⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟔˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
"Well, I hope you successfully did your job?" he asked, his words deliberate, carrying a quiet edge beneath their calm surface.
Roohi's voice snapped back over the line, all edge and breathless triumph. "Yes. She's where you asked — secured today. If I had been there, I would have killed her the night she hurt Ritu."
Vidyut's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed controlled, low.
"You did what needed to be done. Good. I wanted something—" he paused, and for a second something unreadable softened his tone, "—I wanted to give Ritvi something special for her birthday.
Make sure everything I arranged for her is still in place. "
There was a small, satisfied laugh from Roohi. "Of course. Your surprise will be intact. And the other two—the fake parents? They're not bleeding. They're getting top treatment, courtesy of your instructions. I made sure they are comfortable enough to talk when they wake up."
"And Siya?" Vidyut asked, the single word taut with concern.
Roohi's answer came quieter, the confidence dipping. "Siya... she's not great. Same as before. We had to move her to a new facility — more secure, more specialized. The doctors there are handling her treatment, but she's fragile. I'm keeping an eye on her."
Vidyut closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, imagining the machines and white rooms, the stubborn little body he'd sheltered with his own stubbornness. He could hear Roohi fumble a breath on the other end.
"You should tell Ritvika," she said, a softer edge entering her hurried words.
"Eventually. But not now — not while her mind is this raw.
I hope she wakes soon. And when she does.
.. let me know when you'll be coming to see her.
I'll be here. I'll make sure the people who hurt her understand what fear feels like. "
There it was again: Roohi's promise, equal parts menace and protection. Vidyut listened to it like a blade and a balm at once.
"Good," he said finally. "Keep me posted. And Roohi—be careful."
A brief silence, then the faint, fierce warmth of her voice. "Always. Happy birthday to your princess and to her mother. I'll be there when you come."
He ended the call with a single, measured press.
The line went dead, but the hush after Roohi's goodbye felt anything but empty.
Vidyut looked at Ritvika's sleeping form, at the slow rise and fall under the machines, and let the tight, complicated knot of guilt, gratitude and a cold resolve settle in his chest. He had set a lot of things in motion; now he had to stand guard and see them through.
10 DAYS LATER
The morning sun had barely peeked through the curtains when little Tara came running into Vidyut's room, clutching her tiny pink school bag. Her face was scrunched up, lips trembling.
"Daddaaa!" she sobbed, tugging his shirt, "no school... Tara no go school!"
Vidyut turned from the table, confused. "Arre, kya hua kitten? You love school na?" (what happened kitten?)
She shook her head hard, tears spilling down. "Today... today teacher said bring mumma..." she hiccupped, her voice breaking, "Tara mumma sleep... Tara no have mumma!"
The words hit him like a punch. For a moment, he couldn't even breathe. He bent down, pulling her close, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck.
"Hey, hey... shhh, princess," he whispered, rubbing her back gently, "you have mumma, baby. Mumma just resting, remember? She will wake up soon."
But Tara kept crying, her soft hiccups filling the quiet room. "No wake up... Tara call mumma... she no talk... Tara bad girl?" she mumbled between sobs, her voice shaking.
Vidyut's heart cracked wide open. He hugged her tighter, eyes closing as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "No, Tara's my good girl... very, very good girl. Mumma loves you the most, hmm?"
Tara sniffled and looked up with watery eyes. "Then... Mumma come school?"
Vidyut smiled weakly, brushing away her tears. "Not today, doll... but next time, pakka. Today we'll stay home, okay? No school."
Her face brightened a little as she nodded, still sniffling. "Tara stay with Dadda?"
"Always," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Dadda and Tara — team forever."
He carried her to the living room, still holding her close, whispering little things to calm her. Her sobs slowly turned into soft sniffles as she rested her head on his shoulder.
The untouched school bag lay on the table — and beside it, a small handmade card Tara had coloured last evening.
Crooked hearts. A stick figure with long hair.
And under it, with clumsy crayon letters — Mumma Tara.
Vidyut glanced at the card and blinked rapidly, his chest tightening.
"Happy Mother's Day, Ritvii," he whispered under his breath.
The whole day became theirs — just Dadda and Tara.
In the gym, Vidyut lay down on the mat, glancing at the tiny figure sitting cross-legged beside him.
"Okay, kitten," he said, smiling, "Dadda will do push-ups, and you'll count, hmm?"
Tara giggled, clapping her hands. "One-two-pee!" she shouted, climbing onto his back before he could stop her.
He huffed a laugh, adjusting her weight. "Oh, so we're adding extra challenge today?"
She giggled harder as he started moving. "One! Two!... Six-teen!" she squealed at random, making him burst into laughter between breaths.
"Sixteen already? Wah, my trainer is too fast!"
When he finally collapsed on the mat, Tara flopped on his chest, hair sticking to her forehead. "Dadda tired?"
"Dadda dead," he joked, pretending to faint, which made Tara squeal and pat his face. "No die Dadda! Tara save!"
He caught her tiny hand and smiled. "And Dadda's alive again because of his princess."
At lunchtime, they sat together on the dining table. Tara held her spoon like it weighed a ton, struggling to scoop rice properly. Half of it ended up on the table, the other half somehow near her hair.
Vidyut just watched with a grin. "Chef Tara, I think the table is full now. Want me to feed you?"
She shook her head proudly. "Tara big girl!" she said, managing one proper bite, then smiled wide, cheeks puffed. "See Dadda, Tara eat all!"
He nodded dramatically. "Yes, yes, my brave kitten finished the mountain of food!"
Evening came with soft light filtering through the windows. Tara ran around the living room with her toy car while Vidyut chased after her with a cushion.
"Catch me, Dadda!"
"Oh, you wait—!" he said, pretending to be the monster. She shrieked, ran faster, and then jumped onto the couch, hiding her face.
When he finally "caught" her, he tickled her until she laughed breathlessly, gasping between giggles, "Dadda stop! Tara die of laugh!"
He froze dramatically. "No, no dying! We already used that joke in the gym."
Her laughter filled the whole mansion — a sound he hadn't heard so freely since Ritvika slipped into coma.
That night, on their way back from a small walk outside, Tara's eyes widened as they passed an ice-cream cart.
"Ileam! Ileam!" she shouted, pointing excitedly.
Vidyut chuckled, crouching down beside her. "Chocolate?"
"Chocchoc ileam!" she said with both hands raised.
He bought one and watched as she dug in with both hands, smearing her cheeks and nose with chocolate. "Messy kitten," he whispered fondly.
She looked up, mouth covered in ice cream, grinning wide. "Happy Tara!"
Vidyut smiled softly, brushing a bit of chocolate from her chin. "Happy Dadda too."
? 4 Months Later ?
It had been more than five months now — five long, wordless months since Ritvika had slipped into a coma. The machines beside her bed had become part of the family's routine — their beeping now just another sound that filled the silence of the mansion.
The afternoon sun slanted softly through the curtains, painting faint golden stripes across the floor.
Inside the room, Vidyut was sitting near the window, his phone pressed to his ear as he discussed a business deal.
On the other side, Tara sat at a small table — her pink pencil box open, tongue poking out in concentration as she traced letters into her notebook.
"Hmm, yes, finalize the tender and email me the file," Vidyut said curtly before ending the call. His eyes softened as they landed on Tara — her little legs swinging, her handwriting shaky yet full of effort. He walked toward her quietly and crouched beside her chair.
"Homework done, kitten?" he asked.
Tara looked up at him with wide eyes, clutching her crayon.
"Almost, Dadda," she mumbled, her voice all sweet and serious.
Vidyut smiled, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. "Finish fast, hmm? We have a very important work to do today."
At the word important, Tara's eyes lit up instantly.
"Impo'tant work?" she asked in her baby tone, blinking curiously.
Vidyut nodded, pretending to whisper like it was a secret. "Yes. Very important."
That was enough motivation for Tara — she quickly bent down and began scribbling faster, her small fingers gripping the pencil as if her life depended on it. Vidyut chuckled softly watching her, a rare moment of peace flickering across his face.
Within minutes, she was done. "Dadda, finissh!" she squealed proudly, holding the notebook up.
"Good girl," he praised, kissing her cheek before lifting her into his arms. Tara giggled, her little hands clutching his collar as he carried her out of the room.
As they walked down the corridor, her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Where go, Dadda?" she asked.
"To do some Navratri preparations, princess," he said warmly, tightening his hold on her. "Tomorrow it starts — we have lots of work to do, hmm?"
Tara nodded eagerly, resting her head on his shoulder, listening as he spoke about the colorful lights, flowers, and sweets they would prepare together. For her, it was just another adventure with her Dadda.
But for him — it was something deeper. A way to keep life moving, to keep their little home breathing, even while half of his heart still lay silent on that hospital bed upstairs.
As Vidyut set Tara down in the living room, she immediately ran towards her toys, humming some half-made-up tune while arranging her dolls. He smiled faintly, shaking his head before his phone began to ring on the nearby counter.
"Maa," the screen flashed.
He exhaled slowly before answering. "Hello?"
Manisha's gentle yet uncertain voice came through. "Vidyut... I heard you're arranging Navratri puja this time?" she asked softly. "But why so suddenly, beta? You never do these things..."
He turned slightly, watching Tara twirl near the couch. "This time, I want to," he said simply, his tone calm but layered with quiet meaning.
Manisha paused for a moment, trying to understand the silence behind his words. "If you wanted to do it, you could have come here, na? We're preparing too... You could've joined us like every year."
Vidyut's fingers tightened around the phone. "I wanted to do it at my home, Maa," he replied, his voice lowering at the end — that single word, home, carrying all the weight of the room upstairs, of the woman still lying there.
There was a brief stillness on the line before Manisha's tone softened. "I know, Vidyut... you're doing this for Ritvika, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice trembling faintly. "I just hope Mata Rani listens to you this time. May She make our Ritvika well."
Vidyut didn't answer immediately — just let out a small hum, his eyes fixed on the half-lit staircase that led to Ritvika's room.
Manisha's voice came again, hesitant. "Should I come? I can assist you with the preparations."
"No need," Vidyut said quietly, cutting her gently but firmly. "I can handle it myself."
He glanced at Tara, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying to fit a small garland around her doll's neck. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Plus, I've got my little princess with me," he added, his voice softening as he watched her.
Manisha sighed from the other end, a faint smile breaking through her guilt. "Hmm... okay then. Take care, beta. And... tell Tara Dadi loves her."
Vidyut didn't respond to that — just ended the call quietly and slipped the phone into his pocket, his gaze still fixed on Tara.
For a fleeting moment, something in his eyes flickered — grief, love, and an unspoken prayer that maybe, just maybe, the upcoming Navratri might bring her mother back.
the house slowly began filling with the sound of decorations, tiny footsteps, and Vidyut's instructions.
Tara stood on a small stool, trying her best to hang a garland on the wall — but the poor garland ended up sliding down again and again.
"Dadda! Yeh gir gaya!" (dadda! It fell down!) she squealed, puffing her cheeks.
Vidyut, who was arranging the thalis, turned around and smiled softly. "Arre, koi baat nahi, meri chhoti helper. Dadda lagate hai, okay?"
(It's okay, my little helper. Dadda will put it up, okay?)
He fixed the garland neatly while Tara clapped her hands, eyes shining in pride.
"Tawa help ki!" (Tara helped!) she said, showing her tiny hands covered in petals.
"Bilkul," Vidyut chuckled, picking her up. "Tumhare bina toh kuch bhi nahi hota." (Without you, nothing gets done.)
They spent the whole evening preparing — Tara sitting beside him while he cleaned the mandir, occasionally trying to wipe the idols with her teddy's towel.
By night, the living room looked festive — fresh flowers, diyas, and a calm warmth filling the air.
Next morning, the first day of Navratri began with a faint sound of bells and soft chanting playing from the speaker.
Tara sat beside Vidyut, holding a small spoon full of rice grains.
"Dadda... yeh aise?" she asked, trying to copy him, her little hands trembling as she offered flowers to the goddess.
Vidyut smiled, steadying her hands. "Haan, bilkul aise hi, Tara. Bahut accha kar rahi ho."
(Yes, exactly like this, Tara. You're doing great.)
Tara grinned proudly and started mumbling her own version of the mantra. Half of her words made no sense, but her devotion was pure.
After completing the puja, Vidyut lifted her up and whispered, "Chalo, ab mumma ke paas chalein?"
(Come on, let's go to mumma now?)
Tara nodded eagerly.
They entered Ritvika's room — sunlight streamed through the curtains, falling softly over her still figure.
Vidyut placed the aarti thali on the table while Tara carefully held the little tilak bowl.
"Mumma ko bhi tiak lagayenge?" she asked, her voice sweet and innocent.
(Shall we put tilak on mumma too?)
"Haan, baby," Vidyut said quietly. "Mumma ko bhi."
He guided Tara's small hand as she dabbed a tiny red tilak on Ritvika's forehead. Then they both folded their hands.
"Jaldi uth jao mumma..." Tara whispered, her tiny voice trembling but hopeful. (Wake up soon, mumma...)
Vidyut's throat tightened, but he managed a faint smile as he held Tara close.
"Woh zaroor uthenge," he murmured. "Mata rani sun rahi hain na."
(She will wake up. The goddess is listening.)
The diya flickered beside them, filling the room with a faint golden glow — and for a moment, it almost felt like Ritvika smiled.
***
The sky had started turning orange when Vidyut ended his last call and looked up from his desk. Tara was sitting on the floor near Ritvika's bed, her small legs crossed, coloring something with all the focus in the world.
"Tara," he said, standing up, "come here, princess."
She turned her head, her big curious eyes blinking at him. "Yes, Dadda?"
"Tomorrow is Kanya Pujan. We have to buy some gifts for the girls who'll come home. Are you ready for shopping?"
Her eyes lit up instantly. "Giffy?"
"Yes, gifts," he chuckled. "Let's get ready."
He packed a few things quickly and lifted her in his arms. Tara clapped her hands excitedly as they walked out.
The market was buzzing with color — stalls of bright ribbons, shiny bangles, sweets, and toys. The evening air smelled of marigolds and sugar syrup. Tara's small head was turning in every direction, her mouth forming a little "wow" as she looked around.
"Dadda, look! Dollies!" she squealed, pointing to a stall full of small dolls dressed in red and yellow.
"Yes," Vidyut said, walking toward it. "We'll take some for the girls, right?"
Tara nodded quickly, her gaze fixed on a doll with glitter on its dress. "This one, Dadda! She pretty!"
He smiled and bought a few — letting her pick them herself. Then they moved to the next stall, where colorful bangles and ribbons hung in bunches. Tara tried to grab a few, her tiny hands overflowing.
"Not too many, Tara," Vidyut said patiently. "We have to buy for nine girls, remember?"
She started counting with her fingers, mumbling softly, "One... two... three... five... eight... nine!" then looked up proudly. "Done!"
Vidyut laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Close enough."
They continued shopping — small purses, candies, clips — Tara giving her "serious" opinions on everything. At the sweet shop, she leaned on the counter and asked curiously, "Dadda, why we buy so many laddoo?"
"For the kanya pujan," he replied, paying the shopkeeper. "All little girls who come tomorrow will get these as prasad."
She blinked innocently. "Like me?"
He smiled. "Exactly like you."
When they were done, Vidyut carried the shopping bags in one hand and Tara in the other. The balloon she held bounced lightly in the breeze as she hummed a made-up tune.
"Dadda," she whispered, her voice soft, "will Mumma come see kaya pujan?"
He didn't reply immediately — just kissed her cheek and said, "She'll see it."
The child nodded, satisfied, resting her head on his shoulder as they reached the car.
Vidyut buckled her into her seat, set the shopping bags aside, and was just about to start the car when his phone buzzed on the dashboard.
His heartbeat spiked the moment his eyes caught the name flashing on the screen — RITVIKA ER.
Without wasting a second, he snatched the phone and answered immediately.