, his protective aura unmissable.
"She’s my wife," he said, voice low but lethal. "And Tara is my daughter. Say another word against them, and I won’t remain this civil."
Geetanjali looked at him in disbelief. "Vidyut... you’re threatening me for her?"
"I’m not threatening," he said, holding Ritvika’s hand. "I’m warning. Enough is enough."
Ritvika tried to pull her hand back, afraid things were going too far, but Vidyut didn’t let go. She looked down, tears slipping from her eyes silently.
Geetanjali let out a bitter laugh. "Fine. You all win. Main aaj iss ghar se ja rahi hoon. Beizzati ke baad rukne ka koi matlab nahi."
(I am leaving this house today. There is no point in staying after being insulted.)
"Didi, please don't make it dramatic," Manisha tried to stop her.
"Matlab kya bhabhi? Mujhe iss ghar mein koi zarurat nahi. Tum sab log ek dusri aurat ke liye mujhe... mujhe chod rahe ho."
(What do you mean Bhabhi? I am not needed in this house. You all are leaving me for another woman.)
She turned, storming off.
No one followed.
Ritvika stood frozen, overwhelmed, her hand still in Vidyut's.
The atmosphere in the living room was heavy after the storm that had just passed. The early morning sunlight poured in through the curtains, but it did little to brighten the tension lingering in the air.
Geetanjali Bua stood in the middle of the hall, her lips pressed into a thin line, clutching a medium-sized suitcase in one hand.
Her eyes were still sharp with the sting of humiliation.
Everyone was scattered around — Lakshay, Manisha, Gaurav, Parul, Aarush, Hridhaan, Vidyut, and Ritvika — each watching the scene with a mixture of disbelief and unease.
Bua glanced once around the room, then shifted the suitcase’s handle in her grip with an exaggerated finality.
"Main jaa rahi hoon aaj… insult hone ke baad yahan rukne ka koi matlab nahi."
(I’m leaving today… after being insulted, there’s no point staying here.)
Manisha immediately stepped forward, her voice trembling but calm.
"Didi gussa mat kariye"
(Di, don’t be angry.)
But Bua’s eyes didn’t soften. She shook her head, her bangles clinking.
Lakshay, trying to keep peace, spoke in a quiet tone.
"Galat samajh rahi ho tum. Bas baat bigad gayi, lekin iska matlab yeh nahi ki—"
(You’re misunderstanding. Things just got out of hand, but that doesn’t mean—)
Bua cut him off sharply.
"Matlab hota hai, Bhaiya. Aur main jaa rahi hoon. Bas."
(It does mean something, Brother. And I am leaving. That’s final.)
Her words echoed in the room. Ritvika stood near Vidyut, her hands nervously intertwined, unsure whether to say anything. Vidyut’s jaw was still tight from the argument earlier, but he said nothing now — his silence itself a clear sign that he wouldn’t stop her either.
Manisha made one last attempt, stepping closer and placing a hand on Bua’s arm.
"Chaliye, nashta karke jaiye. At least itni jaldi mein mat jaiye."
(At least have breakfast before leaving. Don’t go in such haste.)
Bua stepped back, pulling her arm free.
"Mujhe yahan aur ek minute bhi nahi rukna."
(I don’t want to stay here even for a minute longer.)
Her suitcase wheels rattled on the marble floor as she turned toward the door. Everyone watched her leave without moving to stop her. The only sound in the tense silence was the soft thud of the main door as she stepped out.
And then, just as the heaviness threatened to settle permanently, Aarush leaned casually against the sofa, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Accha hua… subah-subah drama khatam hua. Ab chai shanti se pi sakenge."
(Good… the morning drama is over. Now we can have tea in peace.)
A small, reluctant chuckle escaped Hridhaan, and even Lakshay’s lips twitched for a moment.
Ritvika shook her head in disbelief at Aarush’s audacity, but somewhere deep inside, the tension in her chest loosened.
Vidyut, still standing beside her, allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smile — the kind only she caught.
The tension in the room was still heavy after Geetanjali’s dramatic exit. Ritvika stood near the corner, her head bowed, her hands clutching the edge of her saree. Her breath hitched every few seconds — small, broken hiccups betraying how unsettled she was.
Vidyut’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. He didn’t like the picture — his wife standing there, looking like she had just committed some unspeakable crime.
He stepped forward, the sound of his shoes echoing against the polished floor. Without warning, his hand closed around her arm, firm but not hurting, pulling her just enough so she had no choice but to look at him.
“Now,” his voice was low, steady, but carried that unmissable edge of authority, “we’re going to talk.”
Ritvika’s brows knitted slightly, confusion flashing across her face. She glanced around, noticing that every single pair of eyes in the room was fixed on them.
Vidyut didn’t care. His gaze flicked over her once, sharp and assessing. “First of all,” he began, his tone laced with irritation, “why are you wearing such a heavy saree early in the morning?”
Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to reply but froze when she noticed Lakshay and Manisha trying — and failing — to hide their smirks. Aarush was biting his cheek to keep from laughing outright.
Vidyut’s jaw flexed, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held that unmistakable glint of impatience. “Well? I’m waiting.”
Ritvika swallowed, torn between answering and shrinking under the amused gazes of the entire family.
Ritvika’s voice came out small. “Woh… I thought it would look nice…”
(I thought it would look nice…)
Vidyut arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was holding back a scoff. “Look nice? To whom? We’re at home, not attending a wedding.”
Aarush let out a loud snort, quickly disguising it as a cough. Manisha hid her smile behind her hand, while Hridhaan leaned back in his chair, openly enjoying the scene.
“I… I just felt like—” Ritvika started, her tone hesitant.
“You felt like it?” Vidyut cut her off sharply, his voice still calm but edged with that cold authority. “So from now on, every time you ‘feel like it,’ you’ll torture yourself with fifteen kilos of fabric?”
Lakshay chuckled under his breath, muttering to Gaurav, “Yeh toh shuru ho gaya.”
(Here we go again.)
Ritvika’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting down again. “I didn’t think it was that heavy…” she mumbled.
“Oh, you didn’t think,” Vidyut shot back, his tone flat. “Exactly the problem.”
That earned a round of muffled laughter from the others. Parul was shaking her head, half in disbelief, half in amusement, while Aarush whispered something to Hridhaan, both of them grinning like schoolboys.
Ritvika’s cheeks burned, but a part of her noticed — despite his sharp words, Vidyut’s grip on her arm had loosened. He wasn’t trying to embarrass her beyond this; it was more like… making a point.
Vidyut gave her one last look, as if sealing the conversation. “Next time, wear something you can actually breathe in. Clear?”
Ritvika nodded quickly, still avoiding his eyes.
From the corner, Aarush muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear, “And here I thought the saree was heavy — turns out, it’s the husband who’s heavier.”
That broke whatever restraint the rest of them had, and laughter filled the room, making Ritvika even redder while Vidyut simply rolled his eyes, releasing her arm.
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Thank you for Reading ??