⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓𝟕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
The dining table slowly filled, the house settling into a quiet kind of warmth.
Without thinking, I started to get up — habit more than intention.
Before I could even push my chair back, Vidyut looked at me.
Just one look.
Firm. Silent. Non-negotiable.
I froze... then slowly sat back down.
My lips curved into a small pout on their own.
Papa noticed.
Chachi smiled knowingly.
Aarush hid his grin behind his glass.
Vidyut, as usual, pretended he saw nothing.
Lunch passed peacefully. Plates moved, conversations flowed softly, nothing loud — just a family sitting together after far too long.
Tara sat beside Vidyut, eating quietly, occasionally glancing at me.
"Dadda," she said once, softly.
"Yes?" Vidyut responded immediately.
She pointed at her plate. "Done."
He nodded and adjusted her plate without another word.
That was it.
No drama. No fuss.
I smiled, my heart feeling strangely full.
Then I noticed Maa.
Her eyes kept drifting towards Vidyut.
Again and again.
She tried to stay engaged in the conversation, but I could see it — the unspoken weight sitting on her chest. Ritvika may have forgiven her, but Vidyut hadn't said anything yet.
And that silence was hurting her more than words ever could.
I glanced at Vidyut.
He was calm, composed, eating quietly.
I gently nudged his arm with my elbow.
He looked at me, questioning.
I tilted my head slightly towards Maa.
Please.
His jaw tightened.
"No," he murmured.
I waited.
After a moment, I nudged him again — softer this time.
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, looking at me.
"Later," he said quietly.
I nodded.
Lunch soon came to an end, Tara leaning slightly against Vidyut, sleepy and content.
The house felt full.
Not perfect.
But healing.
Tara was fast asleep in Aarush's arms, her tiny fist curled near his collar as he gently rocked her back and forth. Aarush's movements were careful, almost instinctive, like he was afraid even his breathing might disturb her.
The room was filled with low conversations. Nothing loud. Nothing forced. Just family voices blending together, like they belonged.
That was when Maa spoke.
"I... can I stay here for a few days?"
Her voice was hesitant. Careful. Almost unsure — not of me, but of her own son.
The words reached my ears and my heart reacted before my mind could.
My smile widened instantly.
"Yes. Yes, Maa, please stay here," I said quickly, the excitement slipping out before anyone could stop it. "I was anyway thinking everyone should stay here."
I turned towards Vidyut.
He had gone still.
I knew that look. He did not want them to stay here. This house had become his shield — his controlled space — and letting everyone in felt like risking it.
But then his eyes shifted to me.
To my smile.
To the way my happiness wasn't forced. Wasn't fragile.
And I knew he remembered it too , the doctor's words. No stress. No emotional burden. Just peace.
Maa looked at Vidyut now.
"Can I stay here?" she asked again, softer this time.
He didn't answer immediately.
I nudged his arm gently and looked at him with what I knew was my most hopeful smile . Quiet, pure, trusting.
Reluctantly, Vidyut nodded.
"Yes," he said.
Before anyone else could speak, I added brightly, "Everyone is staying here."
Papa chuckled lightly and shook his head.
"No, beta. Not everyone," he said calmly. "We will stay at the Rajvansh mansion. If Manisha wants to stay here, she can. Aarush will stay with her."
For a second, disappointment flickered inside me.
I wanted everyone. I wanted the noise, the fullness, the feeling of a complete family under one roof.
But the feeling passed.
I smiled again and nodded.
This was enough.
More than enough.
Maa staying here.
Aarush here.
Tara asleep, safe, loved.
The door clicked shut behind Aarush, and the sound echoed longer than it should have.
The guest room felt unfamiliar tonight. Not because it was new, but because Maa was standing here — not as the woman who ruled the house, not as the one who made decisions without blinking — but as someone... waiting.
We stood across from each other, a measured distance between us. Close enough to talk. Far enough to avoid touching old wounds.
"I know you are angry," Maa said after a moment. Her voice was low, careful, as if she didn't want to disturb something fragile. "And I don't blame you for it."
I looked at the window instead of her. Outside, the garden lights glowed softly, mocking the heaviness inside my chest.
"You think I don't know what I did?" she continued. "Every night since that day, I've replayed it. Every word. Every decision."
Still, I stayed silent.
"It wasn't hatred, Vidyut," she said. "It was fear. I was scared of losing you. Scared of losing Tara. And yes... scared of losing Ritvika too."
My fists tightened unconsciously.
"I thought I was protecting her," Maa whispered. "Protecting the child she carried in her arms. I didn't think of what it would do to her heart."
She paused, perhaps waiting for me to say something.
I didn't.
Her eyes softened then — not with confidence, but with uncertainty.
"You still haven't forgiven me," she said quietly. It wasn't a question. It was a realization.
I finally turned toward her. "Because some things don't get erased just because intentions were good."
She nodded slowly, accepting the blow.
"But Ritvika has forgiven me," Maa said, her voice cracking just slightly. "She welcomed me today. Smiled at me. Spoke to me like nothing had happened."
Something sharp pierced my chest.
"She forgave you because she has a very big heart," I said, the words coming out harsher than I intended. "She forgave me too. So it's not difficult for her to forgive anyone."
Maa flinched.
"She is pure," I continued, my voice firm but strained. "She wants the family together. She wants peace. That's why she forgave you. Not because it didn't hurt. Not because she forgot."
I took a step back, dragging a hand through my hair.
"She always chooses people over her own pain," I said bitterly. "That's who she is."
Silence fell again.
Maa didn't interrupt this time. She let my words settle. Let them hurt.
Then she spoke — slowly, deliberately — as if choosing a path she knew might shatter everything.
The air left my lungs.
For a second, I genuinely thought I hadn't heard her right.
My eyes snapped to hers. My body went rigid. My mind refused to move forward.
Asli maa...?
The room tilted slightly, like the ground beneath my feet had shifted without warning.
My heartbeat roared in my ears.
I searched her face for hesitation. For regret. For signs that she would take the words back.
She didn't.
Her eyes were wet but steady. Strong. Resigned.
I had prepared myself for anger, accusations, even tears.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
A truth I wasn't ready to face.
My mouth opened — then closed again. No words came out. Not because I didn't have anything to say, but because everything I had believed until now was suddenly standing on unstable ground.
I had always been angry.
Always controlled.
Always sure.
And in one sentence, she had undone all of it.
I stood there, frozen, staring at the woman who had raised me, disciplined me, loved me in her own way — and suddenly I didn't know what she was to me anymore.
Mother.
Not mother.
Something in between.
And for the first time in years, I wasn't sure which scared me more.
Tears slid down Maa's face , silently at first, then faster, as if holding them back had finally become impossible.
She didn't wipe them away.
She just looked at me.
Something inside my chest cracked.
I swallowed hard, my throat burning. "What... what did that come from?" I finally managed to ask. My voice didn't sound like mine. It trembled, weak and unsteady.
She smiled, a broken, painful smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"It's the truth, Vidyut," she said softly. "If I were your real mother... you wouldn't hate me this much."
The words hit, sharp and cruel.
"I'm not your real mother," she continued, her voice growing hoarse. "I'm just a woman who raised you. Nothing more. Because the woman who gives birth will always be greater than the woman who raises."
My jaw clenched. "You're playing the victim card," I said, anger rising to mask the panic building inside me.
She shook her head immediately. "No. I'm not." Her voice broke. "Ask yourself. Isn't it true?"
She took a step closer, tears spilling freely now.
"Tell me," she said, almost pleading. "If I were the woman who gave birth to you... wouldn't I be more valued? Even today?"
My chest tightened painfully.
"Please... Maa," I whispered, not knowing what else to say, not knowing how to stop this.
But she didn't stop.
"No, Vidyut," she said, shaking her head again. "This is the truth. I thought you had accepted me as your mother. I really did."
Her hand pressed against her chest as if it hurt to breathe.
"But for twenty-nine years," she continued, her voice trembling violently now, "I have been living a lie. You still haven't accepted me as your mother."
My breath hitched.
"I did everything," she said, tears streaming unchecked. "Everything. I never let you feel for even a second that you were not my own."
Her voice cracked completely.
"And still... you hate me. Why?"
The question wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was broken.
I stood still.
Not because I didn't have an answer.
But because every word she said felt like it was tearing something out of me.
She thought... she truly thought she meant nothing to me.
My chest tightened painfully.
"Maa..." My voice came out rough. "Stop."
She looked at me, her eyes full of hurt, full of years of unspoken fear.
"You think I'm angry because you're not my biological mother?" I asked quietly.
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
I took a step forward, my hands clenching at my sides.
"If you weren't there," I said, my voice low but shaking, "I wouldn't be standing here today."
Her breath hitched.
"I would have been on the streets," I continued. "Alone. Forgotten. Unwanted."
My throat burned.
"You and Papa adopted me when you had just gotten married. You didn't have to. You chose to."
Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't let them fall.
"You fought for me when Dadi didn't want me," I said. "You stood between me and the world every time it tried to remind me that I wasn't yours by blood."
My jaw clenched.
"A real mother isn't the one who gives birth," I said firmly. "A real mother is the one who raises you, loves you, protects you."
I looked straight at her.
"My biological mother abandoned me," I said. "You didn't."
Silence fell heavy between us.
"I'm angry," I admitted finally. "But not because of who you are to me."
My voice softened.
"I'm angry because Ritvika got hurt. Because she suffered. And I can't forgive that easily."
Her shoulders trembled.
"But don't ever say you mean nothing to me," I said, the hurt finally slipping through. "Because you mean more to me than the woman who gave birth and left me to suffer."
For the first time, her expression changed.
Not guilt.
Not fear.
But shock.
"You are my mother," I said, quietly but clearly. "Not because of blood. But because you chose me."
My chest rose and fell heavily.
"And seeing you believe that I don't value you... that breaks me."
Manisha wiped her tears with trembling fingers. Vidyut took a step closer, his voice softer than before.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I never wanted you to feel like you don't matter to me."
She looked up, startled.
"You are my mother," he continued, firmly this time. "My real mother. Not by blood, but by choice. By love. By everything that actually matters."
Her breath hitched.
"I am your son," he said. "Only yours. And I never want to hear you say that you mean nothing to me. Ever."
Manisha broke down then, not loudly, not dramatically. Just silent tears and relief. She nodded again and again, reaching for his hand. Vidyut held it, squeezing gently.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," he added. "I was angry. But that anger was never for you."
That was enough.
They didn't need more words.
After a quiet good night, Vidyut finally walked toward his room.
Inside, Ritvika was standing near the drawers, carefully opening one after another, her brows slightly furrowed.
"What are you looking for?" Vidyut asked.
"One of my medicines," she replied. "I think I misplaced it."
Without asking anything further, Vidyut went straight to the side cabinet, opened it, and took out the strip. He handed it to her calmly. "You kept it here."
She looked at it, then at him, embarrassed. "Oh. Right."
"You should rest," he said gently. "I'll bring Tara from Aarush."
She immediately shook her head. "No. Aarush wanted Tara to sleep with him tonight. Let her stay."
He nodded, agreeing easily, but before he could move away, her gaze lingered on his face.
"Your eyes," she said softly. "They're red. What happened?"
She stepped closer instinctively, tiptoeing slightly so she could look properly. Her concern was pure, unfiltered. Her breath brushed against his neck without her realizing how close she had come.
Vidyut froze.
Her warmth, her closeness, the way her eyes searched his face, it all hit him at once.
She leaned in just a little more, studying him.
Then realization struck her.
She stepped back at once, straightening herself, her cheeks warming. "I mean... did something happen?"
"It's nothing," he replied quickly. "Something got into my eyes."
She looked at him for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced, but she didn't push. Instead, her voice softened.
"Did you talk to Maa?" she asked. "Is everything okay between you two?"
He met her eyes.
She clasped her hands together nervously, words spilling out faster than she could control.
"Please forgive her. She's your mother. She never had bad intentions.
I know she made mistakes, but she loves us.
And she's staying here for some days. I really want the family to be happy. Please forgive her."
She finished in one breath, looking at him with hopeful, pleading eyes.
Vidyut lifted his hand and lightly tapped her forehead. "Slow down."
Then he smiled, small but genuine. "I talked to her. Everything is sorted."
For a second, Ritvika just stared at him.
"Really?" she asked, disbelief and relief mixing together.
He nodded.
Her face lit up instantly, happiness spreading across her features in a way that made his chest feel lighter. Watching her smile like that, Vidyut knew one thing clearly.
If keeping peace made her this happy, it was worth every effort.
It was already late morning by the time the house settled into its quiet rhythm.
Vidyut had left for the office today. After so many days.
The only reason he had agreed was because he knew I wouldn't be alone.
Maa was here. Aarush was here. Someone would always be around me.
Only then had he finally stepped out, still checking twice before leaving, still asking if I needed anything.
Tara had gone to school too. Watching her walk in with her tiny bag on her shoulders had filled my heart with a warmth I didn't know I was capable of holding after everything that had happened.
Now, Maa and I were sitting on the couch in my room, the curtains letting in soft sunlight. We were talking about nothing in particular. Little things. House matters. Tara's habits. Random memories. It felt... normal. Comforting.
Then, suddenly, Maa spoke again.
"Karwa Chauth is coming soon," she said casually. "We will go shopping for it."
My hands stopped mid-gesture.
The words didn't register immediately. I just stared at her, my mind suddenly going blank. Karwa Chauth.
I had almost forgotten.
Not because it wasn't important. But because it was something I had never truly lived.
This would be my first.
In my first marriage, he had passed away before Karwa Chauth could even come. After that, my parents had made sure I never celebrated anything. No festivals. No rituals. No happiness that involved me being a wife.
I swallowed, my chest tightening.
This time... I was married. Alive. Loved. And for the first time, someone was talking about me celebrating it like it was natural. Like it was meant to be.
Maa noticed the sudden stillness. She turned toward me, concern flickering across her face.
"Ritvika?" she asked gently. "What happened?"
I shook my head slowly, trying to steady myself. "Nothing," I said, though my voice wasn't as firm as I wanted it to be.
But it wasn't nothing.
It was everything.
The thought that this time, I would fast for someone who cared whether I ate or not. That this time, someone would worry if I looked tired. That this time, I wouldn't be stopped, silenced, or told I didn't deserve it.
My eyes burned slightly, but I forced them to stay dry.
Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.
"I'll keep the fast."
The room went still.
Maa turned toward me slowly, really looking at me this time. Her smile faded—not into anger, but concern.
"Ritvika," she said calmly, "how can you even say that?"
I frowned slightly. "Why not, Maa?"
She gestured toward me, her tone firm but caring. "Have you seen yourself? You're still recovering. A fast in this condition?" She shook her head. "Absolutely not."
"But Maa—" I began, my voice softer now. "It's my first time. I want to do it."
"I understand that," she replied immediately. "But not at the cost of your health. A ritual means nothing if it harms you."
I hesitated, then insisted again, more stubborn than I realized. "I'll manage. I'll be careful."
Before Maa could respond, a familiar voice cut through the room.
("Don't even think about it, wife.")
Both of us froze.
My breath hitched as I turned toward the door.
Vidyut stood there.
Something twisted in my stomach—sharp, sudden. The word biwi echoed in my head, louder than it should have. For a second, I forgot where I was, forgot what we were talking about.
Biwi.
It took me a moment to realize he had heard everything.
I glanced at Maa instinctively.
She was smirking.
That made it worse.
Heat rushed to my face as I straightened immediately, suddenly very aware of how I was sitting, how close the topic was to my heart. I avoided looking at him, focusing instead on my folded hands.
Vidyut walked in, his presence filling the room without effort. His eyes moved to me first—quick, assessing—then to Maa.
"She's not keeping any fast," he said plainly.
I raised an eyebrow, amused. "And who said that?"
He didn't even hesitate. "your husband."
My ears burned.
"Youre still recovering," he continued, his voice firm but not angry. "No rituals, no stubbornness."
I looked up at him. "I can do it," I said quietly. "I won't push myself."
He met my gaze, unmoved. "That's exactly what you'll do."
Maa chuckled softly, clearly enjoying this far more than she should have. "Looks like I'm not needed here anymore," she said, standing up. "You handle your biwi."
I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
As Maa walked out, still smiling, Vidyut turned back to me. His tone softened slightly. "We'll do everything," he said. "Shopping, rituals, celebrations. But no fasting. Not this year."
The room fell quiet after Manisha left.
Ritvika finally spoke, her voice low but honest.
"You know... it's my first time celebrating Karwa Chauth."
"I know," Vidyut replied without hesitation.
She blinked, surprised, then huffed softly. "Of course you know."
He didn't smile, but there was something gentle in his eyes. Vidyut moved closer and sat beside her on the couch, leaving just enough space—not crowding her, not distant either.
She glanced at him. "By the way... why did you come home?" Her brows knitted. "You just went to office two hours ago."
"Forgot a file," he said simply.
"Hm." She hummed, staring at the floor again.
Vidyut noticed immediately. "What happened?" he asked, turning slightly toward her.
She hesitated, then said quietly, "I want to keep the fast."
He exhaled, slow and controlled. "Nope. Not happening."
Ritvika's lips pressed into a thin line. She shifted forward, about to stand up, when his hand gently—but firmly—caught her wrist and guided her back down.
"Let me go," she said. "I have work."
He leaned in just enough to make her look at him. "And what work are you going to do, hmm?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Because as far as I know," he continued calmly, "you are prohibited from doing any work."
Her eyes narrowed instantly, cheeks puffing slightly. A full pout formed.
He almost smiled. Almost.
"Keep the fast next time," Vidyut said instead, his tone steady. "This time we'll go shopping. Buy whatever you want. Clothes, bangles, jewellery—everything. Just not the fast."
She stood up abruptly. "But I want to keep fast," she said, stubbornness dripping from every word.
"Nope."
That single word did it.
Ritvika walked straight to the bed and flopped onto it dramatically, face buried into the pillow.
"Whyyyyy," she whined, her voice muffled.
"You know the reason," Vidyut replied, arms crossing as he watched her.
She turned her head just enough to look at him. "Everyone does it. It's important."
"So is your health," he said immediately.
"I'll be careful."
"You always say that."
"I mean it this time."
He stepped closer. "Ritvika."
She sat up, eyes shining with unshed frustration. "It's not about tradition only," she said softly now. "It's about... feeling included. Like I finally get to do it."
Vidyut's expression shifted—just a little.
Before he could respond, she added quietly, "I don't want to miss it again."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he spoke, slower this time. "You're not missing anything."
She looked at him, confused.
"You're already included," he said. "Fast or no fast doesn't change that."
She swallowed.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Look," he said, voice softer now, "I'm not saying no because I don't understand. I'm saying no because I do."
She looked away again, hugging the pillow to her chest.
"And this year," he finished, "my answer stays no."
She didn't argue further.
But the pout?
That stayed.
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