CHAPTER 1
The accident had shaken the very foundations of the Raheja family. It had been ten long, torturous days since Rudra, the youngest Raheja, had been confined to the Observation home, a temporary holding facility for juveniles who are arrested by the police, awaiting the verdict that would decide his fate.
The air inside the Raheja mansion was thick with tension, every effort made to lessen his punishment proving futile. Their family lawyer, Roy, had been in constant touch, providing updates, but one thing remained clear—Rudra, despite his wealth and privilege, was still being treated better than most, thanks to the Raheja family’s powerful connections. Yet, even those couldn’t erase the grim reality he was facing.
The accident had exploded across headlines, plastered on the front pages of every newspaper. The media was relentless, clamoring for justice for the victim’s family. At the same time, the Raheja supporters fought tooth and nail to prove the car’s brakes had failed, as though mechanical failure could excuse a boy with no license driving a car. But none of it mattered. Rudra Raheja was underage, and no amount of wealth or influence could cover that up.
And now, the day of reckoning had arrived. The decision from the judicial panel landed like a death sentence: Rudra Raheja was to be punished. The boy born with a silver spoon would spend two long years in a Juvenile Home—without the privileges of his powerful name.
Savitri Raheja, the family matriarch and Rudra’s grandmother, hurried to see him before he was taken back into custody. Her heart broke when she saw him—he looked like a shadow of the boy she knew. His eyes were hollow, dark circles etched deep beneath them, his face pale and lifeless. As soon as Rudra spotted her, he staggered forward, collapsing into her arms.
“Daadi, take me out of here... I can’t stay in this place,” Rudra’s voice cracked with desperation. His 16-year-old frame shook as he clung to his grandmother, his plea echoing with raw fear. The headstrong woman who had carried the weight of their family for so many years now found herself helpless, crumbling as she held her grandson.
Tears she had fought to hold back now spilt freely.
“Rudra... Listen to me...”
“No!” Rudra’s voice rose, his panic boiling over. “I don’t want to hear anything. Just take me home. I want to be with you, with Bhai. I can’t stay here,” he cried out, his voice breaking as he yelled.
The police officers stood waiting, allowing the boy extra time with his family, knowing full well the weight of this high-profile case. But time was running out.
“Rudra, you have to stay there for two years. There’s nothing more we can do. Not even me,” Savitri’s voice cracked with each word. The truth was a knife in her chest.
The words seemed to drain the life from Rudra. He froze, fear settling in his eyes as he retreated into silence. Even as Savitri tried to console him with promises of visits, his expression remained blank. His mind was already drowning in the darkness of what lay ahead. Slowly, he stepped back, his body stiff as the police officers moved in, gripping his arms to take him away.
Before they could leave, the lawyer, Roy, approached Savitri, who struggled to compose herself for what was to come next.
“What else does the court orders say, Roy?” Savitri asked, her voice low, but laced with the fury of a woman who had built an empire.
Roy hesitated, knowing the news he was about to deliver would ignite her anger. He took a deep breath.
“Ma’am... the deceased has a 13-year-old daughter. The court has ruled that the Raheja family must take full responsibility for her—her education, her upbringing, her care until she turns 25.”
Savitri’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding as rage surged through her veins. A girl—an unknown girl—would now be the responsibility of the Raheja family. While her grandson was about to endure hell for two years, they would have to raise this child as one of their own.
Suddenly, chaos erupted outside the courtroom. As the police led Rudra toward the van, a stone flew through the air, striking him hard on the forehead. Rudra screamed in agony, clutching his head as blood began to stream from the fresh wound. The officers scrambled to shield him, scanning the crowd for the attacker.
There, standing amidst the chaos, was a tiny figure—rage burning in her eyes, another stone clutched in her fist, ready to strike again. That 13-year-old girl’s gaze locked on Rudra with the intensity of someone whose soul was consumed by hatred. She lifted her arm, prepared to throw the second stone, her small frame trembling with fury.
Rudra stood frozen, unable to look away from her. She was no stranger. She was the one whose father had died that night— her father had come under his car. The sheer force of her rage, the depth of pain in her eyes, hit him harder than the stone. He realized at that moment the enormity of what he had done. Her suffering crushed him, more painful than any punishment the court could give.
“Stop that girl,” a police officer shouted. “She’s Kashish—the deceased’s daughter.”
Before she could throw the stone, Roy rushed in, grabbing her wrist and wrenching the weapon from her hand. For a moment, he raised his hand as though to strike her, but Rudra instinctively raised his arm in protest from far averting Roy’s actions on time. She didn’t deserve to be hit. Not for this. Not after what he had taken away from her. Roy hesitated, lowering his hand, and though the girl didn’t flinch, her glare remained fixed—fearless, daring him to try.
Rudra was so lost in her eyes, so consumed by her rage, that he didn’t even feel the police officers shove him into the van. As the vehicle pulled away, her figure grew smaller in the distance, but her piercing gaze burned into his memory, a haunting reminder of the price he would pay for his crime.
As the van disappeared through the gates, the storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing inside him.
*****************
Kashish Bedi stood still, numb, as she was escorted through the grand entrance of Raheja Mansion by an old maid. Her footsteps echoed in the silence as they moved toward the living room. So, this is where he belongs... the boy who killed my father? She couldn’t understand why she had been sent here. To live with them ? She would have preferred to survive alone on the streets than stay under the roof of the family responsible for her loss. She had fought against this decision in court, but her efforts were in vain. Just as Rudra would serve his punishment in the Juvenile Home, Kashish now felt sentenced to live here for the next 12 years of her life—until she turned 25.
Somesh Chaturvedi, the court official, gently held her hand as they waited for Savitri Raheja to appear. Two days had passed since Rudra had been taken to the Juvenile Home, and now Kashish was here, standing in the mansion of the family, with hatred rising in her chest.
When the 60-year-old, Savitri Raheja finally entered the room, her presence commanded it. Her sharp eyes briefly scanned Kashish with an emotion that she couldn’t quite place—was it contempt? Resentment? She felt a wave of anger surge inside her. This girl, this orphan, was a living reminder of everything they had lost. But Savitri couldn’t deny the bitter truth—her grandson was the reason Kashish had lost her only family.
Chaturvedi broke the tense silence, addressing Savitri Raheja.
“Savitriji, these are the court documents granting you legal custody of the girl.”
He handed her the papers. Without a word, Savitri signed them, her hands steady but her expression tight.
Chaturvedi continued, “At the end of every month, a court representative will visit to check on her welfare and get your signature. Should there be any complaints about mistreatment—”
Savitri raised her hand sharply, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“There will be no such complaints. She’ll be more comfortable here than she ever was in her own home.”
Kashish shot her a look full of venom, but Savitri’s face remained cold and unyielding.
Chaturvedi nodded, “We expect no less, Savitriji. Thank you.”
Before he left, Chaturvedi placed a hand on Kashish’s head, offering a blessing she neither asked for nor wanted. Within minutes, he was gone, leaving Kashish and Savitri alone in the unbearable silence of the grand living room. The tension was palpable, and the hostility between the two women hung heavy in the air.
Savitri broke the silence, calling for the maid, Chanda.
“Take her to the guest room. She’ll be staying there from now.”
Chanda nodded and led Kashish upstairs.
*****************
The guest room was vast, lavish, almost palace-like. It was bigger than her entire home had been. Yet, despite its opulence, it felt hollow—cold, devoid of warmth. This was not her home. Nothing about this place would ever be home. Kashish quietly closed the door behind her, her heart aching with grief and loneliness. She walked slowly to the edge of the bed, sinking to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes as memories of her father washed over her. She could almost see him again—his gentle smile as he told her bedtime stories, the way he brushed her hair before school, his playful antics to make her take her medicine when she was sick.
If only that night had never happened... if only he hadn’t gone out to buy my favorite ice cream. Her tears flowed freely now; her sobs muffled as she pressed her face against her knees. The room was dark, and she wept for what felt like hours, alone, clinging to the edge of the bed.
Suddenly, she felt a presence. A plate of fruit was gently pushed towards her. Startled, she looked up to see a young man—perhaps 19 years old—standing before her. He had a calm smile and with that gentle look in his eyes, his presence felt disarming.
“Eat this. You must be hungry,” he said softly.
Kashish didn’t respond. Instead, she pushed the plate away and buried her face back between her knees.
“If you don’t eat it, Roxy will devour it all,” he warned playfully. “Then don’t come complaining later.”
Kashish lifted her head, confused. Roxy? Before she could ask, a small pug waddled into the room, dressed in a bright outfit. Kashish blinked in disbelief—was she hallucinating? Did they dress up their dogs? The boy knelt beside the dog, patting its head.
“Roxy, meet Kashish. She’ll be staying with us from now on. Do you like her?”
The dog, as if on cue, nodded and trotted over to Kashish, rubbing his head against her arm. Despite herself, Kashish found a smile breaking through her sadness. She began to gently pat the dog, her heart softening just a little.
The boy grinned, holding up a slice of apple.
“Here, have some.”
This time, Kashish didn’t resist. She took the apple, chewing slowly as she fed small pieces to Roxy. The boy watched her carefully.
“I’m Shekhar. Shekhar Raheja,” he introduced himself, extending his hand for a handshake. But Kashish didn’t respond, her heart still guarded. She continued eating in silence, feeding Roxy beside her.
Shekhar watched her with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. He wished his grandmother had never gifted him that luxury car for his academic success. It was supposed to be a celebration. But that same car had been the key to the tragedy that unfolded. His younger brother, Rudra, had taken the car keys from Shekhar’s room that night, eager to drive the new vehicle. Rudra, always so bright, so quick to learn, had made a mistake that shattered everything. A mistake that took a man’s life and destroyed a girl’s world.
******************
It took Kashish three long months to open up to Shekhar. His consistent kindness and gentle concern had slowly chipped away at her icy exterior. Apart from Shekhar, she only spoke to Chanda, the maid who cared for her as if she were family. But Savitri Raheja remained distant, cold. She could never bring herself to connect with the girl, not when every glimpse of her was a reminder of Rudra’s absence.
Savitri’s son and daughter-in-law had died years ago in a car accident, leaving behind Shekhar and Rudra, who were only 9 and 6 at the time. It was Savitri who had raised them, taking charge of the family business and their upbringing. She doted on her grandsons, especially Rudra, who was a handful—stubborn and headstrong. When he wanted something, he would bend the entire household to his will until he got it. Least did Savitri know that it was this unrelenting trait that in the coming future would eventually bend both his fate and Kashish’s.