⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟖˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
After the doctor left, silence had taken over the room. But not the peaceful kind — this was the silence that comes after a storm. The kind that leaves you shaken.
Tara was now fast asleep, her tiny frame curled against Ritvika’s chest, her body finally a little less warm than before.
Ritvika sat against the headboard, eyes red and swollen, lips silently moving as she whispered soft words near Tara’s ear — maybe a lullaby, maybe a prayer. Even she didn’t know.
On the opposite side of the bed, Vidyut stood motionless, his jaw clenched, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the two of them. He didn’t understand what was happening inside him — anger? fear? guilt? Whatever it was, it was loud.
He hated loud emotions.
He turned to walk away, but suddenly saw Ritvika shifting.
She was trying to slide off the bed with Tara still tucked into her arms, clearly planning to move to the couch.
“Where are you going?” his voice wasn’t sharp this time — just low enough not to wake the sleeping child.
Ritvika froze. Her hand paused at the edge of the blanket.
“Voh… couch par,” she whispered, barely audible.
("To the couch...")
It took him a second to process. Then he sighed — long and frustrated.
“You can sleep on the bed today,” he muttered. “First of all, she needs you. And secondly… you both won’t even fit on that couch.”
Ritvika looked at him, startled. She wasn’t expecting that. Not from him.
She slowly nodded and settled back on the bed, adjusting Tara carefully on her lap, cradling her with even more care now.
Vidyut turned away without another word and walked out of the room. A minute later, he returned — with a bowl of water, a fresh cloth, and a towel in hand.
He didn’t speak as he dipped the cloth, wrung it, and gently placed it on Tara’s forehead — exactly as Doctor had advised. He was supposed to give her sponge baths every few hours to help control the fever.
And that’s exactly what he did.
The whole night.
Not once did he sleep.
He sat there, checking her temperature, replacing the cloth, adjusting her blanket. And Ritvika? She didn’t sleep either — but that wasn’t new for her. Sleep had been a stranger for years now.
But Vidyut?
Vidyut Rajvansh, the man who couldn’t stand interruptions in his routine… sat there like a silent guardian for a girl he had no reason to protect.
And yet… he did.
Again and again. Hour after hour.
And every time Tara shifted or whimpered, both of them — both — leaned forward at the same time.
They didn’t speak a word to each other.
But maybe… they didn’t need to.
The morning sun had filtered weakly through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room.
Tara was still asleep, her breathing light and steady, cheeks flushed from the lingering fever.
Ritvika sat beside her on the bed, eyes fixed on her daughter’s face, her fingers gently stroking her hair, as if making sure she was still okay.
The door opened quietly with a familiar creak.
Vidyut stepped in, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at Ritvika at first — just walked straight towards the almirah, speaking as he moved.
“Go and get ready.”
Ritvika looked up, startled.
“Re..ready?” she whispered, confused.
Vidyut turned slightly, his hand pulling open the wardrobe.
“Yes, ready. We have to go to the hospital.”
At that word — hospital — her heart skipped a beat. A cold wave passed through her. Her grip on the blanket tightened unconsciously.
“Why?” she asked, voice barely above a breath.
Vidyut shot her a glance, his tone now edged with irritation.
“Why? Tara ka check-up.”
(“Why? Tara’s check-up.”)
Of course. What else did she think? She quietly stood up.
Without another word, Ritvika walked towards her suitcase and took out one of the only suits she had — a simple green one.
She changed quickly and came out adjusting her dupatta. Before she could even glance towards Tara, Vidyut spoke again.
“Get Tara ready. Give her a sponge bath, not direct water.”
Ritvika nodded quietly and went to wake Tara.
The little girl stirred with a whine, clearly still drowsy, but didn’t protest much when her mother picked her up.
Ritvika gently sponged her body with lukewarm water just like the doctor had advised. Tara giggled softly a few times, her mood slightly better after the rest.
But then came the real problem — clothes.
She had only two outfits for Tara.
One was a soft cotton frock — which Tara had worn the previous day and spilled juice on.
The other… was a slightly heavier dress with net work, frills, and small shining stones — not something ideal for a sick toddler.
But she had no choice.
Her hands trembled as she dressed Tara in the stiffer net frock. Tara frowned and tried to scratch her neck where the fabric irritated her.
Ritvika felt helpless.
“Just for a while, betu. Mumma will get you something soft soon,” she whispered, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
And like that, she adjusted Tara’s tiny hair into a ponytail, picked her up, and turned to face Vidyut again.
As Ritvika stepped out of the closet, holding Tara in her arms, Vidyut’s eyes immediately snapped toward them.
His brows furrowed. Confusion flashed across his face — and then instant alarm.
"Yeh kya pehna diya usse? You know she’s sick. Change it."
(What have you made her wear? You know she’s sick. Change it.)
His eyes were fixed on Tara, who was uncomfortably shifting in Ritvika’s arms, her tiny fingers trying to scratch at the stone work on the dress sleeves.
“Actually… the previous frock… she spilled juice on it, so I—” Ritvika tried to explain softly, adjusting Tara’s neckline.
“So you what? Made her wear this?” Vidyut interrupted sharply.
“Arey change it into something comfortable and softer, for god’s sake.”
Ritvika’s eyes dropped to the floor. Her fingers trembled slightly, clutching Tara protectively. She didn’t respond immediately.
"Now what?" Vidyut snapped again, annoyed at her silence.
Her voice barely came out.
“Actually… she was just having two pairs… pairs of clothes and now—”
“Why only two pairs?” he demanded, almost incredulous.
Ritvika hesitated for a beat before whispering,
“Umm… maa forgot to add more clothes for her.”
It was a lie. A weak one. She knew that. But how could she say the truth — that her family hadn’t cared enough to pack properly for her daughter? That Tara’s things weren’t forgotten, they were simply ignored?
Vidyut clenched his jaw, his fists tightening by his side. His eyes, for a brief moment, flicked to the dress again, then to Tara’s now slightly red wrists from the net rubbing against her skin.
He turned without a word and marched out of the room.
Ritvika stood frozen, heart racing. Had she done something wrong again?
But then, barely two minutes later, he returned — holding a small, soft cotton t-shirt and a tiny pair of shorts in his hand. New. With tags.
He extended them toward her without meeting her eyes.
“It’s from Aarush’s online shopping. He orders random baby clothes for no reason. They were kept in the spare room. Make her wear this.”
And then he added, his voice a little lower, almost like he didn’t want to admit it—
“I’ll buy more clothes later. But just get her rid of this drama dress.”
Ritvika took the clothes silently, her fingers brushing his for half a second.
Tara, oblivious to everything, let out a soft sneeze and buried her head into her mother’s neck.
?? ?
The hospital visit was quiet.
Too quiet.
From the moment they had entered the clinic, Vidyut hadn’t let Tara leave his arms for even a second. Her usual bubbly chatter, her giggles, her chaos — all were missing today. Her body was warm, her eyes droopy, and her head rested tiredly against Vidyut’s chest, as if even blinking was an effort.
Ritvika walked silently beside them, her eyes constantly flickering between Tara’s face and Vidyut’s grip — not out of fear this time, but out of concern. Concern for both.
Because despite the stone face, the gritted jaw, the short temper — Vidyut Rajvansh was acting nothing short of a paranoid father.
He double-checked everything before entering the doctor’s cabin — from the sanitisation of the room to the temperature setting, even confirming the stethoscope was disinfected.
When the nurse reached to place Tara on the check-up table, Vidyut had sharply said, “I’ll hold her.”
Not even once did his arms loosen from around her.
Not even when she whimpered at the cold touch of the doctor’s hands.
And Tara? She didn’t even protest. No tantrums. No demands. No animated elephant stories. Her silence was the most deafening part of the day.
After the check-up was finally over, the three of them walked out of the hospital. A couple of security guards were following them from a distance — keeping a watch, as instructed.
As they stepped into the bright sunlight, Vidyut carefully adjusted Tara in Ritvika’s lap inside the car.
And in that second — as he handed Tara over — his hand brushed against Ritvika’s.
It was nothing more than a gentle moment of contact. But while Vidyut showed no reaction, Ritvika’s breath hitched.
Her fingers, now cradling her daughter, still tingled where his touch had accidentally lingered.
Her heart stammered in her chest, unfamiliar with the emotion surging through her — confusion… maybe even fear.
She didn’t dare look at him.
But Vidyut was already back in the driver’s seat, adjusting the rear-view mirror, his eyes set straight ahead — unreadable.
The car moved again.
But instead of taking a turn toward home, it turned toward a posh showroom. A massive glass-fronted building with the name glowing in gold letters.
A children’s luxury store.
Ritvika looked up at the signboard and then toward Vidyut, confused.
But he said nothing.
Why did he stop the car here?
I frowned, looking out through the tinted window. A huge showroom… for kids?
He stepped out — not a word, not even a glance — and started talking to someone near the entrance. Was he on a call? Maybe. Maybe he didn’t want to talk in front of me.
"Of course," I thought. "Why would he?"
I looked at Tara in my lap. She was still playing with the chain around my neck — my mangalsutra. Her fingers were soft, small, and quiet… too quiet.
Where was my little troublemaker who used to make me run across the entire house just to stop her from climbing windows? She wasn’t even talking today. Just blinking slowly and clutching me like I was her only anchor.
And then, my thoughts were cut short.
The car door on my side opened with a swift tug.
He was there.
Standing like he owned the world. Or maybe like he didn’t care if he did or not.
“What are you waiting for? Come out.”
His voice was as usual — sharp, commanding. But not cruel.
I blinked at him, confused.
Still… I stepped out, shifting Tara in my arms carefully. Her cheek pressed to my shoulder.
As I lowered one foot out of the car, my heel slipped slightly — maybe because I hadn’t worn these sandals in a long time. Or maybe my mind was still stuck at the hospital.
And for a moment, I felt the terrifying loss of balance.
Tara.
“Ahh—”
Before I could even complete the thought, his arm gripped mine tightly — grounding me — while his other hand secured Tara gently, as if on reflex.
I stared at him, startled.
But he was already looking away like it was nothing.
“Careful,” he muttered.
And then we were walking in.
The staff, already alert from his call, bowed slightly the moment he entered.
“Show me kids’ dresses,” Vidyut said, his tone flat but authoritative. “Age 2. I want every design available in that size.”
He didn’t look at me. Just Tara.
One by one, the dresses came out — soft cottons, baby silks, frilled frocks, embroidered tunics. Fancy ones. Casual ones. Festival ones.
But Vidyut… he wasn’t just picking randomly. He touched every fabric. Rubbed the sleeves gently between his fingers. Checked for stitches. Looked inside for any tags or lace that might hurt her.
He wasn’t shopping. He was examining. Like the clothes were weapons — and Tara was fragile glass.
And then — his voice came again.
“Pack all of them.”
My heart sank.
I couldn’t stay quiet anymore. I stepped forward, lightly tugging his sleeve.
“Yeh sab?”
(All of these?)
He gave me a brief look. Waiting.
“I mean… Tara ke paas kapde hain. Ghar se le aayenge. Itne ki zarurat nahi. Aur… yeh sab…”
(Tara has clothes… we’ll bring them from home… this much isn’t necessary… and all this…)
I hesitated. The words barely came out.
“Yeh kaafi expensive hai. I can’t spend so much. Main afford nahi kar sakti.”
(These are quite expensive. I can’t spend this much. I can’t afford it.)
He didn’t blink.
Didn’t react.
And then—he said flatly:
“And who said you’re paying?”
My breath caught.
He turned back to the staff, ignoring whatever expression I had on my face.
“I said pack all of them.”
His voice was louder now — final.
No argument. No explanation.
I stepped back quietly.
In that moment, I didn’t even know what stunned me more—
The number of dresses…
Or the fact that he didn’t let me finish my sentence.
I turned away. My eyes fell on a soft yellow frock with tiny strawberries on it. My hand reached out… just to feel the material.
It was soft. Gentle. Just like Tara would like.
And then I saw the price tag.
6 thousand.
I immediately let go. As if I’d touched something burning.
I walked away fast, before he or anyone else could see my face.
Because even if someone else was paying...
I still couldn’t afford to want something so sweet.
T
he billing counter was wrapping up.
Vidyut, arms crossed, stood silent as the staff packed all the clothes he had selected — soft fabrics, breathable cottons, and a few warm layers. He had chosen with care, ignoring the price tags, inspecting the stitching and comfort like a professional.
Meanwhile, Ritvika sat down on the soft couch nearby, gently adjusting Tara on her lap. The little one leaned against her chest, eyes half-open, cheeks still flushed.
She checked the time.
It was medicine time.
Tara stirred slightly in her lap. Ritvika gently whispered, “Baccha, abhi medicine leni hai…
(Baby, it’s time to take your medicine…)
She looked around, realizing the syrup and spoon were in the car. Slowly, carefully, she shifted Tara to one side and stood up, trying not to disturb her too much.
Just as she was about to walk out—
“Where are you going?”
Vidyut’s voice, calm but firm, cut through the silence as he turned away from the counter.
Ritvika paused, startled, mid-step.
“Voh… I was just going to the car… Tara’s medicine is there,” she said softly, brushing Tara’s hair from her forehead.
He walked toward her, brows slightly furrowed.
“You don’t need to go.”
He raised a hand toward one of the guards standing at the door.
“Tell Mohan to get the bottle from the car. Backseat. Red pouch.”
The guard nodded and walked away swiftly.
Ritvika blinked, her lips parting — not in shock, but confusion. She didn’t expect him to notice that much… not even she remembered where exactly the pouch was.
“Sit,” he said simply, motioning to the couch again.
And she did — without argument — holding Tara close, her thoughts scattered.
This man… was hard to read.
Hard to predict.
Just as the medicine arrived and Ritvika fed Tara a spoonful of the syrup, Vidyut’s phone rang.
“I’ll be back,” he said curtly, walking a few steps away to take the call. His tone had already shifted into that cold, authoritative one he used for work — sharp, short, business-like.
Ritvika remained seated on the couch with Tara snuggled in her arms. The little girl had begun to feel drowsy again, her fingers curled in Ritvika’s dupatta as her breathing grew slower, heavier.
The moment was calm — quiet.
Until…
“Ritvika?”
A voice.
Female. Familiar.
Too familiar.
Ritvika’s body tensed instantly.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Slowly, very slowly, she turned her head behind — and the world seemed to tilt beneath her.
There they were.
Vidya.
Her ex-mother-in-law, standing there, dressed in a crisp beige saree, a designer bag hanging from her arm.
And beside her…
Sara.
Her ex-sister-in-law, now married, glowing in her high-end outfit and perfect makeup.
Ritvika’s throat went dry. Her heartbeat thundered inside her ears.
No. No. No.
Not here. Not now.
Vidya’s eyes landed on Tara first.
Then drifted to Ritvika.
The smirk that followed was enough to pierce her chest like a thousand needles.
“YEH DEKHO MADAM ITNE BADE SHOWROOM MEIN KYA KAR RAHI HAI,” Vidya’s voice sliced through the air like a whip.
(Look at Madam, what is she doing in such a big showroom?)
Her eyes scanned Ritvika from head to toe — her faded green suit, her tired face, the baby in her lap. But what she noticed most was the dress Tara wore.
Vidya's nose scrunched in visible disgust.
“Did you get a job here for cleaning?”
Sara’s voice followed, laced with cruelty, a smirk tugging at her heavily glossed lips.
She leaned in mockingly, pretending to inspect Tara’s clothes.
“Or maybe you’re collecting leftover clothes for this charity baby?”
Sara sneered again, watching Ritvika clutch her daughter like a shield.
But before Ritvika could take another breath, Vidya’s sharp eyes caught something that made her gasp—
She stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
“Ek minute… ek minute, Saru dekh yeh… yeh chain aur sindoor?”
(Wait a minute... Saru, look at this... the chain and vermilion?)
Her hand pointed directly at Ritvika’s neck — the mangalsutra swaying slightly, and a faint streak of sindoor in her middle parting.
“Isne shaadi kar li?”
(She got married?)
Vidya’s voice rose in shock.
Sara leaned forward now, eyes wide, then widened more — and twisted into disgust.
“Shaadi? Who the hell did she trap?”
Vidya scoffed.
“Aur kab? Jab iske paas ek bacchi bhi hai?”
(And when? When she already has a child?)
“Kise fasaya hai tune?"
(Whom did you trap?)
The words stabbed.
Ritvika felt her throat dry, her ears ringing.
She wanted to speak—wanted to say nothing, to turn away—but her body didn’t allow her.
A wave of weakness crashed through her — her vision blurred slightly, her legs wobbled.
She gripped the edge of the couch with her free hand, but still didn’t utter a word.
Tara stirred a little in her lap.
Sara’s voice pierced again, louder this time.
“Kya usse pata nahi ki tu badnaseeb hai? Tera saaya bhi manhoos hai.”
(Does he not know you're a bad omen? Even your shadow is cursed.)
“Pehle mere bhai ko cheena, aur ab kisi aur ko?”
(You took my brother from me, and now someone else too?)
Vidya’s face twisted with hate. Her eyes were red now.
“Tu aur teri beti — dono hi manhoos ho. Tum dono ki wajah se mera beta gaya… tum dono ne mujhse mera beta cheen liya!”
(You and your daughter — both are cursed. Because of you two, my son is gone… you snatched my son from me!)
Ritvika’s hands trembled. Her chest hurt. A dull, dragging ache started to throb behind her breastbone. Her heartbeats were no longer steady — they were skipping, pounding, faltering. A cold sweat broke on her forehead.
Her grip on Tara loosened for a second before she held her tighter again.
Tara looked up, concerned.
“Mumma?” she whispered, gently patting Ritvika’s cheek.
Ritvika gave a weak smile to her daughter — her everything — but her lips were pale.
And just then—
“That’s enough.”
The voice was calm.
Deadly.
Sharp enough to slice through glass.
All three women froze.
Vidyut Rajvansh was standing right behind them — again.
But this time, his expression wasn’t unreadable.
It was lethal.
His jaw was clenched. The vein on his forehead twitched.
“Bas ho gaya na?”
(You’re done, right?)
The air turned heavier the moment Vidyut’s voice rang out.
Vidya and Sara froze mid-sentence, their mockery drying up like a spilled drink wiped away in a second.
Sara blinked. Then smiled sweetly — too sweetly.
“Vidyut Rajvansh?” she tilted her head.
“Yeh… yeh aapke saath hain?”
("Vidyut? She… she's with you?")
Vidya followed suit, face twisted with confusion and hidden calculation.
“Matlab… aap iske pati ho?”
("Wait… you're her husband?")
Vidyut’s eyes didn’t blink. His gaze rested coldly on them.
He didn’t answer. Not yet.
Ritvika, still on the couch, felt the air thinning around her. Her breathing grew shallow.
Her hand subtly went to her chest as a slight pressure crept in. Her fingers trembled faintly, but she kept her head down. Her eyes were burning, and not just from tears — from fatigue, the weakness, the rising discomfort in her ribs. She tried to hide it.
Tara instinctively cuddled closer.
Sara, sensing Vidyut’s silence, smirked — sharper now.
“Oh god… he really married you?”
She laughed. “Poor guy. You didn’t tell him about your past? Or about the curse you carry?”
“Tum dono hi manhoos ho — ek maa jiske pair jahan padte hain waha se log chale jaate hain… aur ek bacchi jiske hone se hi log zinda nahi rehte.”
("You're both cursed — a mother whose presence makes people leave forever, and a daughter whose very birth brings death.")
Vidya added bitterly,
“Tu toh pehle hi badnaseeb thi. Tumhare saath rehkar koi bhi barbaad ho jaye.”
("You were always ill-fated. Anyone with you will be ruined.")
Ritvika winced — not at their words, but at the sharp sting in her chest. She held Tara closer, blinking fast, trying to look composed. Her vision blurred slightly. Her legs had begun to ache — she hadn’t even stood up, but her limbs felt heavy as if soaked in cement.
She wasn’t just emotionally collapsing.
Her body was speaking too.
Vidyut finally spoke.
“Not. One. More. Word.”
His voice was calm — terrifyingly calm.
Sara flinched.
“Mr. Rajvansh, we’re just saying—”
“I don’t care what you’re saying.”
His tone snapped.
“You barged into someone’s personal moment, insulted her, mocked a child, and now you’re calling them cursed?”
Vidya huffed.
“We were just warning you — yeh aurat aur uski beti shagun nahi, manhoosiyat hai!”
("We were just warning you — this woman and her daughter aren’t blessings, they’re bad luck!")
Ritvika’s head dipped lower.
Tara looked up, scared by the sudden tension, her tiny hand patting her mother’s face again.
Ritvika mustered a whisper.
“Betu… mumma yahin hai…”
("Mumma is right here...")
But she wasn’t okay — and anyone with eyes could see that. Her lips were dry. Her face had lost color. Her hand rested weakly against her chest, trembling ever so slightly. Tara, oblivious to the weight in the air, kept patting her mother’s cheek.
Vidyut’s sharp gaze snapped to her — and then, everything about him changed.
Gone was the man who tolerated the presence of Sara and Vidya.
Gone was the man who’d calmly tried to walk away.
What remained now…
was Vidyut Rajvansh — the cold, dangerous storm people whispered about.
He stepped forward slowly, and the temperature in the showroom dropped.
His eyes turned to Sara and Vidya — eyes like steel, voice low and venom-laced.
“Get. Out.”
Sara blinked.
“Vidyut—”
“I said—” he stepped closer, tone lethal, “Leave. Now. Before I forget where we are.”
The words hit like a bullet.
Sara opened her mouth again, but Vidya tugged her wrist.
“Let’s go,” Vidya muttered.
“He’s not going to listen.”
“No, he’s going to destroy if we stay,” Sara whispered under her breath, glaring at Ritvika as if she was the reason for it all.
They left, grumbling, throwing one last look at Ritvika — who sat frozen, not from fear, but from weakness.
And Vidyut?
He didn’t spare them another glance.
His footsteps changed direction — straight toward her.
One look at her fragile state, the way her chest rose unevenly, the way her eyes were struggling to stay open…
That rage he had moments ago?
Now it settled — turned into a different kind of fire.
He didn’t say a word.
Just bent down, slowly, and gently took Tara from her arms — holding the little one to his chest.
Then, without asking, he extended his hand to Ritvika.
Not a question. Not a command.
Just... a silent offer.
And for some reason, Ritvika — breathless, weak, shaken — took it.
━━━━━━?? ━━━━━━
??Please re-read Chapter 06 as I have made changes for Ritvika’s illness??
Now tell me — in which chapter should Vidyut find out about Ritvika’s illness?
??