⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟎 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
DOUBLE UPDATE (1 MILLION)
Ritvika sat on the edge of the bed, her hands tightening around the bedsheet. The silence after Vidyut's departure pressed down on her chest, heavier than when he had been inside the room. Somehow, his absence made everything feel colder... emptier.
Her gaze fell on the medicine box lying—the same one she had pushed aside in anger. A lump formed in her throat. His voice echoed in her head, low and raw: "Please forgive me... forgive me for making your life hell."
Her breath caught, shame prickling her skin. She hadn't expected him to say that, to sound so broken, so genuine. And instead of softening, instead of acknowledging his effort, she had lashed out harder. She had thrown his care back at him, cruel words spilling out before she could stop them.
She pressed her face into her palms. What have I done?
When she looked up again, her eyes lingered on the empty medicine strips.
And then on the new box he had brought—months' worth of medicines.
He had thought of her. He had prepared for her.
He had done it silently, without asking for thanks.
And she had accused him, shouted at him, almost made him feel as though his care was worthless.
Her chest tightened painfully. He thought about my tomorrow when I couldn't even see beyond my anger today.
She leaned back slightly, staring at the closed door. The last image of him wouldn't leave her mind—his shoulders slumped, his gaze lowered, guilt written in every line of his face. He hadn't fought back, hadn't argued, hadn't defended himself. He had simply apologized... and walked out.
Her throat burned. Not because she wanted to run after him, not because she was ready to forgive—but because her own words had crossed a line. She had wounded him deeper than she realized.
Beside her, Tara's soft breathing filled the silence, a fragile sound in the heavy stillness of the room. Ritvika's eyes flickered to her daughter's tiny form, then back to the medicines.
A whisper left her lips, almost inaudible. "Maybe I... went too far."
Her shoulders slumped as guilt pressed heavier and heavier against her chest. She wasn't ready to undo what had been said, not yet. But as she sat there in the emptiness he had left behind, the weight of her words began to gnaw at her more than his actions ever had.
The shrill ring of Ritvika's phone cut through the heavy silence of the room.
She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, almost annoyed at being pulled out of her thoughts.
For a moment, she considered ignoring it.
But when the screen lit up with Roohi's name, she sighed and forced her trembling hand to answer.
She pressed the phone to her ear, steadying her voice before speaking.
"Hello," she murmured, her tone deliberately flat.
On the other end, Roohi's words came in a rush—like a train thundering past the platform.
"Hello Ritu! Don't worry, okay? You didn't get selected yesterday but—listen, listen—I've already found another company, they're taking interviews this week, you can still send your profile, I'll help you prep, don't stress, okay? "
The words tumbled out so quickly that Ritvika had to pull the phone slightly away from her ear. For a second, she simply stared at the wall, her lips parting, her throat tightening. She gathered herself before interrupting softly.
"Roohi... I got the job."
There was a pause. Silence stretched, long and stunned, as if even the phone line had gone still. When Roohi finally spoke again, her voice had shrunk to a whisper, no longer fast but hesitant.
"How? I mean... like... how?"
Ritvika swallowed hard, her fingers twisting in the bedsheet. She drew in a shaky breath, words sticking to her tongue. Should I tell her? Should I just lie?
But guilt pressed down on her chest again, heavy and unrelenting. She couldn't keep this locked inside, not from Roohi.
"I got an email today morning," she said slowly, her voice carrying both relief and unease. "It was... it was about the job. They confirmed it."
Another beat of silence. Roohi waited. And Ritvika, hesitating, let her next words slip out in a whisper.
"And... Vidyut... he... he had a hand in it."
She pressed her eyes shut immediately after saying it, heart hammering.
Just confessing his involvement out loud made everything feel heavier, more complicated.
On the other end, she could almost hear Roohi trying to process, torn between relief for her friend and the new storm this truth had brought along.
"What... do you mean?" Roohi's voice was sharp, incredulous. "Ritu, are you telling me he interfered? That he manipulated this too?"
Ritvika swallowed, her throat dry. "Yes. Yesterday, they rejected me. I didn't even tell him that. But this morning, the email came again—saying I was selected, with a higher package of one and a half lakh and only four working hours. He admitted it, Roohi. He made it happen."
Roohi gasped audibly. "Four hours? One and a half lakh? Ritu, that's... insane! No company does that. He—he really pulled strings for you?"
The disbelief in her friend's voice mirrored Ritvika's own earlier reaction, but hearing it out loud only deepened the weight pressing against her chest.
"Yes," Ritvika murmured, her gaze fixed on the medicine box lying unopened on the bed beside her. "He said it was because my health doesn't allow me to take stress, that I already have Tara That he wanted to make it easier for me."
There was a pause. A long, hesitant pause. When Roohi finally spoke, her voice was quieter, uncertain.
"Ritu... maybe... maybe he isn't all bad."
Ritvika's head jerked up slightly, her brows knitting. "What are you saying?"
"I mean..." Roohi faltered, words tumbling out with hesitation.
"Look, don't misunderstand me. But from what you just told me—it doesn't sound like he's trying to ruin your life this time.
He didn't sabotage you, he... supported you, in his own twisted way.
He arranged things so you'd work less, earn more, and still stay healthy.
Isn't that—" she broke off, exhaling shakily, "isn't that care, in some form? "
Ritvika's lips parted, but no words came. Her throat tightened, her chest heavy.
Almost without realizing, the words slipped out. "And it's not just the job, Roohi."
Roohi stilled on the other end. "What do you mean?"
Ritvika hesitated, then pressed forward, voice trembling with frustration.
"Today, I opened my drawer to take my medicines—and the strips were all empty.
I panicked for a second, wondering how I'd missed restocking them.
But then he came... with this box. A full box, months' worth of the same medicines, neatly packed.
He just handed it to me, like it was nothing. "
Her tone hardened. "When I was about to deny—he said he bought them with my salary. From VR. The twenty days I worked there, that pay... he used it to buy medicines for me."
Roohi inhaled sharply. "What?"
"Yes," Ritvika said bitterly. "I was furious, Roohi.
Who gave him the right to decide what to do with my money?
I told him—if something happens to me before those three or four months, then both the medicines and the money will go to waste.
I said he should have given it to me, I would have at least saved it for Tara.
" Her voice cracked, but the anger remained hot in her words.
"Instead, he made a choice for me. Like he always does.
Without asking. Without even thinking that maybe I don't want his interference. "
Silence lingered on the line, heavy and thoughtful, before Roohi finally spoke.
"Ritu..." her voice was low, cautious. "I understand why you were furious.
You're right—he shouldn't spend your money without telling you.
But... think about it once from another angle.
You've never accepted his money, you've drawn that boundary so clearly.
Maybe this was his way of finding a loophole—your salary was yours, but he knew you wouldn't spend it on yourself.
So he did. On something that matters—your health. "
Ritvika's fingers twisted in the bedsheet, her anger colliding with an unwelcome sting of guilt.
"I'm not defending him blindly," Roohi added quickly. "I know how much he's hurt you before. I know how scared you were after those incidents. But maybe this... this wasn't cruelty. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was him trying to care in the only way he knows how."
"Roohi..." Ritvika whispered, her chest tightening further, the fury she had felt earlier now tangled with confusion.
"I'm just saying," Roohi went on, firmer now. "Don't torture yourself thinking only of the worst. You've told me about the pineapple incident, about the stairs, about how unsafe you felt. I know those things hurt, and I'm not dismissing them. But can you tell me one thing, Ritu?"
Her voice softened, almost pleading.
"Before all that—before the accidents, before the fights—how was he with you? What was he like then? Because I only know the pieces you shared. And right now... I need to know the rest too."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Ritvika sat frozen on the edge of her bed, her fingers curling tighter into the fabric, her mind spinning with fragments of moments she had locked away.
Ritvika drew in a shaky breath, her voice low. "He was... rude at first," she admitted, eyes downcast as if the memory still pricked.
Roohi let out a small huff. "Yup, of course he would be.
Don't take me wrong, Ritu, but just think about it.
You were his replaced bride. He was supposed to marry your sister, and suddenly it was you.
And not just that—you're a single mother.
I don't mean that in a bad way, but put yourself in his shoes.
Anyone would be... frustrated, at least in the beginning. "
Ritvika's lips curved in a faint, reluctant agreement.
"Yes... that's true." She paused, her voice softening as she continued.
"He was rude first, but you know... when he found out about my heart condition, everything changed.
He started to care. Care for me. He—he even shifted our room downstairs because the doctor said I shouldn't use the stairs too much.
From buying medicines to taking me to doctor's appointments.
.. everything, Roohi. He took care of it all. "
Her throat tightened as guilt seeped into her words. "And I feel so bad for lashing out on him today. Just... because of those medicines. The truth is, he spent so much on me—on my health, my medicines. And I—" her voice cracked, "I just lashed out because he used my salary for it."
Roohi's tone is firm but gentle. "Ritu, just listen to yourself.
You weren't accepting his money, right? Then what was he supposed to do?
He didn't want you to skip the treatment, so he found a way around it.
Maybe it wasn't ideal, but it wasn't cruel either.
It was him trying, in his own stubborn way. "
Ritvika's eyes welled up, her voice barely audible. "I... I know."
"Ritu, when you told me about those two incidents—the pineapple, the stairs—you never told me this side," Roohi said softly, her words carrying both hurt and relief. "You should have told me."
"I'm sorry," Ritvika muttered, guilt thick in her chest.
Roohi exhaled softly, a small, reassuring smile playing on her lips. "Well... now let's not think too much. Take care of your health first. And the plus side is—you'll only work four hours, right? No extra stress. Isn't that great?" She said, her tone bright, trying to lift Ritvika's mood.
Ritvika let out a faint breath, the tightness in her chest easing just slightly.
"Yeah... I suppose," she murmured, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.
She couldn't help but think of all the chaos and tension of the past few days—the job confusion, Vidyut's interventions, and the lingering guilt about lashing out at him.
Roohi's voice softened, gentle but insistent. "Ritu, listen to me. Don't let this weigh you down. Four hours of work, proper salary, and your health prioritized... it's the perfect balance. You'll manage, I know you will."
Ritvika nodded slowly, gripping the phone a little tighter. "I'll... try," she whispered.
There was a brief pause, the kind that comes when both sides are simply listening to one another. Then Roohi added, "And, well...mum wants to talk to you, you know, just to catch up. Nothing stressful. Just... normal conversation."
Ritvika blinked, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Okay... sure," she said softly.
"Hello, Ritvika beta," came the warm, gentle voice of Roohi's mother. "Roohi told me everything, and I just wanted to hear from you... see how you are doing."
"I'm... managing, aunty," Ritvika replied, her tone steady but tinged with fatigue.
For a few minutes, the conversation drifted into lighter topics—the mundane updates about daily life, little stories about mutual friends, and even a few jokes that made Ritvika's lips curl into a genuine smile for the first time that morning.
She could feel the tight knot of anxiety in her chest loosening as she spoke.
Then, after a comfortable silence, Roohi's mother's tone shifted, soft but purposeful.
"Ritvika, I wanted to ask... and this is just a thought.
.. Tara will soon be three years old, right?
With your new job schedule, maybe it's a good time to think about her school admission.
She'll be in a safe environment, learning, and you can focus on work without constantly worrying. "
Ritvika's mind briefly flickered to Tara, her little face, her endless curiosity, and the thought of leaving her in someone else's care. A small pang of guilt surfaced, but she swallowed it, realizing it was the practical choice. "Yes... that's true," she said softly.
Roohi's mother's voice, warm and encouraging, filled the quiet.
"I know it's a lot, beta. But you're strong.
And you have a good support system. Vidyut's decisions may have surprised you, but the four-hour schedule, the salary—it's all meant to give you room to breathe.
Focus on health first, everything else will fall into place. "
Ritvika exhaled, leaning back against her bed, closing her eyes for a moment. The tension of the last few days—the anger, the fear, the stress—felt slightly more distant. She could almost imagine a rhythm settling back into her life: work, care for Tara, and finally, a little space for herself.
Roohi's mother added gently, almost coaxing, "And don't forget, beta... it's okay to accept help. You don't have to carry everything on your own. Sometimes, letting someone take care of things is not a weakness—it's a strength."
Ritvika's eyes softened, a warmth creeping in. "I... I understand," she murmured.
For the next few minutes, they spoke in this gentle rhythm, the words on the line threading a soft cocoon around Ritvika's anxieties.
She felt lighter with every sentence, more capable of facing what lay ahead.
The conversation ended with laughter, with reassurance, and with a renewed sense that even in chaos, there was a way to balance life, health, work, and love.
When she finally hung up, Ritvika sat there quietly for a long moment, looking at her phone. The conversation had left her calm but reflective. She realized that while her life was far from perfect, there were people—Roohi, her mother, even Vidyut in his own complicated way—who had her back.
It was night, the house silent except for the faint hum of the AC. Ritvika sat on the bed with Tara nestled comfortably in her lap. The little girl was finishing her milk, her tiny lips pursed around the edge of the glass as if she was drinking the most important thing in the world.
When the last sip was gone, Tara carefully pulled the glass away and handed it to her mother with both hands. Her little voice rang out, full of pride. "Mumma, finish."
Ritvika's lips softened into a smile. She set the glass aside and kissed Tara's forehead. "Good job, my baby. You finished it all."
Tara giggled and rested her head against Ritvika's chest, the rhythm of her mother's heartbeat soothing her.
For a moment Ritvika simply held her, running her fingers through her silky hair, feeling that fragile, innocent weight that meant the world to her.
Then she shifted slightly, adjusting Tara so they were face to face.
"Baby, listen to Mumma for a minute," she said gently.
Tara blinked her large eyes, her lashes brushing her cheeks. Her tiny mouth formed a little "O," as if she were ready to absorb something serious.
Ritvika hesitated, chewing on her lower lip before speaking. Her heart tightened—this was one of those conversations that felt small but wasn't. "Baby... would you like to go to school?"
The word meant nothing to Tara. Her brows furrowed, her lips parted in confusion. She repeated it in her muddled baby-talk, tilting her head. "Skoo? Shooo? Mumma, what is skoool?"
Ritvika's heart melted at the mispronunciation, at the way her daughter looked genuinely puzzled.
She chuckled softly and kissed the tip of Tara's nose.
"School is a place where you'll meet other children your age.
You'll get to make friends, learn new things, draw with crayons, play games, even run around in a big playground. It's fun, baby. So much fun."
Tara's confusion slowly dissolved into curiosity. Her eyes widened, sparkling as the images formed in her little mind. "Fliends? Colors? Play?" she repeated, her voice rising in wonder. She clapped her hands once, bouncing in her mother's lap.
"Yes," Ritvika encouraged, her own smile widening at her daughter's excitement. "You'll have books, pencils, toys, and other children to play with every day."
The words were barely out of her mouth before Tara gasped, her face lighting up as if the world had just opened into something magical. "I go schoo... tomollow!" she declared proudly, her baby tongue stumbling over the word but her joy unshaken.
Ritvika laughed, caught between amusement and emotion. "Tomorrow?" she teased softly. "Baby, school doesn't start tomorrow. But very soon, Mumma will take you. I promise."
But Tara wasn't listening anymore. She was too busy chanting in her sweet, broken rhythm: "Schoooooooool, schoo, I go school... tomolrow!" She bounced against her mother's chest, kicking her little legs in excitement as if she was already ready to run into a classroom full of new adventures.
Ritvika tightened her arms around her daughter, pressing a kiss to her hair. Her laughter faded into a quiet hum, her smile softening into something tender, almost wistful.
She wanted to hold on to this moment, to Tara's innocence, to her unshaken excitement about the future. But in the back of her mind, worry quietly lingered—would Tara adjust to school? Would she be scared without her? And when Ritvika went to work, would her baby feel abandoned?
Her eyes stung as she pushed those thoughts away, rocking Tara gently in her lap, whispering against her tiny ear. "Very soon, my love. Mumma will take you to school very soon."
And Tara giggled again, still repeating the word "school," as if she had just discovered the brightest new dream.
The morning sunlight streamed softly through the curtains, painting the bedroom in warm shades of gold.
Ritvika stood before the mirror, her hands smoothing the pale cotton saree she had chosen for the day.
Simple, yet elegant—just enough to look presentable for something as important as her daughter's school admission.
Her reflection looked composed, but the quiet storm in her chest told another story.
On the bed, Tara sat swinging her little legs, dressed in a bright jumpsuit with tiny bows stitched on the straps. Her hair was tied into two clumsy ponytails that refused to stay neat, and her gummy smile was enough to steal Ritvika's tiredness for a heartbeat.
Today wasn't just about Tara. Today was about her, too.
Monday would mark the beginning of her job—four hours each day, a blessing but also a new fear.
Four hours... where would she leave Tara in that time?
That question had haunted her for nights, refusing to let her rest. She couldn't let her baby feel abandoned, couldn't imagine Tara searching for her and finding no one.
That was why she had made this decision. Enrolling Tara in school now, before her job began, was the only way to balance both worlds. At least this way, her little girl would have a place filled with laughter, colors, and children, instead of an empty house.
She walked to the drawer, pulling it open quietly. Inside, the small strip of medicines lay where she had placed them last night. Her fingers hovered for a moment before she picked them up. A faint heaviness settled in her chest—not just from the pills but from the memories tied to them.
She had barely slept last night. Each sound, each creak of the window or rustle at the door, had jolted her awake.
For the first time, she had spent a whole night alone with Tara in the house.
Alone. The thought sent another shiver down her spine.
The night before, even though Vidyut had stumbled home late, reeking of alcohol, he had still come.
Last night, he hadn't. And that absence had made the silence unbearable.
Her hands trembled slightly as she swallowed the medicine. Somewhere between the exhaustion and the quiet ache of loneliness, guilt pricked her heart.
Her mind kept circling back to Roohi's words from yesterday. "He isn't that bad, Ritvi. Maybe you're not seeing the whole of him."
She didn't want to admit it, but wasn't there some truth in that? Yes, he scared her, yes, his presence suffocated her—but there were moments, fleeting ones, where he hadn't been cruel. Like the medicines. He didn't have to buy them, didn't have to remember. And yet he did.
The guilt grew sharper, curling inside her chest. Maybe she had been too harsh, too unyielding in her hatred. Maybe he wasn't entirely the monster she wanted him to be.
Her eyes shifted toward Tara, who was now busy talking to her stuffed toy, holding a one-sided conversation in her gibberish language. Ritvika's lips softened. She brushed away the heaviness, forcing herself to focus.
Today was about her baby. About Tara's first step into a world outside these four walls. The fears, the guilt, the restless night—they could wait. Right now, she just wanted to hold Tara's hand and walk with her into this new beginning.
The school walls were painted in soft shades of blue and yellow, a cheerful attempt at making the place welcoming for children.
Tara, perched restlessly on the chair beside her mother in the principal's office, kicked her little feet and gazed around with wide, curious eyes.
Her gaze flitted from the stack of colorful books on the shelf to the cartoon posters pinned neatly on the walls.
Every now and then, she tugged at Ritvika's saree pallu, trying to whisper her excitement in gibberish.
Ritvika, however, sat upright across the desk, her palms damp against the admission form placed before her. The principal, a calm-looking woman in her fifties, adjusted her glasses and explained the details, but Ritvika barely caught half of it—her focus was on the form, line by line.
She began writing with careful strokes.
Name of the Child: Tara.
Her pen paused for the briefest second before she added the surname—Rajvansh. Not Kapoor. Never Kapoor.
The next column asked for Mother's Name.
She wrote Ritvika, the familiar letters flowing with ease.
But when it came to the surname, her pen hovered mid-air.
A lump rose in her throat, hesitation clawing at her.
She wasn't sure why it felt so heavy, but her hand refused to move.
After a long pause, she reluctantly pressed the nib down and completed it: Ritvika Rajvansh.
Her heartbeat stumbled as her eyes fell on the next line. Father's Name.
She blinked once. Twice. Her chest tightened. But the words came anyway, shaky yet inevitable—Vidyut Rajvansh.
By the time she finished, her fingers trembled. She quickly signed at the bottom of the form, trying not to think about the implications of every word she had just written.
The principal picked up the form, scanning through it with professional detachment. Then she looked up, her expression polite but curious.
"And where is the father of the child?" she asked.
The simple question sliced through the air like a blade. Ritvika froze, her body stiff, her breath caught mid-inhale. Tara, oblivious to her mother's stillness, continued swinging her legs, humming a made-up tune under her breath.
V I D Y U T ' S P O V
I stood still, staring at the tall building in front of me, painted in bright blue and yellow. A school. The very school where Ritvika had brought Tara today.
Yes, maybe I had walked away yesterday. Maybe I left her furious, her words still cutting into me like sharp blades.
But I never truly left them. I can't.
The moment I stepped out, I made sure my men secured the place where she is staying.
Because as much as she may hate me right now, as much as I may have wronged her, their safety comes first. Always.
She is angry with me, yes. She has every right to be. I crossed lines with her, hurt her, and she will never forget that. But that doesn't mean my ties with them vanish. She is my wife. And Tara—Tara is my daughter. My princess. My little lioness. I cannot let anything happen to them.
And today, when I found out Ritvika had brought Tara here for admission, something inside me twisted.
Tara is still so small... how will she manage in a school?
She can barely walk without stumbling, and her words are still gibberish.
The memory of the first time Ritvika left her in my arms flashed in front of me—how she cried so much, her tiny fists clenching as though the world was ending.
A faint smile tugged at my lips at that memory, but it disappeared just as quickly, swallowed by the heaviness in my chest. Because I wanted—God, I wanted—to be inside that building right now.
To sit there as her father. To sign those forms. To watch her fidget and ask her little questions.
To be part of her admission, the first step of her journey.
But I can't.
I don't have the right. Not after everything I did to Ritvika.
My eyes burned as guilt surged through me.
I had dragged her back into Rajvansh Mansion, into that suffocating world she never wanted, and forced her to face everything she had left behind.
She walked away from that house just to breathe free, to escape me.
And yet I, shamelessly, followed her into the small space she carved out for herself. I ruined that too.
Why, Vidyut? Why couldn't you stop yourself?
My throat tightened, and my vision blurred as I thought of it again—her sitting inside that office, filling forms all alone. My name written there, my place marked, and yet... I wasn't allowed to stand beside her. I wasn't allowed to be part of my daughter's first day.
My eyes glistened as I whispered into the empty air, a bitter truth pressing against my ribs.
Tara's admission. The first big step of her life. And I... I couldn't be there.
R I T V I K A ' S P O V
I froze.
Tara's father.
The words echoed in my ears, louder than they should have been. Tara's father. Vidyut. The principal wasn't asking for anyone else—she was asking for him. For Vidyut Rajvansh.
My chest tightened as I blinked, my throat suddenly dry. He was Tara's father, whether I accepted it or not. Legally... emotionally... in every way that mattered, he had every right over my daughter. And maybe... maybe even on me.
I shut my eyes for a brief second, torn between pride and helplessness.
Vidyut wasn't good with me. He hurt me, scarred me, pushed me to the edge more times than I could count.
But Tara? Never once. Not for a single moment did he make her feel unwanted, unloved, or less than his own blood.
He had embraced her, claimed her, cherished her, in ways I hadn't even expected.
And that truth burned inside me.
Because if nothing else... if not as my husband, then at least as Tara's father, he deserved to be here. This was her admission. Her first step into a bigger world. And he should be part of it.
But what do I do? Would he even come if I called him? Would he want to? Or had I already pushed him too far away? My heart sank as I realized—I didn't know.
The principal's calm voice cut through my storm.
"It's okay if he is not here. We can still process the admission."
I looked at her, staring blankly for a second. And then the word tumbled out of me before I could stop it.
"No."
Her brows furrowed in confusion, but I rushed to explain, my voice trembling, almost pleading.
"I mean—no. Actually... can we wait for some time? I'll call him. He will come here soon. Please?"
My heart thudded against my ribs as the room went silent again, my own desperation ringing louder than anything else.
A U T H O R ' S P O V
Ritvika sat frozen, the principal's question echoing in her ears. Her heart drummed so loudly she wondered if Tara could hear it from where she sat on the couch, swinging her tiny legs. With trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone.
For a long moment, her thumb hovered over one name. Vidyut Rajvansh.
Her stomach twisted. What if he refused? What if he snapped? But another voice in her head whispered—he is Tara's father. He deserves to be here.
Taking in a sharp breath, she pressed the call button.
On the other end, Vidyut had just been staring at the school building from his car, eyes lost in the swaying blue-and-yellow flags near the entrance. His phone vibrated in his hand, and when he glanced down, his breath caught. Ritvika.
For a second, he actually thought he was hallucinating. She's calling me? His hand tightened around the phone. What if he answered and she said it was a mistake? What if she wasn't really calling him for anything important? His chest tightened with both hope and fear.
Still, his thumb swiped to accept. "Hello?" His voice came out steady, almost guarded, though his pulse roared in his ears.
On the other side, Ritvika clutched the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She licked her lips, her throat dry. "Vidyut.
.. I—I'm at Tara's school," she whispered, her words faltering.
"They're asking for her father for the admission paperwork.
I didn't know what to do so... so I thought—" She broke off, her breath catching.
Then, quickly, almost tumbling over her own words, she added, "If you can come, please come. If not, then no problem, I'll manage—"
Vidyut blinked, staring blankly out the windshield. Her school. Admission. She's calling me... for Tara? For a moment, he was too stunned to even process. It almost felt unreal, like he had drifted into some dream where Ritvika wanted him, needed him, by her side.
Inside, his heart surged, threatening to leap out of his chest, but his voice stayed calm, clipped. "I'm coming."
Ritvika's brows knitted, startled by how quickly he answered. She opened her mouth, trying to soften the situation, to give him an out. "Vidyut, listen, don't rush. I know it's sudden, and if you can't make it, then really—"
But he cut her off, firmer this time. "I said, I'm coming."
The line went silent after that, but Ritvika's heart still raced. She lowered the phone slowly, uncertain, while the principal waited patiently across the desk.
Meanwhile, Vidyut exhaled sharply, his grip trembling around the phone.
Inside, he was burning with an exhilaration he couldn't contain.
She had called him. She had wanted him there.
She had given him a place, a role, a right.
His eyes glistened, and he muttered under his breath to himself, "For Tara. My princess."
And so, when Ritvika was still trying to calm her nerves and prepare herself for handling things alone if he didn't show, the office door opened.
Within just two minutes, Vidyut walked in.
Ritvika froze, her eyes widening. So fast? she thought, blinking in disbelief. Almost as if he had been waiting right outside this whole time.