⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟗˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
A U T H O R
The air in the room thickened after her question — Who is Siya?
Vidyut's jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with forced calmness, he cleared his throat and murmured, "Ritvika, it's your medicine time. Let me get some water for you."
He turned toward the bedside table, trying to steady himself, but her fingers clutched the hem of his shirt, stopping him mid-step.
The fabric crumpled in her trembling grip. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't change the topic."
He froze.
He knew whare this conversation will go so he did the first thing he could. He called a maid and sent tara with her to munch on some snacks.
Her eyes glistened with unspoken hurt as she looked up at him. "You knew Roohi before me, didn't you?" she asked, her voice shaking.
He blinked, stunned — that name, from her lips, slicing through the air like a blade.
"Ritvika..." he began, his tone low, uncertain.
She shook her head, her breathing uneven. "You knew everything about me — my past, my mistakes, my pain — didn't you?"
He clenched his fists, looking away. The muscle in his jaw twitched as if the question itself burned.
Her voice trembled again. "How much did you know, Vidyut? Since when?"
He took a slow breath, closing his eyes briefly before meeting hers again. The intensity in his gaze was almost unbearable. "Ritvika, please... you just woke up. Don't push yourself—"
"I'm not asking for protection," she interrupted, her tone rising with every word. "I'm asking for the truth."
Her words cracked midway, the last one breaking apart like glass against the silence. He looked down — at her pale hands gripping his shirt, at her fragile frame that seemed to hold more strength than he'd ever seen in her before.
"Tell me, Vidyut," she whispered again, desperate now, her voice barely a breath. "You knew, didn't you?"
The silence that followed was louder than any answer.
He didn't nod. He didn't deny it either. But something in his eyes shifted — something that told her she was right.
Her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "Then tell me..." she said slowly, each word trembling out of her, "who... is... Siya?"
Vidyut went utterly still. His eyes — usually sharp, controlled — darkened with something she couldn't read. His grip on the glass loosened; it clinked faintly against the table. For a moment, he looked as if someone had ripped open a wound he'd buried deep.
The silence between them stretched long, heavy, suffocating.
And Ritvika, clutching his shirt as though the answer might slip away if she let go, whispered again, barely audible — "Who is Siya, Vidyut?"
The wind outside howled softly, fluttering the curtains, and the diya on the side table flickered. But Vidyut didn't move. He just stood there — still as stone — his eyes locked on hers, his face an unreadable mask hiding a thousand unsaid truths.
My head started to throb — again. The same dull, pounding pain that always came when my mind wandered too far back.
.. to that evening.
The evening I went to buy some things for Tara.
The evening that somehow... changed everything.
The same night I lost five months of my life — and woke up to a truth that still doesn't make sense.
I looked up at him, my eyes stinging.
"Vidyut, tell me na... you knew Roohi before me, right?"
My voice cracked. "She... you..."
The words tangled in my throat, choking me as the memories flashed — my talks with her... with Divya.
Hridhaan bhaiya's fiancée.
I was walking that night... slowly, absentmindedly.
My head was already heavy, full of thoughts I didn't want to think — what if I die.
.. what will happen to Tara...
The city lights blurred into streaks, and I told myself I just needed five minutes.
Just five minutes to get what Tara needed and go back home before she woke up.
But fate... it doesn't take permission, does it?
Because at that same shop, I met her.
"Hello, Ritvika bhabhi," she greeted — her tone soft, almost too polite, but the way she stressed bhabhi made something twist in my stomach.
I turned to her and smiled faintly. "Hello."
She tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting.
"Umm bhabhi, how are you? I heard you left Rajvansh Mansion and now live in an apartment."
Her words were dipped in sugar but stung like acid.
My heart skipped a beat — how did she know that?
She continued before I could respond.
"Hridhaan told me. It must be hard for you, na... living alone with a toddler."
I just stood there, still. Not replying. The cashier handed me my bag; I thought that was my cue to leave.
I was about to say a polite goodbye, to escape that uneasy feeling crawling under my skin, but she stopped me again.
"Umm bhabhi, let's go to a café. Just for coffee? I really want to spend a little time with you."
Her voice sounded eager — too eager.
I shook my head. "Divya, Tara is alone at home. Sorry, I really have to go. Maybe later."
But she didn't let me leave.
She insisted again.
Then again.
Each time with that same practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes.
And somehow — maybe because I didn't want to seem rude, or maybe because I was too tired to argue — I agreed.
Five minutes, I told myself. Just five.
We sat in a corner booth at a nearby café.
She ordered coffee for both of us, and for the first few minutes, she talked about random, meaningless things — parties, jewelry, some new designer she liked.
I nodded, distracted, wondering why I was even there.
Then her tone changed.
"Well, you and Vidyut bhaiya really make a great pair," she began, a faint smirk curling at the corner of her lips.
"The things I heard... you didn't have a normal wedding, right? I mean, you were a bride in place of your sister."
I froze mid-breath, staring at her.
What was she saying... and why?
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"But you both must've known each other from long before, no?
Because your friend Roohi is Vidyut's work partner.
So you must've met him through her, right?
"
Her words hit like a slow, burning sting.
I blinked, trying to process what she just said.
Roohi... Vidyut... knew each other?
She smiled again, sipping her coffee, as if she hadn't just set my whole mind spinning.
"So yeah, even if you were a replaced bride, adjusting must not have been a problem, na? Since you both already knew each other."
I couldn't breathe.
Her words echoed, louder and louder, drowning out the sounds of the café.
My nerves tightened, my pulse raced, and all I could hear was that one question ringing in my head —
How does she know this? How does she know about Roohi and Vidyut?
My vision blurred. My hands went cold.
And in that moment, I knew — something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
I just sat there, staring blankly at the steaming cup of coffee between us.
The aroma should've been comforting — bitter, warm, familiar — but somehow, it felt suffocating.
My hands were still resting on the table, motionless, my heartbeat loud enough to drown out the soft chatter in the café.
Divya's words kept looping in my mind.
You and Vidyut must have known each other already. Through Roohi.
What was she talking about?
I had known Roohi for years — she was one of my closest friends. But Vidyut? He was still a stranger when our lives collided so abruptly. Wasn't he?
I looked at her again. There was a certain calmness on her face that felt too deliberate, too composed — like every word she spoke was being measured for effect.
"You seem surprised," she said lightly, stirring her coffee. Her eyes never left mine. "I mean, of course you would be. Not every day does someone find out their friend and husband were already connected long before marriage."
Her tone was laced with something — amusement, maybe? Or was it satisfaction? I couldn't tell anymore.
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. There was just this dull ringing in my ears.
She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "You didn't know, did you? That Roohi and Vidyut work together?"
I blinked. "Work together?"
Divya's smile widened, slow and careful. "Yes, Ritvika. Not in a normal company or some small business. They're partners in something much... bigger."
The way she said "bigger" sent a strange chill down my spine. "What do you mean?" I asked, though a part of me already dreaded the answer.
Divya sighed, as though explaining something very simple to a child. "You really don't know anything about him, do you? Vidyut isn't just another businessman, Ritvika. He and Roohi... they're part of something darker. Something powerful."
She paused, her fingers gently tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "The kind of world people don't talk about openly. The kind that hides behind fancy suits and board meetings. Mafia, underworld, whatever you want to call it."
For a second, I thought I misheard her. "What?" My voice cracked slightly. "That's ridiculous. You're— you're joking."
But she didn't smile.
Her gaze held mine, unblinking. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
I felt my chest tighten, a heavy pressure pressing against my ribs. "That's not possible," I whispered. "Vidyut... he's not—"
"Isn't he?" she interrupted softly. "Think about it. His security, his influence, the way people around him behave — haven't you ever wondered why everyone either fears or obeys him?"
Her words struck deep because they echoed questions I'd buried long ago.
There had always been something about him — the way people looked away when he entered, the quiet power in his silence, the unspoken authority that followed him everywhere.
I'd dismissed it as his personality, his aura. But now...
No. No, it couldn't be.
"You're lying," I muttered, shaking my head. "You're just trying to—"
"To what?" Divya asked, her tone almost sweet. "Scare you? Why would I do that? You're family, bhabhi. I just thought you deserved to know what kind of man you married."
Her words sliced through me. The café around us suddenly felt smaller, suffocating.
She leaned back casually, taking a slow sip of her drink. "I guess it must be difficult for you. Being with someone who doesn't fully trust you."
I frowned. "What are you talking about now?"
"Oh, come on, Ritvika. You think Vidyut trusts anyone easily? He never does. Especially not someone he barely knew before marrying." She let out a short laugh, soft and cruel. "You were a replacement bride, after all."
Her tone was mocking now, deliberate.
I gripped the edge of the table tightly, trying to steady my breathing. "You don't know what you're saying," I whispered. "You don't know him."
She raised a brow. "Don't I? You think I'm making this up? I know exactly what kind of man he is. The kind who checks every detail before trusting anyone. Even his own wife."
My heart skipped. "What do you mean?"
Divya tilted her head, pretending to think.
"Let's just say Vidyut likes to be... informed.
He had people dig into your past. Every little thing.
Where you studied, who your friends were, what you went through.
" She paused, watching my face as she spoke.
"He had all the information long before the wedding. "
I went still. My mind went completely blank for a moment — and then the words hit me all at once, sharp and merciless.
Vidyut knew my past?
Before we even met?
That wasn't possible. That couldn't be possible.
"He wouldn't," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "He wouldn't do something like that."
Divya just smiled, like she had been waiting for me to say that. "Oh, but he would. He does it all the time. People like him — they trust no one. They build walls, and when they let someone in, it's only after knowing everything about them."
Her words made my skin crawl. I could feel the air thickening around me, my throat closing up.
I pushed my chair back slightly, trying to breathe, but she wasn't done. She leaned in again, her tone dropping to a whisper — gentle, but poisonous.
"You really don't know how close Roohi and Vidyut are, do you?" she said. "I mean, partners in crime — quite literally. They've been together for years. Before you even came into the picture."
My breath caught. I stared at her, unsure if I'd heard correctly. "Together?"
Divya shrugged. "I meant... friends, of course." Her eyes glinted with mischief. "But you never really know with people who hide behind such perfect masks."
Her words echoed in my mind like a curse.
Roohi.
Vidyut.
Together.
The thought alone felt wrong, impossible, and yet something deep inside me refused to calm down.
Every memory of them — every casual conversation, every time Roohi avoided talking about her work — now replayed in my head, colored with suspicion I never wanted to feel.
The walls of the café felt like they were closing in. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away before she said anything else that could shatter me further. But I couldn't move. My body felt frozen in place, my mind screaming, Don't listen to her.
But the damage was already done.
Divya smiled faintly as she set her cup down. "I'm sorry if I said too much. I just thought you deserved to know the truth, Ritvika. After all, no one should live with lies."
Her voice was soft, almost sympathetic — but I could see it in her eyes. There was no sympathy there. Only satisfaction.
And I just sat there, trembling, my thoughts spinning out of control.
I didn't even realize when tears started pooling in my eyes.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The silence between us grew heavy, thick enough to drown in.
I sat frozen, my fingers trembling slightly as they clutched the edge of my cup.
The coffee had gone cold long ago, untouched, just like the comfort I'd once felt around familiar faces.
Divya, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. She watched me with a faint smile — not out of kindness, but the kind of smile that comes when you know your words have already done their damage.
"Why do you look so lost, bhabhi?" she finally said, breaking the silence. "You look like someone who's just realized she's been living in a story that wasn't hers to begin with."
I blinked, forcing myself to look at her. "You're saying things you shouldn't," I muttered. My voice didn't sound like mine. "You're twisting everything."
She tilted her head. "Am I? I'm just being honest. It's not my fault if the truth is a little too ugly."
The word truth stung in my chest. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "You don't know him. You don't know Vidyut."
Her laugh was short — bitter, mocking. "Oh, I do, bhabhi. I know him far better than you think."
Something about the way she said that made my stomach twist. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Divya leaned forward, her nails clicking softly against the table as she spoke. "I know the kind of man your husband is. I know what he's capable of. You see, Vidyut Rajvansh isn't the savior everyone believes him to be."
I shook my head, the denial spilling out before I could stop it. "Stop it. Just stop."
But she didn't.
If anything, my reaction only made her voice colder. "You think he's perfect, don't you? The caring husband, the silent protector, the man who always knows what to do. You have no idea what he hides behind that mask."
My breath hitched. "You're lying."
She smiled faintly. "You really want to believe that, don't you? That the man you married is incapable of darkness." Her tone hardened suddenly, the warmth draining away. "But the world knows what he did."
I frowned, my pulse racing. "What are you talking about?"
Divya's expression shifted — a slow, dangerous smirk curved her lips. Her eyes were no longer calm; they were burning with something else entirely.
Hatred.
"Well," she said, her voice low and deliberate, "I didn't expect that you — of all people — would marry a rapist."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
For a moment, everything around me blurred — the sound of clinking cups, the hum of soft music, the faint laughter from another table. Everything just... stopped.
"What?" I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.
Divya didn't flinch. She didn't take it back. She just sat there, her gaze fixed on mine — calm, sharp, merciless. "You heard me."
My hands went cold. The chair beneath me suddenly felt unsteady, like the ground itself was slipping away. "That's not— that's not funny," I said, my voice shaking. "Don't you dare—"
"I'm not joking," she cut in sharply. "Do you think I'd joke about something like that?"
My chest tightened painfully. "Vidyut isn't— he can't be—" The words refused to come out.
Divya's smirk deepened. "You really don't know him at all, do you? You married him, live with him, and yet you're still blind."
She paused for a moment, letting the silence sink in before continuing — her tone softer now, almost pitying, which somehow made it worse. "Do you know a girl named Siya?"
The name fell like a drop of poison in water — spreading quietly, invisibly, until it touched every corner of my mind.
Siya.
No. I didn't know anyone named Siya.
I tried to speak, but my throat had gone dry. "Who... who is that?"
Divya leaned back, crossing her arms. "Someone Vidyut would never tell you about. Because she's the reason his hands are stained."
I stared at her blankly, not understanding. "What are you saying?"
"She was innocent," Divya continued, her voice eerily calm now. "Sweet, naive... just like you. Until she met him."
The café began to spin — slowly, then faster. My fingers clenched into fists on my lap, my nails digging into my skin. "Stop it," I whispered. "You're lying."
"Am I?" she repeated. "Ask anyone from his past. Ask about the night that ruined her. The night when your perfect husband and his so-called friends destroyed a girl's life and left her to die on the street."
"No!" The word escaped me like a scream strangled halfway. People turned to look, but I didn't care. "You're lying, Divya. Vidyut would never— he would never—"
Divya didn't even blink. "Believe whatever helps you sleep at night, bhabhi. But truth doesn't change because you refuse to see it."
I wanted to get up. I wanted to leave. My legs felt like they were made of stone. The world around me tilted slightly, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.
My voice cracked when I spoke again. "Why are you telling me this? What do you even want from me?"
Her expression turned almost emotionless. "Nothing," she said softly. "You deserve to know who you've been living with. That's all."
Her words felt like needles — quiet, sharp, meant to break me slowly.
"I don't believe you," I whispered. "Not one word."
She smiled faintly, tapping her fingers against her cup. "You don't have to. Just ask him yourself. Ask Vidyut who Siya is. Ask him what happened that night."
The way she said it — calm, confident, final — made my stomach drop.
My mind started racing through every memory, every fragment of my marriage, every unspoken thing that had once felt harmless. The silences. The sudden anger. The nights when he couldn't sleep. The shadows in his eyes when he thought I wasn't watching.
And suddenly, none of it felt harmless anymore.
"Do you know," she continued almost idly, "Siya's been in a hospital for five years? She doesn't speak. Doesn't move. She's alive, but not really."
Her voice lowered, steady and merciless. "And your husband's name... is one of the names that still make her mother scream at night."
I froze, completely numb. The words no longer sounded real. My vision blurred as tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
Divya sighed, pretending to soften. "You look pale. Maybe you should go home, bhabhi. You've heard enough for one day."
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
My body felt weightless — like I wasn't sitting in that café anymore but drifting somewhere far away, between disbelief and devastation.
The air felt colder now.
The sounds felt distant.
And in my head, one name echoed again and again —
Siya.
I didn't remember how I got up, how I walked out, how I even made it to the road. Everything after that felt like fragments of a dream I couldn't wake up from.
I just knew one thing.
Something inside me broke that evening.
Something that had believed, without question, that Vidyut Rajvansh could never be the monster Divya painted him as.
But her words had already planted a poison I couldn't ignore.
And no matter how much I wanted to believe he was innocent, the silence in my heart — the hesitation, the ache — whispered something else.
What if she wasn't lying?
I stumbled out of the café like someone who had forgotten how to breathe.
Her words echoed inside me, crashing again and again like relentless waves.
A rapist.
A monster.
Your husband.
Each word dug deeper, slicing through the fragile walls of denial I was trying to hold up.
The city lights felt distant, blurred, like they belonged to another world. Tears gathered in my eyes, spilling before I could stop them. I walked without direction, without thought — the ground beneath me felt like it was moving, my chest heavy, my lungs refusing to expand.
My fingers trembled violently as I clutched the paper bag tighter.
.. until it slipped. Tara's things — the little bottle, the soft toy, the biscuits — scattered across the pavement.
I stared blankly at them for a long moment, and then turned away.
I didn't even have the strength to pick them up.
I just kept walking.
The night air was cold, but my mind was burning. Every memory of Vidyut — his piercing eyes, his silence, the tenderness hidden beneath his temper — flashed before me like broken glass. None of it made sense anymore. Nothing did.
My throat was dry, my body trembling with something between pain and disbelief.
At some point, someone offered me a bottle — or maybe I found it myself.
I can't remember. I just remember the burn of alcohol sliding down my throat, harsh and bitter, spreading warmth that only deepened the ache in my chest.
The world began to sway. The streetlights turned to hazy golden orbs. The sound of passing cars dulled into a faint hum. My knees buckled, the air around me spun — and somewhere between dizziness and despair, I looked up.
And then—
Through the blur, through the fog of tears and intoxication, I saw him.
He was standing there.
Vidyut.
Still. Silent. Watching me.
And the world stopped.
The room came back into focus with a sharp gasp that tore through my chest.
My body trembled, and for a second, I didn't even realize that I had been holding my breath. The air felt heavy — too heavy — as though the walls themselves knew the storm that had started within me.
Vidyut was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable, but I could see the faint twitch in his jaw — the same one he got whenever he was trying too hard to stay calm.
My throat burned as I forced the words out, my voice breaking halfway.
"Vidyut... tell me... who is Siya?"
He didn't move. Not even a blink.
"Tell me," I whispered again, my eyes already wet. "Who is she? And... and what's your relation with her?"
Silence. Just the faint ticking of the clock and the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
I took a shaky step toward him. "You think I don't deserve to know?" My voice rose, trembling between anger and pain. "You think I'll just sit here quietly, pretending nothing matters?"
He finally looked up — those dark eyes meeting mine — but still said nothing. That silence hurt more than anything else ever could.
My lips trembled as I went on, "And Roohi... what about her? What is she to you, Vidyut? Tell me the truth for once — please."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I met Divya that night... she told me everything. About Siya. About Roohi. About you."
His shoulders stiffened.
"I didn't believe her, Vidyut," I said, tears slipping down my cheeks. "I didn't. Not a word. But then... why does it all feel so real now? Why do you look at me like you're hiding something?"
He exhaled sharply, his eyes darkening, but still — silence.
I could feel my heartbeat racing out of control. My palms were cold, my knees weak.
"You knew Roohi before me, didn't you?" My voice cracked, the desperation pouring through every syllable. "You... you dug into my past, didn't you? You knew everything before you even married me!"
He clenched his fists. I could see the veins on his forearms straining, his body rigid with restraint.
I took another trembling breath, stepping closer, my voice now barely a whisper.
"Why, Vidyut?" My words quivered like fragile glass. "Why did you hide all this from me? Who... who really are you?"
And then, before I could stop myself, the question that had been clawing its way up my throat finally escaped — fragile, trembling, and raw.
"You..." my voice broke, my lips trembling, "you love... love... me?"
The words hung in the air, fragile and devastating — and in that single moment, everything stopped.
Vidyut froze.
His breath hitched.
And the silence that followed was louder than any answer could.
I didn't know when the tears began to blur my vision again.
My chest ached as though someone had pressed a fist inside and refused to let go.
The silence between us was unbearable — thick, suffocating — and it felt like the room itself was closing in.
"Vidyut..." my voice cracked, trembling. "Say something... please."
He still didn't move.
"The things Divya said— they're lies, right? Tell me they're lies," I begged, my fingers clutching the bedsheet. "Tell me, Vidyut... you and Roohi— she's lying, right?"
No response. Just that same stillness.
My breathing started to turn shallow. I pressed a hand to my chest, gasping for air. "Vidyut, please... say something. Who is Siya? Tell me you don't know her, please... please."
My heart thudded wildly. The edges of my vision began to blur.
"Say it," I whispered, my words tumbling over each other. "Say you don't know her. Say you don't love me. Say you don't... don't—"
He took a step forward, but I stumbled back, my voice rising higher and higher, trembling with desperation.
"That night... I was drunk, but I remember, Vidyut. You said you love me. You said it by mistake, right?" Tears streamed down my face, uncontrollable now. "You don't love me. No one can. I'm not someone people love, right? You hate me, you always do... you can't love me—"
"Ritvika—"
"Tell me!" I screamed, clutching my head, sobbing uncontrollably. "Tell me everything's a lie! Siya, Divya, Roohi, everything— just say it!"
"Ritvika, stop—" he said, his voice strained, but I couldn't stop. My body was shaking violently, breaths short and painful.
"Say something!" I shouted again, breaking apart completely. "Please, Vidyut, please—"
And then—
He snapped.
"I fucking love you, damn it!"
The words ripped through the air, raw and broken. His voice thundered through the room, shaking me to my core.
I froze. The sob caught in my throat.
The air stilled.
He was standing there, chest heaving, eyes blazing — every wall around him gone.
The same man who hid every emotion, who spoke through silence and anger, now stood undone before me.
"I love you," he repeated, this time softer, like it hurt to admit it.
"I love you, Ritvika."