•| FORTY THREE |•
The next morning felt unusually heavy despite the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows of your parents’ house.
You stood by the counter quietly chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the wooden board the only thing keeping your thoughts from spiraling completely out of control.
Your eyes were swollen from crying the night before, and every small memory of Krish and Kiaan kept flashing in your mind without permission.
Just as you were about to wipe your tears discreetly with the edge of your dupatta, your phone buzzed on the counter.
The sudden vibration made you flinch. You glanced at the screen—and your breath caught in your throat.
Mumma flashed on the caller ID. Your fingers tightened around the knife for a second before you slowly put it down.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, you picked up the phone and answered, trying to sound normal.
“Yes ma—” “Mummyyyy!” The tiny, familiar voice burst through the speaker before you could finish, and your heart instantly began pounding wildly against your ribs.
“Kiaan…” you whispered, your voice already trembling.
“Mummy!” he repeated again, as if just hearing you wasn’t enough.
“Yes, baby, mummy is here,” you said quickly, pressing the phone closer to your ear as if that could somehow close the distance between you.
“What happened? Why are you calling from Dadi’s phone?
” “Mummy, mummy, mummy…” he kept chanting your name, and you could hear the slight crack in his voice.
“Yes, my jaan, tell me.” There was a brief sniffle before he blurted out, “I miss you. Kiaan didn’t sleep last night.
Kiaan stopped talking to Dad too. Kiaan hates Dad—” “No!” you interrupted him immediately, your tone firmer than you intended.
You shut your eyes tightly, guilt washing over you.
“Kiaan, don’t say things like that. Why aren’t you talking to Dad?
” There was a small pause on the other end, followed by a stubborn little voice.
“Because he hurt you again.” The innocence and protectiveness in his words made your chest ache painfully.
For a second, you couldn’t speak. This is bad…
how can I destroy a father-son relationship because of my anger?
you thought anxiously. You swallowed hard before softening your tone.
“Baby, listen to me carefully. Dad didn’t hurt me.
I’m just a little angry with him, that’s all.
Sometimes grown-ups get upset too, but that doesn’t mean we stop loving each other.
” “Really?” he asked hesitantly. “Really,” you reassured him, forcing a small smile through your tears.
“And you know what? Dad must be very sad if you’re not talking to him.
” There was another pause, then a tiny gasp.
“Then… then I should say sorry to Dad?” he asked, genuinely worried.
Your lips curved into a tender smile despite the pain inside you.
“Yes, you should. You’re my good boy, right?
” A soft giggle came through the phone. “YES!! Kiaan is mummy’s good boy!
” he said proudly. You chuckled faintly, brushing away a tear with the back of your hand.
“That’s my baby.” But then his voice softened again.
“Mummy… when will you come home?” The question you were dreading finally arrived.
Your smile slowly faded, your grip on the phone tightening.
You looked down at the half-cut vegetables, your vision blurring again.
Taking a shaky breath, you replied quietly, “Soon, baby.” You didn’t know when.
You didn’t know how. But for the sake of the little boy whose world revolved around both his parents, you knew you couldn’t let “soon” turn into “never.”
Meanwhile, in the lavish apartment across town, Sara was pacing back and forth like a storm trapped inside four walls, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as rage burned through her veins.
Her perfectly manicured nails dug into her palms, smudging the edge of the photograph she had been gripping for the past ten minutes.
“How dare he?” she hissed through clenched teeth, her reflection in the mirror showing eyes filled not with love—but obsession.
“How dare he shout at me… for that woman? For that bitch?” Her breathing grew heavier as she replayed the scene in her mind—Krish pushing her away, raising his voice at her, choosing Samira over her without hesitation.
The humiliation stung more than rejection.
“He used to beg for my attention,” she muttered bitterly.
“And now he looks at me like I’m nothing.
” Just then, a knock sounded at her bedroom door, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts.
“Ma’am,” her maid said cautiously from outside, “the boys are here.” The corners of Sara’s lips slowly curled into a dangerous smirk.
“Bring them in,” she replied smoothly, her voice suddenly calm—too calm.
A few moments later, three young men walked into the room, looking more like college students than anything threatening, but their restless expressions suggested otherwise. One of them crossed his arms impatiently.
“You called us. Just tell us what to do.” Sara turned toward them, her smile cold and calculated. “Straight to the point. I like that.” She walked to the small bar counter, picked up a glass of water, took a slow sip, then placed it down deliberately before reaching for the photograph on the table.
Without a word, she held it out toward them.
“This girl,” she said softly, almost mockingly sweet.
The boys leaned closer to look at your picture.
“Who is she?” one of them asked. Sara’s eyes darkened.
“Someone who needs to learn her place.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice into a chilling whisper.
“Ruin her. I don’t care how. Destroy her reputation.
Break her confidence. Make her life miserable.
I want her completely shattered.” The boys exchanged glances, one of them raising a brow.
“That’s it? No limits?” Sara’s smile widened.
“No limits.” She walked back to her chair and sat down elegantly, crossing her legs.
“You’ll be paid well. Very well. But I want results. I don’t want excuses.” One of the boys picked up the photo again, studying it carefully before nodding. “Done.” Sara leaned back against the couch, satisfaction washing over her face as she imagined the chaos that would soon unfold.
“Let’s see,” she murmured to herself once they left, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass, “how long you survive when the world turns against you, Samira.”