⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
"Mom, I'm going to meet her today," a girl in a floral pink dress said firmly to the woman standing in front of her.
"But... please take me too. I also want to meet her," the woman replied, her eyes pleading.
The girl clutched her mother's shoulder, her voice trembling yet determined.
"Mom, please try to understand. You know na how she reacts... so please."
The woman sighed, her resistance softening. She slowly nodded her head.
"Okay... but take her favourite aloo paratha with you," she said, already rushing toward the kitchen.
Soon, the girl reached the hospital—Lifeline.
After nodding politely at the receptionist, she made her way to room number 210. With hesitant hands, she quietly opened the door... only to be met with complete darkness.
On the hospital bed sat the patient—her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly as if they were her only shield.
Her eyes darted around the room, wild, unfocused, searching for threats no one else could see.
The fluorescent tube light flickered once, and in that brief flash of darkness, her lips trembled.
When she noticed a silhouette by the door, her breath hitched.
Her frail body stiffened, and then—like an injured bird—she panicked.
"Dur... dur... dur..." she chanted brokenly, her voice trembling yet sharp with fear.
Her arms flailed as though she wanted to push the shadow away, nails digging into her own skin in desperation.
The sound tore through the girl's chest, each plea hitting her like a dagger.
The girl swallowed hard, blinking back tears, and took a slow step forward. Not rushing, not forcing. Her palms trembled, but she kept them open, visible, harmless.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she whispered, her voice softer than the hum of the fan, trembling but steady enough to be heard. The patient didn't respond, her rocking only growing harsher, her whispers turning to cries.
Finally, the girl lowered herself into the chair across the bed—making sure the distance was safe, not threatening. She leaned forward just enough for her words to carry.
"Shhh, betu," her voice cracked with emotion. "I'm here... no one else, just me..." She took a shaky breath, the name escaping her lips like a secret only they shared. "...Siya."
The patient froze. Her rocking stopped, though her chest still rose and fell in uneven gasps. Slowly, almost cautiously, her head turned. Her glassy eyes blinked at the sound of that familiar voice, that name she knew, that warmth she craved but feared was gone.
"Angel?" she whispered, the word broken, fragile—like a child afraid to hope.
The girl's throat tightened. She nodded quickly, tears sliding down her cheeks before she even realized. "Yes, baccha. I'm here... your angel." Her voice wavered, but her hand, resting on her lap, remained steady—patient, waiting, never pushing.
For the first time in weeks, Siya's trembling stopped. Her eyes lingered on the girl, almost unbelieving, and a small sigh escaped her lips as she clung to that one word, that one promise—that she wasn't alone.
There was a pause. Then Siya's lower lip jutted out, her voice turning into a small, broken whimper as she clutched the blanket tighter.
"Angel... they didn't give me the red candy today... I wanted it..." Her words stumbled like those of a child, her complaint innocent, almost stubborn. "And the nurse... she tied my hand... I don't like it, I don't like it!"
Her tone shifted between whining and fear, her fingers tugging at the IV tape like a sulky toddler.
The "angel" leaned in, gently holding her wrist before she could pull it off. "Shhh, baccha... no one's tying you now. Look, I'm here, hmm? No nurse, no one. Just me."
But Siya wasn't done. She pouted, her eyes glistening. "You were late today... I waited... you didn't come... bad angel." Her words cracked into a sob. "What if they took me away?"
Her angel cupped her cheek, brushing away a tear with her thumb. "I'm sorry, betu... I know I'm late. But see? I'm here now. I'll never let anyone take you away."
Her voice softened into a childish whine.
"Angel... they don't listen to me here. Nobody listens.
.. I keep telling them, I want to go home.
.. I don't like it here. The food is yucky.
.. it's not like your food." She pouted, eyes wide and wet.
"They give me bitter medicine, Angel. I don't want it.
" She tugged at her sleeve like a toddler begging for attention.
The girl chuckled softly, brushing her knuckles across Siya's temple. "Arre, who told you I'd come empty-handed? Hmm?" She leaned down, lowering her bag, and with a gentle flourish, pulled out a tiffin box wrapped carefully in a cloth.
Siya's eyes lit up instantly, her mood shifting in seconds like a child distracted from tears. "What is it? What is it, Angel? Tell me!" she said, bouncing slightly, her hands reaching out impatiently.
The girl opened the lid slowly, letting the aroma fill the room. "Tada... your favorite. Aaloo paratha. Just how you like it."
Siya gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her palms as if she had just seen treasure.
"Aaloo paratha?! Angel really brought it?
For me?!" Her voice shook with excitement, her whole being glowing with innocence.
She clapped like a child, unable to control herself, eyes glimmering with unfiltered joy.
The girl nodded, smiling through the lump in her throat. "Of course, for you. Only for you, baccha."
Siya immediately leaned closer, whispering in awe, "See? I told them my Angel comes. They don't believe me. But you came. You always come." Her words were a mix of complaint and worship, melting into the safety of that presence she trusted.
After finishing the aloo paratha with a messy smile, Siya finally leaned back on the pillow, her small hands holding her angel's fingers tightly. Her eyes slowly grew heavy, and her angel gently caressed her forehead.
"Bas thoda sa so jaa, Siya. Main yahin hoon."
(Just sleep for a while, Siya. I'm right here.)
With that assurance, Siya closed her eyes and drifted into sleep. For a while, the room was peaceful—the sound of her soft breaths, the faint beeping of the machine, and her angel's protective presence by her side.
But soon, Siya's body began to twitch restlessly. Her brows furrowed, and soft whimpers slipped from her lips. Suddenly, her fragile voice cracked into a scream—
"Leave me! Ahhh... no... no, please!"
Her angel immediately bent down, cupping Siya's trembling face.
"Shhh... Siya, open your eyes. Main hoon yahan... you're safe."
(I'm here....)
Siya thrashed weakly, her fingers clawing at the bedsheet as if fighting invisible hands. Her angel quickly pulled her into her arms, rocking her gently like a child.
"Baby, look at me... no one will hurt you now. Your Angel is here."
Slowly, Siya's sobs grew softer, her shaking body curling into her angel's embrace like a frightened child clinging to warmth.
Her angel kissed her hair, whispering again and again, "Safe... safe... you're safe, Siya."
And finally, Siya's trembling eased, her tear-stained face pressed against the comfort she trusted most.
On the other hand, Viyana, Ritvika, and little Tara had already moved upstairs safely. Ritvika was nervous at first—Vidyut had been mad at her since morning, and he had clearly denied her from using the stairs. But in front of Viyana, she had no choice but to quietly follow along.
The three of them were walking down the corridor when Viyana suddenly said with excitement, "Bhabhi, chalo bhai ke room mein chalte hain!"
(Sister-in-law, let's go to brother's room!).
Ritvika halted in her pace, her breath catching slightly.
Then Viyana turned curiously toward her. "By the way bhabhi, why did you and bhai shift downstairs?"
Ritvika hesitated before answering, her voice low. "Actually... because of Tara. For her safety, so she doesn't have to climb stairs often."
Viyana nodded in understanding and, without waiting further, skipped ahead and pushed open Vidyut's room door.
Ritvika quickly reached out as if to stop her, "Viyana, wait—" but it was too late. They had already stepped in.
Her eyes instinctively roamed across the room. The walls were dark, the atmosphere heavy, almost reflecting the man himself. She had never really gotten the chance to explore this space before, and suddenly, it felt as though she was stepping into Vidyut's world for the very first time.
Viyana sat comfortably on the bed, her mischievous eyes wandering around the room. She let out a dramatic sigh.
"Bhabhi, don't you feel irritated? His room is so dark, yaar. His clothes? Only black and grey! Didn't you notice?"
Ritvika looked up from adjusting the pillow, her brows knitting softly. "Haan, I noticed... but that's just how he is."
Viyana smirked knowingly and leaned closer, lowering her voice into a teasing whisper.
"Of course you had to see, hmm? You've seen him in black... and also without black too. Ahmm... without clothes too."
Ritvika's eyes widened instantly, her cheeks heating up in a rush of crimson. She almost choked on her breath, clutching the bedsheet as if it could hide her embarrassment.
"Viyana!" she whispered sharply, scandalized, her heart racing at the bold tease.
Viyana burst out laughing, clearly enjoying her bhabhi's flustered reaction. "Arre wah, look at your face! Totally red! Bhabhi, you're so easy to tease."
Ritvika shook her head, pressing her lips together, trying to mask her shyness—but her ears betrayed her, turning visibly pink.
"Bhabhii..." Viyana tugged softly at Ritvika's dupatta, her innocent eyes shining with impatience, "let's go downstairs na. Everyone must have came by now."
Ritvika stiffened. She had brought Viyana upstairs with such uttermost care, guarding every step as though the child was made of glass.
But now, the thought of going back down those steep stairs made her chest tighten with anxiety.
What if something happens? What if she slips?
Her heart trembled with the weight of all the fears only a mother-like heart knows.
"Viyana... let's wait for a while," she murmured, brushing the girl's hair. But Viyana pouted, her hands curling around Ritvika's wrist. "Nooo... come. We'll go together."
And how could she deny those eyes? Taking a deep breath, Ritvika forced her trembling legs forward.
They stepped out of the room. The corridor was silent, filled only with the faint echoes of household sounds from below. Ritvika's hold on Viyana's arm was firm, protective—as if her very life depended on it.
Then they reached the top of the staircase.
The world seemed to blur for Ritvika. The flight of stairs looked endless, sharp, threatening. Her breath hitched as her fingers dug tighter into Viyana's small arm, anchoring her in place. She bent slightly, whispering, "Careful,... hold my hand tight. Don't rush."
Viyana nodded, her feet ready to take the first step.
And just as they were about to move—
"Viyana."
The deep, commanding voice cut through the stillness like thunder. Vidyut's voice.
Both froze. Ritvika's heart skipped, startled by the suddenness of his tone. But the one who reacted most sharply was Viyana. The l girl jerked her head toward the sound, her balance wavering.
Her foot slipped.
Time slowed.
Ritvika gasped, horror exploding in her chest. "Viyana!" Her grip loosened in panic, fingers fumbling as Viyana's fragile body lurched forward, tilting dangerously toward the stairs.
The world tilted. The marble gleamed below like an abyss waiting to swallow the child whole.
But before Ritvika's scream could even leave her throat, a blur of movement flashed before her eyes.
Vidyut.
With a swiftness that didn't seem human, he had crossed the distance. His arm shot out, strong and unyielding, catching Viyana mid-fall. The girl's body collided safely into his chest just inches away from the edge.
Ritvika's knees buckled in relief, her hand flying to her mouth.
Vidyut's jaw was set, his eyes blazing as he held Viyana close, his chest rising and falling sharply. For a long, suspended moment, the entire world went silent around them—only the echo of danger that almost happened lingered in the air.
Ritvika's heart was hammering violently, her vision glassy with unshed tears. She wanted to rush forward, to hold Viyana, to cling to her. But she stood frozen, her body trembling as Vidyut slowly lifted his gaze toward her.
The intensity in his eyes was enough to shake her soul.
Atharv, who had just followed behind Vidyut, froze at the horrifying sight before his eyes widened in shock. Without wasting a second, he rushed forward, scooping Viyana gently into his arms. His face was pale with worry as he carefully carried her downstairs and placed her on the couch.
At the same moment, Parul and Manisha—who had returned from their friend's home barely five minutes ago—stepped out of their rooms, searching for Ritvika and Viyana. Their eyes instantly fell on the tense scene in the hall. Everyone stood still, stunned.
Ritvika, shaken to her core, remained frozen at the staircase, her hands trembling. It was only when Atharv shouted, "Someone bring water fast!" that she snapped out of her daze. Heart pounding, she rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and hurried back.
Just as she was about to hand the glass to Viyana, Manisha stepped forward, snatched it from Ritvika's hand, and made Viyana drink the water herself. Ritvika stopped mid-step, her chest tightening, her eyes silently dropping to the floor.
As the family gathered around, the air in the hall felt heavy with fear and confusion. Viyana's cries still echoed in their ears, and the elders stood frozen in helplessness.
Manisha pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her eyes glistening with tears. "Bechari bacchi... jabse aayi hai, iske saath bura hi ho raha hai, she muttered under her breath, though her glance immediately flickered toward Ritvika.
(Poor girl... since the day she came, only bad has followed her)
Ritvika's eyes widened at the silent accusation. Her throat burned as if a lump of fire was stuck there. She stood rooted to her spot, her hands hanging helplessly at her sides, tears rolling uncontrollably down her cheeks. She wanted to speak, to defend herself, but the words refused to form.
Vidyut stood nearby, his towering presence making the atmosphere even heavier.
His gaze never left Ritvika—dark, sharp, and unforgiving.
His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his face flexed with every breath.
He didn't need to speak; his eyes alone were enough to pierce holes into her trembling figure, accusing her silently, demanding answers she didn't have.
Ritvika shuddered under the weight of his stare, her tears blurring everything around her. For the first time in her life, she felt utterly stripped of strength, caught between Manisha's whispered blame and Vidyut's silent fury.
Ritvika's feet moved on their own, her heart aching as she took hesitant steps toward Viyana, wanting nothing more than to check on her, to soothe her the way only a heart could. But before she could even reach close, a sharp voice sliced through the thick silence.
"Ruko! Don't come near her, Ritvika." Manisha's hand shot up in the air, palm stiff, her tone leaving no space for argument.
Ritvika froze instantly, the air around her turning to ice. Her lips parted, a trembling whisper escaping, "Maa..." Her voice cracked, desperate to explain, desperate to plead.
But Manisha's eyes were blazing, her words cold and cruel. "No. Maine kaha na—no means no!"
(No. I said no means no!)
The harshness in her tone echoed in the silent hall, making Ritvika flinch as if someone had struck her across the face. Her throat bobbed painfully, but her words dissolved before reaching her lips.
Sensing the tension growing unbearable, Parul stepped forward, her own face tight with concern. "Bhabhi, aap yeh—"
(Sister-in-law, why are you—)
But Manisha cut her off immediately, her tone brooking no interference. "No, Parul. Not now."
Parul stopped mid-sentence, her hands curling helplessly at her sides as she stepped back. The atmosphere grew heavier, the weight of silence pressing down on everyone's chest.
Manisha's eyes turned back to Ritvika, sharp as daggers. Her voice dripped with venom as she declared, "Ritvika, jao apne room mein. Abhi."
(Ritvika, go to your room. Now.)
The command struck Ritvika harder than any slap. Her lips trembled as she tried to hold herself together. "Maa, aap..." (Mother, you—) she whispered brokenly, a plea in her eyes.
But Manisha didn't let her finish. She turned her face deliberately toward Vidyut, her words slicing through the room with cruelty.
"Vidyut, apni biwi se keh apne room mein jaye... apni beti ko lekar."
(Vidyut, tell your wife to go to her room... with her daughter.)
The emphasis on apni beti (her daughter) landed like a blade in Ritvika's chest. Her breath caught, and her vision blurred as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Those two words echoed in her ears, mocking her, reminding her of the thin line that separated her from acceptance.
Her gaze faltered toward Tara. The little girl stood clutching the end of Ritvika's dupatta tightly in one small fist, the other fist shoved into her mouth in fear. Tara's wide, innocent eyes looked up at her mother, seeking comfort, seeking reassurance amidst the chaos.
Ritvika's knees weakened, but she bent down slowly, gathering her daughter into her arms. Her hands trembled as she held Tara close, pressing the child against her chest as though shielding her from the venom in the room.
She dared a glance at Vidyut. His towering figure stood rigid, jaw locked, eyes burning with suppressed rage. The sheer intensity of his glare was enough to make her blood run cold. She knew better than to expect mercy there.
With her heart shattering into pieces, Ritvika lowered her gaze, her tears falling silently onto Tara's hair. Without uttering another word, she turned and walked toward her room. Each step felt heavier than the last, her soul weighed down by humiliation, fear, and a pain that refused to ease.
The hall remained silent, only the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing until the door finally shut behind her.
As soon as the door shut behind her, the weight Ritvika had been carrying crashed down all at once.
She stumbled to the bed and collapsed, clutching a pillow tightly to her chest. Her breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, her chest rising and falling too fast, as though her heart would burst out any second.
Tears spilled freely, soaking into the pillow as broken sobs escaped her lips.
Everything replayed in her mind on a loop—Manisha's hard voice, her cruel words, the sharp accusation hidden behind apni beti, and Vidyut's unrelenting glare.
She buried her face deeper into the pillow, muffling her cries, but the pain was too big to contain.
Her body shook with each sob, her entire being crumbling under the weight of rejection and humiliation.
Little Tara, sensing the storm within her mother, crawled up the bed with her tiny hands and sat near her. Confused and frightened, she gently tugged at Ritvika's face, her small palms pressing against her cheeks, trying to pull her mother away from the pillow.
"Mumma... no cly pwease..." Tara's lisping voice was soft, innocent, almost pleading. She leaned closer, blinking up at her mother's tear-streaked face with wide, worried eyes. "I give u my ileam... no cly pwease."
(I give you my ice cream... don't cry, please.)
Ritvika's heart clenched so painfully at those words that fresh tears poured out.
With trembling arms, she pulled Tara into her lap, hugging her as though she would never let go.
Her sobs quietened, replaced by deep, shaky breaths as she pressed desperate kisses onto Tara's hair, inhaling her scent like it was the only anchor keeping her sane.
Tara, in her pure innocence, wrapped her little arms around her mother's neck and began planting soft kisses on Ritvika's wet cheeks.
Between those kisses, she whispered against her mother's skin, her tiny voice filled with childish seriousness, "Dadi shout.
.. I no talk her. Vely bal. She shout on Mumma. .. no talk."
(Grandma shouted... I won't talk to her. Very bad. She shouted at Mumma... no talk.)
The words broke whatever little restraint Ritvika had left. Her tears spilled uncontrollably as she tightened her hold on her daughter, rocking her gently back and forth. Tara's words—so innocent, so full of love—were like both balm and salt to her wounds.
Her little girl was the only one who stood by her, the only one who saw her pain without judgment.
And in that moment, as her tears dampened Tara's tiny shoulder, Ritvika realized her daughter was not just her reason to live, but also the only shield she had against the cruelty of the world outside their room.
With trembling fingers, Ritvika fumbled for her phone on the side table.
Her hands shook so violently that the device almost slipped from her grasp.
Her tears blurred the screen as she scrolled through the contacts, her breath hitching with every sob.
For a long moment she hovered over a single name—Roohi.
Her thumb hesitated. Should she call? Should she bother her?
What if her voice gave away too much? But the crushing weight in her chest, both emotional and physical, left her with no strength to fight alone.
Swallowing hard, struggling against the burning lump in her throat, she pressed the call button.
The dial tone rang once... twice... and then a soft, familiar voice answered.
"Heeloo, Ritu?"
Just hearing Roohi's voice, that gentle tone laced with concern, shattered the fragile control Ritvika had been clinging to. A sob escaped her lips, raw and broken, before she could stop it.
On the other side, Roohi's voice instantly sharpened in panic. "Ritu? Ritu, what happened?"
Ritvika pressed her fist against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but her sobs only grew harsher. The phone shook in her hand as she leaned against the headboard, her chest tightening painfully with every breath.
"Ritu! Talk to me, please—why are you crying?" Roohi's voice rose, urgent, almost trembling itself.
But Ritvika couldn't form words. Her breaths came ragged, her tears unstoppable. The silence was filled only with her sobs, until another broken sound tore out of her throat, louder this time, betraying just how broken she was.
On the other side, Roohi's panic grew. "Ritu! Tell me what's wrong! Are you okay? Please, say something!"
Ritvika closed her eyes, clutching Tara closer with one hand while the phone trembled in the other. Her heart felt like it was collapsing inside her chest—whether from her illness, or the unbearable weight of tonight's humiliation, she couldn't tell.
"Ritu, you're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong—why are you crying?" Roohi's voice grew more frantic, each word trembling with fear.
Ritvika's breaths came in gasps, her heart racing painfully against her ribs. She wanted to speak, but the words lodged like stones in her throat. Tara, sitting close in her lap, watched her mother helplessly, trying to pat her cheeks with her little hands.
Finally, Ritvika managed to whisper, voice shaking between sobs. "They... they all look at me like I'm a curse."
"What do you mean? Who made you feel this way?" Roohi's voice trembled, half panicked, half angry.
Ritvika's fingers tightened around the phone, her sobs choking her words.
"Viyana... she's Vidyut's cousin... seven months pregnant.
The first time—it was me. I baked a fruit cake.
.. I thought everyone would like it. I didn't know.
.. I didn't know she was allergic to pineapple.
She reacted... and everyone looked at me like I had done it on purpose. "
Silence stretched for a beat on the other side, and then Roohi's voice snapped, sharp with disbelief. "No one told you she was allergic? And still, they blamed you? Ritu, are you even hearing yourself? That's not your fault!"
Fresh tears slipped down Ritvika's face.
Her hand trembled as she brushed them away, but her sobs didn't stop.
"And today... she wanted to go upstairs.
Everyone usually tells her not to, but today—no one was home.
Only me." Her voice cracked as the memory replayed.
"She insisted so much, I didn't want to argue.
.. so I went with her. But when she was coming back down, her foot slipped.
For one second, she almost..." Ritvika's chest heaved, her voice dissolving into sobs.
"And when everyone came back—they all looked at me again.
Like I was cursed. Like everything wrong that happens to her is because of me. "
On the other end, Roohi's breathing quickened, fury rising in every word. "This is unbelievable. They leave you alone with her, don't tell you anything, and then blame you? Do they even hear themselves? Ritu, how could they?!"
But Ritvika wasn't listening anymore. The dam inside her had broken completely. All the years of loneliness, the quiet swallowing of pain, the endless silence came crashing out.
"I don't know anything!" she screamed, her voice raw and hoarse. "I don't know how these things work! I was alone, Roohi—always alone! There was no one to take care of me, no one to tell me what to do. I... I don't know!"
Her cries filled the room, hysterical and heart-wrenching, each sob clawing its way out of her chest. She clutched Tara closer, rocking her, while her daughter kissed her damp cheeks with little lips and whispered in her baby voice, trying to calm her.
On the other side of the call, Roohi went silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice shook with a mix of love and fury. "Ritu... whoever has made you feel like this, whoever has treated you this way—I will never forgive them. Do you hear me? Never."
And with that, Ritvika broke down completely, burying her face into Tara's tiny shoulder as the sobs consumed her.
The weight of everything she had been holding back for so long finally poured out, raw and unstoppable, while Roohi stayed on the other end of the line—helpless, angry, but unwaveringly hers.
After Ritvika finally broke down, shouting and sobbing uncontrollably, Roohi's own eyes welled up, her voice firm yet trembling as she whispered into the phone—