⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟒˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
The apartment was cloaked in a soft amber glow, the last traces of daylight spilling through the curtains.
Tara had finally drifted into sleep, her tiny breaths steady and innocent.
The silence of the room wrapped around Ritvika and Roohi, but it wasn't a peaceful silence—it was heavy, filled with truths that had just been laid bare.
Ritvika sat curled on the couch, her knees drawn up slightly, her eyes tired but determined. She had told Roohi everything—the weight she had carried alone for so long. The truth of her illness, the endless cycle of medicines, the constant fear lodged deep in her chest.
Roohi sat opposite her, shaken to the core. Her eyes were still glistening from the tears she had shed earlier, and her hands twisted nervously in her lap as if searching for the right words.
"Ritu..." Roohi finally broke the silence, her voice low and pleading. "How can you even think about pushing yourself into work right now? You can't gamble with your health. Not anymore. You've already fought too much—you can't keep putting yourself through this."
Ritvika looked up, her expression soft yet unyielding. "Roohi, I don't have a choice. I can't sit here waiting for miracles. Tara needs stability. She needs a future. And if I don't fight for it, who will?" Her voice trembled, but the resolve behind it didn't.
Roohi leaned forward, frustration bleeding into her tone. "But this isn't just about Tara anymore—it's about you too! You can't raise her if you keep breaking yourself like this. You need to rest, to heal. You can't keep running on empty."
Ritvika shook her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.
"I've been running on empty for years, Roohi.
And I'm still here. I can't afford to stop now—not when Tara's entire life depends on me.
If working is the only way to secure her future, then I'll work.
No matter how hard it gets. I'm not afraid of that. "
Roohi's heart ached watching her. The strength in Ritvika's voice was heartbreaking—because it wasn't strength born of choice, but of necessity. She wanted to argue more, to shake her into sense, but the determination in Ritvika's eyes left her with no ground to stand on.
Finally, Roohi sighed, defeated, her shoulders sagging.
"Fine. If you won't listen, I won't waste my breath fighting you anymore.
" She hesitated, then continued carefully, "But at least let me help.
There's a company... It belongs to one of Papa's best friends.
If I speak to him, I'm sure I can get you a position there.
It'll be safer than you running around blindly for a job.
At least this way, I'll know you're in a secure place. "
Ritvika blinked, her lips parting slightly at the offer. For the first time that evening, her stubbornness wavered. "Roohi... you don't have to—"
"I have to," Roohi cut in firmly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Because if you're hell-bent on walking this path, then the least I can do is clear some of the stones in your way."
The room fell silent again, but this time it wasn't heavy—it was fragile, like glass. Ritvika's throat tightened as she reached across the small table and clasped Roohi's hand. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Roohi gave her a faint smile, but her heart still churned with worry. She had surrendered to Ritvika's decision—but deep down, she feared where this stubborn strength might lead.
=
The soft light of morning spilled into the small apartment, bathing the room in a gentle calm.
Tara, still in her tiny pajamas, clung to Ritvika's dupatta with one hand while rubbing her eyes sleepily with the other.
Her presence, innocent and unknowing, was like a balm in the midst of everything brewing around them.
Across the room, Roohi stood with the cardboard parcel in her hands, her brows furrowed. She turned it over once, her expression filled with visible distaste, before holding it up between them.
"Ritu," she said, her voice edged with the irritation she hadn't managed to shake since last night, "yesterday I went out and bought you medicines for five days.
Now these—" she rattled the box slightly, "—these came from your so-called husband.
You don't want to keep them, right? Then tell me. .. what should we do with them?"
Ritvika exhaled slowly, her gaze falling on the box. The weight of it wasn't just in the medicines it held, but in what it represented—the man she had walked away from, yet who still managed to find his way into her life.
Her voice was quiet, steady, when she finally replied. "These medicines are very costly, Roohi. We can't just throw them away. I'll return them to him."
Roohi blinked, surprised at the calm practicality in her tone. She wanted to argue, to tell her to cut every tie, but she bit back the words and simply nodded. "Fine. If that's what you want."
She set the box aside with a little more force than necessary, then turned back to Ritvika with a change of expression.
Her features softened slightly, though her voice carried a new seriousness.
"Accha, listen. I talked to Papa last night.
He said you can join in his friend's company.
But—" she lifted a finger warningly, "—first they'll take your interview. That's scheduled for tomorrow."
Ritvika's eyes widened just slightly, and for the first time in days, a flicker of nervous anticipation replaced the heaviness in her face. "Tomorrow?" she murmured, almost to herself, as if testing the weight of the word.
Roohi gave a small smile, trying to inject lightness into her tone. "Yes, tomorrow. And you're going to be fine. You've handled far tougher storms than a job interview, haven't you?"
Before Ritvika could respond, Roohi's smile faltered into something bittersweet.
She lowered herself to sit beside her on the couch, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Ritvika's ear.
"But, Ritu... I couldn't tell you this yesterday.
I wanted to stay longer, but Papa's calling me back.
There's an emergency in the company, and I have to leave today. My ticket is booked for the evening."
Ritvika stilled, her heart sinking even as she tried to mask it. The words tasted like abandonment, though she knew Roohi would never leave her willingly. She swallowed and forced a nod, her lips curving in the faintest attempt at a smile.
Tara, sensing the change in mood though she didn't understand the words, tugged at Ritvika's dupatta and piped up with a sleepy grin, "Mumma, I hungly."
The tension broke, if only for a moment, as both women looked at her and smiled. But the heaviness lingered in their chests—because they both knew that once Roohi left, Ritvika would be truly on her own in this city.
Roohi clapped her hands together suddenly, her tone turning bright and teasing as if she wanted to shake off the seriousness of their earlier talk. "But before any of that—" she said cheerfully, "—we're going to the office, Ritu!"
Ritvika paused mid-motion and looked at her with a deep frown. "Office? Why would we go there? You're leaving in the evening, shouldn't you... pack or rest?"
Roohi grinned mischievously, shaking her head. "Not the office, silly. Shopping. Formal wear shopping."
Ritvika's frown deepened, suspicion filling her tone. "Shopping? Why?"
With a dramatic sigh, Roohi placed her hands on her hips and leaned closer.
"Arey, I know you. You don't have a single proper formal outfit in that wardrobe of yours.
And girl, you're joining an office—you will need them.
You can't show up in your simple cotton kurtis and expect to blend in. "
Ritvika's lips parted in protest, her brows knitting. "Roohi, you know I don't like spending on such things. I'll manage with what I have. Don't waste money on this. Formal or no formal, it's just a job."
Roohi immediately gasped, as if offended, and put her hand over her heart. "Just a job? Excuse me, ma'am, this is your fresh start! New Ritu, new life. And every new beginning needs the right clothes." She winked playfully, trying to lighten her friend's stubborn mood.
"But—" Ritvika started again, only for Roohi to cut her off, pulling Tara into her lap like a co-conspirator.
"Baby Tara," she said dramatically to the toddler, "tell your mumma she has to come shopping with us. Please explain to her that she can't look boring on her first day."
Tara giggled, not fully understanding but happy at the attention. She clapped her little hands and said, "Mumma... shop!" in her broken, lisping tone.
Roohi smirked triumphantly, raising her brows. "See? Even Tara agrees with me."
Ritvika pressed her lips together, fighting the smile tugging at her face. She looked between her friend's pleading eyes and Tara's toothy grin and sighed in mock defeat. "Fine. But only because Tara said so."
Roohi cheered, pumping her fist into the air. "Yes! We're going to paint this town with bags and receipts!"
Ritvika shook her head, a reluctant smile breaking through as she muttered, "Hopeless."
With that, the three of them got ready—Roohi practically dragging Ritvika along while Tara happily bounced between them, already excited for the little outing that awaited.
=
The soft orange glow of evening filtered through the curtains as suitcases stood ready near the door.
Ritvika sat on the couch, her hands twisting the edge of her dupatta nervously.
Her throat felt tight, her chest heavier than usual—not just because of her illness, but because of the thought of being left alone again.
Roohi settled beside her, her tone gentle yet firm. "Ritu, listen... I've already arranged the rent for this apartment. Every month, I'll transfer the bills. You don't need to stress yourself about these things."
Ritvika's head snapped up, eyes glistening. "No, Roohi. I can't allow that."
"Ritu, why are you being so stubborn? It's just rent. You already have enough on your plate—"
But Ritvika cut her off, her voice trembling yet resolute.
"No. Soon I'll start earning, Roohi. Enough that I can manage.
Please... don't make me feel like I can't even rent a flat by myself.
Don't make me feel... weak." Her fingers tightened on her lap as if gripping onto that last thread of dignity.
Roohi's lips parted, but words caught in her throat. She wanted to argue more, to insist, but when she saw the plea in her friend's teary eyes, she swallowed her protest. "Fine," she said softly, not with full heart, but with enough to give Ritvika that sliver of control she so desperately needed.
For a moment, silence lingered between them.
Then Roohi gently brushed Ritvika's hair back and tried to make her understand more things—how she must not skip her medicines, how she must eat on time, how she mustn't overstrain herself at work.
She spoke with all the care of a mother, a sister, and a friend rolled into one.
But the more Roohi spoke, the more Ritvika's tears spilled over. Silent at first, then shaking sobs that made her shoulders tremble.
Roohi's chest tightened at the sight. She thought she understood—she thought Ritvika's tears weren't about her leaving, but about the shadows of her husband and in-laws still haunting her.
Anger sparked in Roohi's eyes, hot and protective.
She leaned closer, cupping Ritvika's damp cheeks, her voice hardening with steel.
"Ritu, don't worry. No need to be scared of them. Aur agar unhone kuch kiya toh unka bhi wahi haal kar dungi jo tere ex-husband ka kiya tha."
(Ritu, don't worry. No need to be scared of them. And if they ever try anything, I'll do to them exactly what I did to your ex-husband.)
She hadn't realized what she let slip until it was already hanging in the air.
Ritvika froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened in shock, confusion flickering behind them like a storm.
What did Roohi mean?
Ritvika blinked rapidly, her tears momentarily forgotten. Her lips parted, but no words came out at first. Finally, her shaky voice broke through the silence.
"Roohi... what did you mean by that? Wahi haal jo mere ex-husband ka kiya tha?"
Roohi stiffened, realizing too late how her anger had loosened her tongue. She tried to laugh it off, waving her hand dismissively. "Arey, I just said it like that, bas. You know na, I get carried away sometimes—"
But Ritvika wasn't convinced. Her brows furrowed, her voice low yet pressing. "No, Roohi. Don't lie to me. Tell me what you meant."
Roohi's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing as if torn between silence and confession. Finally, she met Ritvika's trembling gaze, her own voice dropping to a steady, almost chilling tone.
"What do you think, Ritu? He just died like that?" She paused, letting the weight of her words hang heavy. "Yes, it was an accident... but a planned accident."
Ritvika's breath hitched sharply, her pulse hammering in her ears. She shook her head as if trying to push the words away, but they clung to her like poison.
"Your ex-husband," Roohi continued, unflinching now, "died in a car accident. But it wasn't fate. It was a planned one."
Ritvika's heart raced wildly, fear and shock coursing through her veins. Her chest rose and fell faster, each beat echoing louder, sharper. The room seemed to close in on her as the truth—or something dangerously close to it—unfolded.
Ritvika's throat felt parched, her voice breaking into fragments as the words tumbled out. "N–No... this can't be... Roohi, y–you... y-you're saying... you planned it? But... how... why?"
Her hands trembled, clutching at her dupatta, her legs threatening to give way. She staggered back a step, eyes wide with horror, disbelief clouding every inch of her face.
In an instant, Roohi gripped her shoulders firmly, steadying her before she could collapse under the weight of her own shock. Her tone was calm, almost unnervingly so, as she leaned closer.
"Ritvika, don't," Roohi said, her voice low but commanding. "Don't think too much about it. Don't lose yourself in questions that don't matter anymore. Just... be happy. Just remember this—what if he hadn't died? What then?"
Ritvika froze, her chest heaving, unable to answer.
Roohi's eyes hardened. "Your life would still be hell, Ritu. Every single day he would have tortured you, crushed you. You would still be trapped in that nightmare. Isn't it better this way?"
Her voice cracked as she whispered, barely audible, "You... you did his accident? But... why?"
"So what did you expect, haan?" Roohi's voice rose, fiery and unrepentant. "A man was torturing my best friend, and I should have sat quietly? No, baby. I don't stay silent when it comes to you. That's why I did this."
Ritvika's knees nearly buckled at the blunt truth of it. Her heart pounded so violently she thought it might burst. She clutched Roohi's wrists tightly, her voice trembling as she forced the words out, "B-But... how... Roohi? How did you... how?"
Roohi's fingers dug into Ritvika's shoulders, steadying her trembling frame, her voice low but laced with steel.
"You really want to know how?" she whispered, her lips curling in a bitter smile. "Fine. I'll tell you."
She exhaled slowly, her gaze darkening with every word.
"That night, he was drunk—as always. Everyone assumed he crashed because of that. But the truth? He was drunk, yes, but he wouldn't have died if it weren't for me. I made sure of it."
Ritvika's breath caught, her throat tightening. "R-Roohi..."
Roohi's eyes locked with hers, fierce and unflinching.
"I knew his routine. Every filthy word he spat at you, every slap, every time he broke you down—I memorized it all. I knew exactly when he'd leave that night, stumbling into his car, thinking he owned the world. And I was waiting."
Ritvika's knees weakened as Roohi's voice grew darker.
"I had tampered with the brakes earlier. Just enough. A single twist, a cut in the right place—nothing obvious, nothing that would show unless you looked closely. I didn't want anyone to suspect. All I needed was for him to be his reckless, drunken self... and fate did the rest."
Ritvika shook her head violently, her hands trembling. "No... no, Roohi... you're lying... you're just saying this to—"
But Roohi cut her off, her tone rising, laced with venom.
"Lying? Do you really think I'd joke about something like this?
Ritu, I was there. I followed him that night.
I watched from a distance as his car swerved.
He thought he was invincible, but when the brakes failed.
.. when the wheel spun out of his control.
.. it was over in seconds. His scream, his panic—it was the sweetest justice I've ever seen. "
Ritvika staggered back, her heartbeat hammering in her ears, tears stinging her eyes. "You... you planned this?" Her voice broke, fragile as glass.
Roohi's jaw tightened, her fury spilling through her words.
"Planned? I executed it. Because he deserved nothing less.
Tell me, Ritu, after everything he put you through—after every scar, every night you cried yourself to sleep, every moment he crushed you—did you want me to just sit and watch?
Did you want me to let him keep torturing you until you died? No. I did what needed to be done."
Her voice dropped, soft yet terrifying. "If I hadn't ended him, you would've never been free. And I couldn't let that happen. Not to you. Not my Ritu."
Ritvika hands covering her face, her body shaking violently. Her world spun, her lungs refusing to breathe, her heart racing with terror and disbelief.
Roohi crouched in front of her, cupping her face firmly, forcing her to meet her eyes.
"Don't hate me for this," she whispered, her own eyes burning with fierce devotion. "Hate him. He's the reason I had to become a monster. But remember this, Ritu—I would do it again a thousand times if it meant saving you."
Roohi glanced at her watch and cursed under her breath. Her eyes widened.
"Shit, Ritu, I'm already late!" she exclaimed, grabbing her bag in a hurry.
She turned back to Ritvika, who was still sitting, pale and shaken, her mind swirling after everything she had just heard. Roohi's heart clenched. She quickly crouched down, cupping Ritvika's hands.
"Ritu, listen to me," she said softly, urgency lacing her tone. "If you sit here drowning in tension like this, I won't even be able to leave. Please... just smile for me, once. Haan? Show me that you'll be okay."
Ritvika tried, her lips trembling as she curved them into the faintest smile. It didn't reach her eyes, but Roohi still let out a relieved sigh.
"That's my girl," Roohi said warmly, brushing a strand of hair from Ritvika's face. "And listen—give a lot of love to my baby doll from me, hmm? She's sleeping right now, otherwise I would've smothered her with kisses until she pushed me away." She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
Her voice softened again, eyes glistening. "Accha, I'm going now. But I'll come soon, okay? You're not alone here. Please... take care of yourself, Ritu. Promise me. If there's any problem—big or small—you call me immediately. Don't even think twice."
Ritvika's throat burned, but she nodded, whispering, "I promise."
Roohi leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Good. Take care of yourself, Ritu. Please."
With that, she straightened, slung her bag over her shoulder, and after one last lingering look, hurried out of the apartment—leaving Ritvika standing there, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, clutching onto the echo of Roohi's words.
The door clicked shut behind Roohi, and silence swallowed the house. Ritvika stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway, before her trembling legs carried her to the balcony.
The evening air was cool, a soft breeze brushing against her skin as she sank into the chair, her body heavy, her chest hollow.
Just then, she heard a rustle. Tara's tiny footsteps pattered across the floor, and moments later, the little girl toddled toward her, sleep still clouding her doe-like eyes.
Without a word, Ritvika lifted her, settling Tara in her lap. The child tucked her little finger in her mouth, resting against her mumma's chest. Both sat quietly, gazing at the dimming sky — mother and daughter lost in a silence too heavy for their worlds.
The wind ruffled Tara's soft hair, and Ritvika absently caressed it, her heart aching with unspoken fears. Tara, usually bubbling with chatter, was strangely quiet too. Almost as if she could sense her mumma's unrest.
Minutes passed before the silence broke. Tara shifted slightly, her tiny hand reaching up to grab Ritvika's chin.
"Mumma..." she whispered softly, her voice laced with innocence.
Ritvika looked down, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. "Yes, my munchkin?" she asked gently, adjusting Tara more comfortably in her lap.
Tara's lips trembled around the finger she had been sucking, before she pulled it out and spoke the words that pierced Ritvika's soul.
"Mumma... Dadda miss."
Ritvika froze. Her heartbeat stuttered. The air seemed to still around her. Tara blinked up at her with wide, guileless eyes, completely unaware of how her words cut through her mother's chest.
Just yesterday, Tara had promised Roohi she wouldn't talk about Dadda anymore. But children forget. And in her innocence, Tara had spoken the truth her little heart carried — she missed her father.
Ritvika swallowed hard, forcing a smile, though her vision blurred. She pressed Tara closer, kissing the crown of her head as if that could silence the storm tearing inside her.
"Mumma's here, my love," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Mumma will never leave you."
But deep inside, Ritvika knew — her daughter's innocent words had unlocked a pain she had been trying so desperately to bury.
Ritvika shifted Tara gently in her lap, brushing her hair back. The little one's sleepy voice lingered in her ears.
"Mumma... Dadda miss," Tara mumbled again, her finger still tucked in her mouth.
Ritvika's heart squeezed. "You miss Dadda, baby?" she asked softly.
Tara nodded with a pout. "Dadda play car... Dadda hug Tara."
Ritvika forced a smile even as her chest tightened. "But right now it's just Mumma and Tara, hmm? We're together."
Tara blinked up at her. "Dadda angly? Dadda no love Tara?"
Ritvika's throat ached at the innocence of the question. She kissed her daughter's forehead. "No, sweetheart. Dadda loved you very, very much."
Tara pressed her small hand against Ritvika's cheek. "Mumma no cly. Mumma smile." She leaned forward, giving her mumma a sloppy kiss.
Ritvika's lips trembled into a smile as she hugged her close. "I only need you, my baby. You're my whole world."
Tara giggled, patting her mother's face clumsily. "Tara world Mumma. Mumma world Tara."
Ritvika laughed softly, the sound mixed with tears she didn't bother to hide anymore, holding her daughter tighter as the evening breeze wrapped around them both.
–
The wardrobe door creaked open as Vidyut searched through a stack of papers, his brows knitted in concentration. His hand brushed against a pile of old files, and before he could steady them, one slipped out and landed with a dull thud on the floor.
He bent down, his gaze freezing the moment his eyes caught the name printed across the cover.
RITVIKA.
His chest tightened, breath catching for a second. It was the same file he had once ordered his men to collect—the one carrying every detail about the woman who was now his wife. And yet, he had never brought himself to open it.
For days, it had remained untouched, shoved into the depths of his cupboard as though avoiding it could silence the questions in his head.
His fingers curled around the edges now, torn between shutting it back inside and giving in to the pull gnawing at him. He hesitated, then exhaled slowly, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed.
The file felt heavier than it should. He flipped it open.
The first page stared back at him—Ritvika's photograph clipped neatly at the corner, followed by neatly printed information. Name. Birthdate. Education. Nothing suspicious. Nothing unknown.
His throat worked, ready to shut it away. But something made him turn the page.
And the moment his eyes scanned the second sheet, his expression darkened. His pupils dilated, a sharp line cutting across his forehead as confusion shot through him.