⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟒˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
Twenty days later.
The sun poured softly through the sheer curtains, painting the marble floor with shades of gold.
Outside, the world was bright, alive — but inside the mansion, silence had its own echo.
In the kitchen, Vidyut stood quietly — a rare, unfamiliar calm on his face.
The man who once roared orders now flipped parathas with the patience of a monk, an apron tied neatly around his waist. His movements were steady, practiced, almost mechanical.
The soft crackle of the tawa filled the space where chaos once lived.
He turned off the flame, arranged the breakfast on a plate, and wiped his hands on the towel. His eyes, though tired, softened as they lifted toward the hallway. He knew where to go — the only room where his mornings began now.
He walked slowly down the corridor until he reached a little white room painted with butterflies and clouds.
Inside — Tara lay curled up in her tiny bed, her night suit bunched up just above her belly, a plush bunny in her arms.
Vidyut's lips curved into the faintest smile.
He walked to her bedside, crouched down, and whispered gently,
"Princess... wake up."
She didn't move. Just turned to the other side and hugged her bunny tighter.
Vidyut chuckled under his breath, brushing a few strands of hair from her forehead.
"Tara... get up, it's morning already, kitten."
This time, she stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, lashes blinking against the sunlight. She rubbed her eyes with both fists like a real kitten — clumsy, adorable, half-asleep. Then, with a tiny yawn, she looked up at him, face puffy from sleep, lips jutting in a pout.
"Dadda... five minutes..." she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Vidyut's heart melted. He sat beside her, watching her stretch like a lazy cat. The silence between them was warm — fragile, healing.
He tucked the blanket aside and picked her up effortlessly, pressing a light kiss to her temple.
"No more five minutes, munchkin. Breakfast's ready."
Tara looped her small arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
And as he carried her toward the dining room, the house — though quiet — felt a little less empty than before.
The dining table was neatly set — a plate of parathas, a small bowl of curd, and a glass of milk with two chocolate biscuits sitting beside it.
Vidyut watched as Tara sat on the high chair, her little legs swinging back and forth, hands smeared with butter.
"No more playing, kitten. Finish this last bite," he said, tearing a small piece of paratha and holding it out to her.
Tara puffed her cheeks in protest but opened her mouth anyway.
"Good girl," Vidyut smiled, wiping her lips with a tissue as she grinned proudly.
After breakfast, he took her upstairs to get ready.
The little pink uniform lay perfectly ironed on the bed — a white shirt with a bow, a pleated skirt, and tiny socks that barely reached her knees.
Vidyut helped her dress, buttoning each button carefully, making sure her shoes were tied tight. Then he sat her on the dressing stool and held the comb in his hand, a nervous determination flashing in his eyes.
"Now my princess is finally going to start school again, hm?" he said softly, brushing through her silky hair with utmost care.
He had spent hours last night watching YouTube tutorials on 'how to make a little girl's ponytail'.
He had paused and replayed them a dozen times, trying to learn every tiny step — and now, after several failed attempts and a few tangled strands, he finally managed a perfect ponytail tied with a pink ribbon.
Tara clapped her small hands, admiring herself in the mirror.
"Pletty?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Beautiful," he whispered with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
He turned to her school bag next, packing everything with the precision of a man used to control — books, pencils, fruit box, lunch, and a tiny water bottle.
"Kitten, I've kept everything in your bag. Finish your fruit box and lunch at school, okay?" he said while zipping it up.
But just as he was about to hand the bag to her, her tiny voice froze him in place.
"Mumma?" she whispered.
The air stilled.
Vidyut's hands dropped to his sides as he turned slowly toward her. Her innocent eyes searched for something — someone — she couldn't find.
He took a deep breath and crouched down, pulling her into his arms.
"Baby... don't be sad, hmm? See, you're going to school after so many days, right? Let's go happy-happy, okay?" he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his voice gentle but breaking at the edges.
Tara nodded weakly, though her little fingers still gripped his shirt.
To distract her, Vidyut reached for a small bar of chocolate from the counter and held it out.
"Here. For my brave girl."
Her face brightened instantly. She took the chocolate with both hands, nibbling it with a giggle as Vidyut smiled — a quiet, bittersweet smile that hid a thousand storms behind it.
The morning sunlight had started to spill across the roads as Vidyut's car stopped in front of the school gate.
Tara sat in the backseat, clutching her small bag and lunchbox. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
Vidyut turned around, fixing her collar one last time.
"Now, my princess will listen to her teachers, right? No crying, hmm?" he said softly, brushing her cheek.
Tara nodded eagerly.
"No crying," she repeated, holding up her tiny pinky.
He smiled faintly and hooked his finger around hers.
"Promise."
A teacher came and took Tara's hand. The little girl waved enthusiastically as she walked toward the classroom.
Vidyut stood near the car door, watching her go — her small ponytail bouncing with every step, her laughter echoing faintly in the morning air.
But as soon as she disappeared inside the school building... his smile fell.
The brightness in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a silence that clung to him like a shadow.
He stood there for a moment, just staring — as if a part of him walked away with her every day. Then he inhaled slowly, turned back, and slid into the driver's seat.
The car rolled through the familiar streets until it stopped at a small flower shop on the corner. The shopkeeper looked up, immediately reaching for a bouquet of red roses — he didn't even need to ask anymore.
"Same as always, sir," the old man said gently, handing them over.
Vidyut nodded once, paying without a word. The scent of roses filled the car — the same scent that had once filled their room every morning.
When he reached the mansion, he stepped out, his voice calm but hollow.
"Keep a bowl of water and a clean cloth in her room," he instructed the maid before heading.
The corridor was silent. Only the soft echo of his footsteps could be heard until he reached that door.
Their door.
He stood there for a second, his hand hovering over the handle, his chest tightening with something unspoken. And then he pushed it open.
The room still looked the same — neat, spotless, almost untouched. The faint fragrance of disinfectant hung in the air, mixing with the freshness of the flowers.
He walked to the bedside table, quietly removing yesterday's wilted roses from the vase. One by one, he replaced them with the new ones, adjusting the stems until they sat perfectly upright.
His eyes flickered briefly toward the bed.
And then... they softened.
The maid entered silently, placing the bowl of water and folded cloth in front of him before leaving again. Vidyut didn't say a word.
He dipped the cloth into the bowl, squeezed out the excess water — and then turned slowly.
The camera of life seemed to move with him — until finally, the sight came into view.
Ritvika.
Lying motionless on the bed, pale and fragile, her body surrounded by quiet machines. The faint beeping of the monitor echoed in the silence, steady but distant. Tubes ran along her wrist, oxygen lines curved around her nose.
Vidyut sat down beside her, his hand trembling as he brushed the damp cloth gently across her forehead — careful, loving, routine.
This had become his morning and evening ritual now.
Every day, he woke up, made breakfast for Tara.
And came back here.
To her.
His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke —
"You promised me you'd stay, Ritvi..."
The machines answered with a steady, cold beep.
He closed his eyes, pressing the cloth to his lips before continuing to wipe her face, his expression unreadable — a man half-alive, breathing only because she still did.
The sunlight had shifted now, a thin beam cutting through the curtains and spilling across the bed. The faint hum of the machines filled the room — a rhythm Vidyut had come to memorize, the only sound that reminded him she was still here.
He dipped the cloth again, wrung out the water, and this time bent down to wipe her feet — gentle, almost reverent. Her skin was cold, delicate. His fingers brushed carefully, afraid of hurting her, afraid of feeling nothing.
He smiled faintly, trying to sound light though his voice trembled with exhaustion.
"You know, today Tara went to school after so many days..."
His thumb traced a line along her ankle as if she could feel it.
"She was asking for you in the morning. I didn't let her come here."
He stopped for a moment, staring at the floor before continuing softly,
"If she'd seen you lying like this, she would've cried again. And she had to go, right? It was her first day back... my brave little kitten."
He dipped the cloth again, wiping gently along her legs, whispering between each movement,
"Don't worry, she'll come straight here after school. I promise."
A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips.
"I made her parathas today — don't scold me, okay?
I know it's too oily but yeah.."
A short breath escaped him — almost a laugh, but it died too soon.
"I'll tell the maids to make something light for lunch.
.. maybe rice or soup. You would've liked that. "
His voice faded as he looked up at her face — serene, motionless, untouched by everything around.
He placed the damp cloth aside and took her hand in both of his, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.
Silence pressed between them, heavy and fragile.
Then he whispered, almost breaking,
"It's been twenty days, Ritvi..."
His eyes lowered, his breath uneven.
"Twenty days since you slipped into this coma."
He leaned forward, his forehead brushing against the back of her hand.
"I'm sorry... I couldn't protect you. I promised you nothing would happen."
His voice cracked then — quiet, strangled.
"Please, just... wake up once. Yell at me, fight me, anything. Just don't lie like this."
The monitor beeped again — steady, heartless.
He looked up at her, his thumb tracing the curve of her ring finger.
"Tara needs you. I..."
He paused, unable to finish. The words burned at the back of his throat, too heavy to escape.
Instead, he just sat there, staring at her face, his reflection faintly visible on the glass of the oxygen mask.
His lips moved again, quietly this time, as if afraid to disturb her sleep —
"I miss you, Ritiii."
By noon, the sun hung high — too bright for a day that still felt heavy.
Vidyut's car slowed to a stop in front of the school building. Children ran out in bursts of laughter and noise, their bags bouncing on their backs. But his eyes searched for only one.
And then he saw her.
Tara — tiny, in her pink uniform, clutching her bottle, her hair slightly messed from play. She spotted him and her whole face lit up. Her little feet ran as fast as they could.
"Dadda!" she squealed, voice ringing through the air as she stumbled straight into his waiting arms.
Vidyut's lips curved into a rare smile as he caught her mid-run, lifting her easily.
"Arre careful, kitten..." he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "Did my princess eat her lunch properly?"
She nodded quickly, her small hands holding his collar, excitement bubbling in her eyes.
"Dadda, today teacher gave star!" she announced proudly, pointing to a shiny sticker on her shirt.
He chuckled softly. "Of course, she did. My Tara deserves all the stars."
But as soon as they sat in the car, her chatter slowed. She glanced at the small box of chocolates near the dashboard, then back at him. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Mumma?"
The question hit him like it always did — quiet, sharp, unstoppable.
Vidyut gripped the steering wheel tighter for a second before exhaling.
He turned to her, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"We'll go see Mumma, baby."
Her eyes brightened again. She clapped softly, kicking her legs in joy.
"Yay! Mumma!"
The drive back home was silent except for her soft humming.
When they reached, Tara ran inside ahead of him, her tiny steps echoing through the empty halls.
She stopped outside the familiar door, her fingers curling around the door. She looked back at Vidyut as if asking for permission.
He nodded once.
She pushed it open.
The faint hum of machines greeted them. The flowers by the bedside were fresh, sunlight catching their red edges.
Tara walked closer, her small hand brushing against the sheet, eyes blinking in confusion at the wires and tubes.
"Mumma... Tara cameeee" she whispered, voice trembling slightly.
Vidyut stood behind her, swallowing hard, his jaw tight. He crouched beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"She's listening, kitten. You can talk to her, hmm?"
Tara nodded innocently, resting her tiny palm on Ritvika's hand.
"Mumma, see... star ." she said proudly, showing the sticker on her shirt. "Teacher said good girl."
Her lips trembled slightly.
"Mumma wakey wakey please "
Vidyut turned away for a moment, blinking rapidly. His throat burned.
He forced himself to speak, his voice barely holding together.
"She will, baby... she will soon."
Tara, believing his words completely, smiled and leaned closer to her mother's still hand.
"byee, Mumma..." she whispered before pressing a kiss on her fingers.
Vidyut watched, his heart twisting painfully. He lifted her in his arms after a few minutes, whispering,
"Come on, kitten... Mumma's resting now."
As he carried her out, his eyes flickered back one last time — to the woman lying motionless, to the faint rise and fall of her chest, to the room that had forgotten how to breathe warmth.
He paused at the door, his lips moving silently.
"Please, Ritvi... for her, if not for me."
It was still afternoon, sunlight softly slipping through the sheer curtains of the mansion.
Vidyut stood in the kitchen again, sleeves rolled up, preparing lunch for Tara.
The silence of the house had become both his comfort and his curse — the faint sound of the spatula against the pan, the ticking of the clock, Tara's occasional giggles from the living room — they were all that filled his days now.
After making dal, rice, and some soft paneer cubes, he carried the plate to Tara, who sat waiting on the dining chair, swinging her tiny legs.
"Kitten, khana khao... then nap time," he said softly, setting the plate before her.
("Kitten, eat your food... then nap time.")
Tara nodded and began eating slowly. Vidyut sat beside her, watching silently. His eyes softened as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. After finishing, he carried her to her room and tucked her under the blanket.
"Sleep for a while, baby. Mumma also loves when you wake up with that smile."he whispered.
He waited until Tara drifted into a soft nap before stepping out of the room. Just then, the bell rang. It was Nurse Anjali, the one who came every day to check Ritvika's condition.
Vidyut greeted her with a nod and led her quietly to that room. It had now been sixteen days since Ritvika was shifted from the hospital to the mansion — and twenty days since she had slipped into a coma.
He didn't want her to stay in that cold hospital room, surrounded by machines and white walls. Not when he could bring her here, where Tara's laughter echoed... where their memories still breathed.
As the nurse began her checkup, Vidyut stood near the window, arms crossed, watching silently. His eyes held exhaustion, pain, and a strange tenderness that never left when he looked at Ritvika.
The nurse gently checked the monitors and IV lines, adjusted the saline, and scribbled notes on her pad. Then she sighed softly and said,
"Her condition is stable, Mr. Rajvansh... but no major improvement yet."
Vidyut simply nodded. He'd stopped asking when she would wake up. He just made sure she stayed comfortable — every single day.
Two days later, the evening sun poured its faint orange hue into the room. Tara sat on her tiny study chair, her legs swinging mid-air, a pencil clutched in her small hand as she did her homework. Crayons, erasers, and half-eaten biscuits surrounded her — a perfect mess.
Vidyut watched her from Ritvika's bedside, where he sat quietly, eyes drifting between the two most fragile parts of his world. "She's... managing well," he spoke softly, his voice heavy yet calm. "You know, she cries less now. Maybe she's learning to be stronger."
His gaze lowered to Ritvika's face — pale, still, almost serene. "You'd probably scold me for letting her eat chocolates before dinner," he added with a dry chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I still don't know how to do this... how to take care of both of you. But I'm trying."
He dipped the cloth in warm water and gently wiped her hands — the same routine he'd done for twenty-two days now. "Your birthday is next week, Tara's too," he whispered, almost to himself. "She doesn't remember dates, but I do. You'd have turned twenty-four... she'll turn three."
His throat tightened. "I'll celebrate it, don't worry. Not too loud. Just the way you would've liked — simple, peaceful."
He paused, running a hand over his face. "I don't know if you can hear me, Ritvika. But... it's been twenty two days since you slipped into this silence. You never let anyone get too close, but now I'd give anything just to hear you shout at me once."
From the side, Tara's soft giggle broke through the air. "dadda, see! I draw sun!"
Vidyut turned his head and smiled faintly, walking over to her. "Beautiful, princess," he murmured, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. Then, his eyes flickered toward Ritvika again — softer this time, quieter.
"Your daughter's waiting, Ritvika," he whispered. "And I'm waiting too... maybe for a miracle."
The machines beeped softly, the rhythm filling the silence that followed — steady, yet heavy enough to press against his heart.
.................................................
Sorry for the delay??