⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓𝟐˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
He noticed the way her hands trembled, the way her breath broke in small shivers.
She wasn't just scared—she was disoriented, exhausted, overwhelmed by the sudden cruelty of being sold like an object.
He moved slowly, deliberately, lowering himself to her level like she was something delicate that might break if touched too fast.
"Easy... don't force yourself," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek.
A faint shudder ran through her.
He reached for the soup bowl kept on the table—warm, mild, something she could eat without feeling nauseous. He sat beside her, close... but not close enough to suffocate her. Just enough to let her know she wasn't alone anymore.
"Look at me," he murmured softly.
Her eyes lifted, wide and terrified.
He dipped the spoon into the bowl and held it near her lips.
"You're tired," he said, voice low and velvet-soft. "You haven't eaten properly. Let me help."
She swallowed hard, tears gathering again. She didn't know how to react to kindness after all the fear. Her lips parted slightly, hesitant... unsure.
He smiled—gentle, patient—and guided the spoon to her mouth.
"Good girl," he whispered after she swallowed, his voice folding around her like warmth.
He offered another spoon.
And another.
Feeding her slowly, carefully, making sure she wasn't overwhelmed.
Every few seconds, his thumb brushed her cheek, wiping tears before they could fall.
He pressed a soft kiss near her temple—feather-light, cautious—as if asking for permission rather than taking it.
"You're safe with me," he breathed into her hair. "No one will touch you. No one will hurt you again. Not while you're under my roof."
Her eyes fluttered, breathing unsteady, but the fear slowly loosened its grip.
He continued feeding her, soft words filling the silence:
"You've been through enough."
"You don't have to be scared anymore."
"I'll take care of you."
"You're not alone now."
At one point, she coughed lightly and instinctively shrank back, apologizing with her eyes. He immediately set the bowl aside and cupped her face gently.
"Hey... don't do that," he whispered. "No fear. Not with me."
His lips brushed her forehead—slow, lingering, protective.
He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed the corner softly.
"You did so well," he murmured. "Let me comfort you."
Her breathing steadied. Her shoulders dropped.
For the first time since the nightmare began... she felt a tiny hint of relief.
He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, adjusting it with careful hands as if covering a child.
"Rest," he whispered. "I'll stay right here."
He lifted the bowl again, his tone nothing but patient kindness.
"Let me feed you a little more."
And this time... she didn't flinch.
She was still curled on his lap, her cheek resting against his chest, her legs loosely hanging over his thighs as if she didn't even have the strength to hold herself up. He fed her the last spoon of soup, feeling her small body lean further into him—seeking comfort unconsciously.
"Good," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. "Just a little medicine now."
She stiffened the moment he said the word medicine.
He felt it—the tiny freeze of her shoulders, the way her breath caught in fear, as if she expected it to hurt.
He gently rubbed her back in slow, reassuring circles.
"It's nothing bad," he whispered.
He opened the pill packet with slow fingers, holding her against him with one arm.
Then he brought the tablet to her lips.
"Open your mouth."
She hesitated... but when his thumb stroked her jaw, she finally parted her lips, letting him place the medicine inside. He brought a glass of water to her mouth, guiding her gently as she swallowed.
"There," he whispered. "Perfect."
His voice was a blanket—warm, steady, protective.
He set the medicines aside and moved his palm to her back again, rubbing soothing circles from her shoulder blades down to her lower back.
Her body gradually relaxed... but she didn't move.
Not even an inch.
He exhaled softly, brushing her hair back.
"You need to rest," he murmured. "Your eyes are barely open."
He shifted slightly, trying to lift her off his lap and lay her on the bed beside them.
But the moment he moved...
Her hands grabbed his shirt tight.
Her fingers fisted near his chest, nails digging in—not from anger, but panic.
She held on like a child afraid of being abandoned.
He froze.
"...hey," he whispered, shocked at how desperately she clung. "I'm not leaving. I'm just putting you down so you can sleep."
But she shook her head violently against his chest, a small broken sound leaving her throat—half-whimper, half-plea.
He tried again, slower this time, shifting her gently.
But she clung harder.
Her legs tightened around him.
Her fingers gripped his shirt like he was the only solid thing in the world.
Her breath turned shaky again, panic resurfacing.
His brows softened immediately.
"Okay... okay," he whispered, cupping the back of her head. "Shh. Don't be scared."
He didn't understand at first why she refused to let go—
Was it the trauma?
The fear of being alone?
Or simply the first moment of safety she'd felt in years?
But he could feel her shaking... like her body remembered every cruelty of her past.
He slid his palm under her thighs and wrapped his other arm around her back, holding her fully against him.
"You want me close?" he asked quietly.
Her fist tightened even more on his shirt.
He sighed softly, almost heartbreakingly gentle.
"Alright," he whispered. "I won't move. I'm right here."
He leaned back against the headboard, adjusting their bodies carefully, making sure she wasn't uncomfortable.
She immediately curled into him, her face pressed against his neck now, breathing shaky breaths that brushed his skin.
Her arms wrapped around him tightly—childlike, desperate—like she was hugging for dear life.
He pulled the blanket over both of them and tucked it around her small frame.
Her legs slid over his, her body molding into his chest like it belonged there.
He placed one arm around her waist, the other under her head, forming a cocoon around her.
"Sleep" he whispered into her hair. "You're safe in my arms."
Gradually, her breathing slowed... her trembling eased... and she relaxed fully against him.
Her grip loosened—not because she wanted to let go, but because she finally felt secure enough to sleep.
And just like that...
They fell asleep together—
her wrapped around him,
his arms protective around her,
their breaths syncing in the quiet room.
It was well past midnight when Vidyut's eyes slowly blinked open.
For a second, everything was blurry—just darkness, soft breathing, and warmth against his chest.
Then it hit him.
She was still sleeping exactly where she had fallen asleep...
curled against him, face buried near his collarbone, her breath fanning softly against his skin.
Her fragile arms were loosely wrapped around his waist, and her leg was still thrown over his.
A soft smile tugged at his lips.
He looked down at her, taking in the peaceful mess she was—
hair scattered everywhere across his chest, strands tickling his jaw, her tiny hand still caught in the fabric of his shirt as if she had clung to him even in sleep.
He brushed his fingers through her hair slowly, gently pushing them back from her face.
Her forehead relaxed instantly, leaning unconsciously into his touch.
He didn't even realize how long he watched her—
how long his fingertips traced soothing circles on her back.
But then—
A sharp, loud cry echoed through the quiet hallway.
"Mmmmaaaaa... daaaadddaaaa..."
His entire body tensed.
Tara.
His eyes snapped open fully, alert in an instant.
Another cry. Louder this time. Panicked.
He carefully, very carefully, shifted Ritvika off his chest.
She whimpered softly at the loss of warmth, but he gently tucked the blanket around her, settling her on the pillow without waking her.
Then he hurried to the door.
The moment he opened it—
Tara practically lunged toward him from the maid's arms.
"Sir, she was crying a lot," the maid said anxiously.
Vidyut nodded quickly and took Tara into his arms.
She was sobbing hard, little fists clutching his shirt like she would fall apart without him.
"D-daddaa..." she wailed into his neck.
He closed the bedroom door immediately so Ritvika wouldn't hear—or wake.
He stepped into the living room, holding Tara tightly.
"Hey... hey, what happened, my kitten?" he murmured, wiping her tears with his thumb.
She sobbed harder, her tiny body shaking.
"D-dadda... mommaa left..." Her voice cracked.
It hit him like a punch.
The same fear, the same clinging, the same desperation Ritvika had shown earlier.
He held her closer, rubbing her back gently.
"No, sweetheart. No one left," he whispered softly. "Dadda is here... and Mumma is here too. She's just sleeping. It's nighttime, remember?"
Tara sniffed, her cries slowing down as she buried her face deeper into his shirt.
After a while, her breathing steadied.
Vidyut pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Are you hungry?" he asked gently.
Tara lifted her face and nodded immediately, eyes big and watery.
"Okay, princess," he said softly. "Sit here and I'll make something for you, hmm?"
He tried to place her on the couch.
But the moment he loosened his grip—
Her tiny hands fisted around his shirt desperately.
She clung to him like she was terrified he would disappear if she let go.
He froze.
A memory hit him—
Ritvika earlier, clinging to his shirt the exact same way.
His chest tightened.
A soft, fond smile curved his lips.
Two fragile souls... both holding onto him with the same fear of being left alone.
He gently rested his cheek on Tara's head.
"Okay, kitten," he whispered, voice thick with tenderness. "Dadda won't put you down."
The kitchen lights were soft, warm—too warm for the hour—but Vidyut didn't care.
Tara was perched on his hip, one tiny arm looped around his neck, her cheek resting against his shoulder while he stirred the noodles with his free hand.
"Daddaa is making something yummy," he murmured gently.
Tara nodded sleepily but refused to loosen her grip.
Her little fingers held onto his shirt like she was still scared he'd disappear.
He kissed her head again.
Truth was... he was hungry too.
His stomach had been empty the entire day—first because of worry, then guilt, then chaos.
Now, cooking Maggi at midnight with a three-year-old glued to his side felt strangely grounding.
He stirred the pot, Tara watching with wide, shiny eyes.
"You'll eat with Dadda, hmm?" he said softly.
She nodded again, quieter this time.
He allowed himself a small smile—
Then he felt it.
A presence.
Gentle.
Quiet.
Familiar.
He didn't even look up immediately.
Something in his chest tightened before he turned.
She was there.
Ritvika.
Standing at the kitchen doorway...
wrapped in the oversized shirt...
hair still messy from sleep...
eyes swollen from crying...
expression soft, hesitant, fragile.
For a moment, Vidyut forgot how to breathe.
Her hands were clasped in front of her like she wasn't sure if she should step in or run back.
The kitchen light fell on her face, highlighting the faint tear streaks still drying on her cheeks.
He reacted before he realized it.
"Ritvika?"
Her name came out of him like instinct—soft, stunned, protective.
She didn't speak.
Just looked at him... and then at Tara... and then back at him.
Vidyut's heart kicked painfully.
God—was she okay?
Did she wake up scared?
Was she hurting again?
Was she overwhelmed?
Did she sleep badly?
Did she feel alone?
His concern hit him so fast he almost dropped the spoon.
He shifted Tara higher on his hip and took a small step toward her.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, unable to hide the edge of panic. "You should be resting... why did you get up? Did you feel dizzy? Did the medicines cause discomfort? Should I—"
He stopped himself before he rambled, but the fear was already in his eyes.
She blinked, startled by the intensity of his worry.
Vidyut swallowed hard and tried again, calmer this time.
"Why did you come out? Is everything okay?"
His voice was soft.
Almost too soft.
Like he was terrified she'd shatter again if he spoke louder.
Tara lifted her head, finally noticing Ritvika.
Her face brightened instantly.
"Mommaa..." she whispered, reaching her small hand toward Ritvika's direction.
And something shifted in the room—
soft... emotional... fragile.
Vidyut watched both of them, his pulse tightening, waiting... wondering... terrified of what she would say or do.
Ritvika didn't wait even a second.
The moment Tara reached her tiny arms toward her, Ritvika took a rushed step forward, breath shaking, voice barely a whisper.
"My baby..."
Her hands lifted automatically—instinctive, desperate, motherly—
but I stepped back immediately, tightening my hold on Tara.
"Ritvika, no."
The words left me faster than I intended.
Firm, urgent... too sharp for someone who had cried herself to sleep on my chest.
She froze, eyes widening slightly.
I softened instantly and tried again.
"No... you can't lift her," I said gently, adjusting my tone. "You're still weak. The doctor said you cannot strain yourself."
She blinked, confused, emotional, still reaching helplessly.
I guided her toward the dining chair with one hand while keeping Tara securely on my side.
"Come—sit. Please."
She didn't resist.
She didn't speak.
She just let me guide her, her eyes fixed on Tara with a quiet ache that clawed at my chest.
I made her sit on the chair and then placed Tara carefully on the dining table in front of her—close enough for her to touch, but without needing to lift.
Tara immediately crawled forward and pressed her forehead against Ritvika's hand.
Ritvika's fingers shook as she touched her.
She still didn't say a word.
Just looked at me once—soft, tired, questioning.
I cleared my throat, turning toward the stove.
"Well... I was making Maggi," I said quietly. "You must be hungry too. Let me make something else for you."
I was already halfway back to the kitchen when her voice—small, hesitant, still raspy from crying—stopped me cold.
"I..."
I turned.
She swallowed and continued, barely audible.
"I also want Maggi."
My chest tightened.
God.
Not now.
No matter how weak, no matter how fragile, she still tried to shrink her needs into something simple... something she thought I wouldn't mind giving.
I shook my head immediately.
"No," I said softly but firmly. "You can't eat Maggi. You should be eating something healthy."
Her fingers froze on the table.
I continued, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Let me make something else for you, okay? Something light. Soup again or—"
She looked up at me then.
Really looked.
Her eyes were still swollen... still glassy... but steady on mine.
Like she was silently asking why can't I eat what you're eating?
Like she was silently telling me I just want warmth tonight, not rules.
It tugged at me, hard.
But I held my ground, even though my throat burned doing it.
"You need proper food," I added quietly, "not instant noodles. Let me take care of it."
I moved toward the stove again... except my hands trembled a little this time.
Because all three of us standing in that dim kitchen past midnight—
Tara clinging,
Ritvika exhausted and hurting,
me trying to hold everything together—
felt like a fragile family moment I never thought I would see.
And I wasn't sure how long I could keep it from breaking.
I carried the bowls carefully—one of steaming khichdi for Ritvika, and two bowls of Maggi for Tara and myself.
The kitchen lights were dim, casting a soft glow across the room as I approached the dining table.
Tara spotted her bowl first.
Her entire face lit up.
Tiny hands slammed excitedly on the table as she squeaked, "Maggieee!"
Her joy tugged a tired smile out of me.
I placed her bowl in front of her, then set my own down. Finally, I put the khichdi in front of Ritvika.
The reaction was immediate.
Her nose scrunched.
Her eyebrows pinched.
She looked at the bowl like it had personally offended her.
"I will not eat it," she muttered.
I blinked.
"What do you mean? It's healthy and—"
"No," she said, firmer this time. "I will not eat it."
I stared at her, caught between confusion and disbelief.
"Ritvika..." I tried carefully, "your stomach is sensitive. You need something light tonight."
She didn't budge.
Not even a blink.
She crossed her arms slowly, gaze dropping to Tara's bowl and then mine.
Then she looked straight at me with a soft, stubborn glare I wasn't prepared for.
"I will eat what you two are eating."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
"Ritvika... Maggi at midnight is not—"
"No."
The way she said it...
Gentle.
But unmovable.
Her eyes were still swollen.
Her face pale.
Her voice fragile.
But her stubbornness...
God, it was almost childlike.
And after everything she had cried, everything she had endured today—I didn't have the heart to fight her.
I exhaled, defeated, rubbing a hand over my face.
"You're impossible," I murmured.
She didn't smile.
But her gaze softened, just slightly.
I pushed my bowl toward her.
"Fine," I said finally. "You win."
Her fingers curled around the bowl gently, like she'd been waiting for this tiny piece of warmth.
Tara giggled in approval.
And for a moment—just one fragile, delicate moment—
the three of us sat there like we belonged to the same world.
Tara dug into her Maggi with the enthusiasm of a tiny cyclone, spilling half of it on the table as she giggled and swung her legs.
I steadied her bowl before it flipped to the floor, shaking my head.
"Slow down, kitten..."
She didn't listen, of course.
My gaze drifted to Ritvika.
She held the bowl I'd pushed toward her—my bowl—cradled between her palms as if it was something precious. Steam curled upward, softening her expression as she took her first bite.
Slow.
Small.
Almost shy.
Her lips parted slightly as she tasted it.
I didn't miss the way her shoulders eased.
Or the way her eyes softened for the first time since evening.
She didn't smile...
but something in her face loosened—like a knot inside her had finally stopped tightening.
I pretended to focus on Tara, but every second my eyes slid back to Ritvika, checking her breathing, her color, the tremble of her hands.
She caught me once.
I immediately looked away.
Too late.
Her gaze lingered...
as if she didn't know what to do with the way I wasn't taking my eyes off her.
Before the moment could stretch too long, Tara squealed.
"Dadda! Look!"
I turned just in time to see her holding a single curled noodle between her tiny fingers.
She leaned forward—far too forward.
"Tara—careful—"
Too late.
The noodle dropped... right onto Ritvika's wrist.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
Tara laughed like it was the funniest thing on earth.
Ritvika blinked... then let out the softest exhale, almost a laugh, one she didn't even realize escaped her.
It was small.
Barely there.
But enough to make something in my chest pull painfully tight.
She brushed the noodle aside gently and looked at Tara with a tenderness she didn't know how to hide.
"You want to feed Mumma?" I asked softly.
Tara nodded vigorously, thrusting another noodle toward Ritvika with her tiny hand.
Ritvika leaned forward, letting Tara push the noodle clumsily against her lips.
She accepted it.
And Tara cheered proudly, clapping her hands.
Ritvika's eyes glistened—emotion, exhaustion, confusion—everything mixing in one fragile shimmer.
My heart twisted.
I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Eat slowly... both of you," I murmured, clearing my throat. "It's late."
Ritvika nodded faintly.
And for a few quiet minutes, nothing existed except:
Her soft breaths.
Tara's happy humming.
The steam rising from the bowls.
The ache spreading in my ribs every time I looked at Ritvika and remembered how she had cried against me.
She took another bite.
Then another.
A small noodle got stuck on her lip.
I almost reached out to brush it away—
Almost.
But my hand froze halfway, and I forced it back down on my knee.
I didn't touch her.
Not tonight.
Not after everything.
Yet the urge didn't fade.
She looked up once, eyes meeting mine, searching—maybe for reassurance, maybe for something she couldn't name.
And I held her gaze, steady and soft.
"Are you okay?" I asked quietly.
She didn't answer.
But she didn't look away either.
After dinner, I cleared the bowls and carried the dishes to the kitchen, letting the warm water run over my hands for a moment before returning. Tara was already sliding off her chair, rubbing her eyes, swaying like a sleepy little duckling.
I scooped her into my arm.
"Now... sleep time," I murmured, brushing her hair back from her forehead.
Ritvika pushed her chair back and stood, her movements slow and hesitant, as if she wasn't sure whether to follow me or wait for permission. She took a single step forward—
And froze.
Because before she could even reach Tara, I bent down and lifted her clean off her feet.
One arm held Tara securely against my side.
My other arm slid beneath Ritvika's knees and back, lifting her effortlessly.
"Aiyy—" Ritvika hissed softly, startled, her hands instantly clutching my shirt for balance.
She wasn't heavy. Not even close. But the way she tensed, the way her breath caught—it made my grip instinctively tighten around her, protective in a way I didn't try to hide.
Tara giggled, delighted by this new arrangement, patting Ritvika's cheek as if announcing her approval.
Ritvika, however, went stiff in my hold. Her eyelashes fluttered once, a small gasp leaving her lips as she tried to process what was happening.
"I can walk," she whispered, almost embarrassed.
"I know," I said, my voice low, steady. "But you won't."
Her fingers curled a little tighter into my shirt.
Not fighting.
Just... unsure.
Tara yawned loudly, placing her tiny hand on Ritvika's arm like she was telling her to just accept it.
So she did.
She didn't argue.
She didn't pull away.
She simply stayed in my hold—small, warm, fragile—as I carried both of them toward the bedroom.
Tara fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, curled into a tiny ball on the left side of the bed. Her breaths were slow, deep, warm against the silence of the room.
I tucked the blanket around her and stepped back.
Ritvika lingered near the door, her fingers twisting together, her eyes darting between me and the sleeping child. The hesitation in her posture was unmistakable—fragile, trembling, unsure.
When I turned toward her, she inhaled sharply as if gathering courage.
Slowly... almost painfully slowly... she walked up to me.
"V–Vidyut..." she whispered, her voice thin, breaking on the edges.
I hummed softly, urging her to continue.
She swallowed, eyes lowering then lifting again, searching my face like she was afraid of what she might find.
"You... love me... I mean... you..." Her words tangled, collapsing into each other. "Like—how— I don't... I don't know what to say. How can you... I mean... you love me... and I—"
I didn't let her finish.
I raised my hand and gently pressed a finger to her lips.
Her breath stopped.
"Shh..." I whispered, stepping closer, my voice steady, warm, quiet. "You don't have to say anything right now."
Her eyes widened, softening, glistening under the faint bedroom light.
"No pressure," I murmured, lowering my hand to her cheek, brushing my thumb just once across her skin. "You can think about it. Take your time."
She didn't move—not forward, not back. She simply stood there, breathing shallowly, looking at me like she was trying not to fall apart again.
"For now," I said gently, "all you need is rest."
Her lips parted in a small, fragile exhale, her shoulders sinking—not in fear this time, but in some tender kind of surrender.
She nodded once.
Slow.
Scared.
But trusting.
And without a single more word, I guided her toward the bed, letting her settle beside Tara, the soft glow of the room wrapping around the three of us like a promise neither of us dared to name yet.
Tara was the first to fall completely asleep—tiny fists curled, cheek pressed into Ritvika's arm, her breaths soft and warm.
Ritvika followed not long after, exhaustion finally pulling her under. Her face had relaxed, the stubborn tension in her brows fading as sleep claimed her.
I stood beside the bed for a long moment, just... watching.
The two of them looked so peaceful like this.
My world—quiet, breathing, fragile, and lying inches apart.
A small smile pulled at my mouth before I even realized it.
But it didn't last.
Slowly, the smile faded... disappearing as another thought crawled its way back into my mind.
I stepped away, lowering myself onto the couch across the room, elbows resting on my knees as I stared at them—my family—sleeping so unknowingly under the dim light.
My jaw tightened.
"Now..." I whispered, voice darkening, "it's time to give you both what you deserve."
The names tasted like venom on my tongue.
Divya.
And Atharv.
My eyes narrowed, the softness of a moment ago turning into cold steel.
"You made her cry," I muttered. "You broke her. You humiliated her."
My fingers curled into fists.
"Tomorrow..."
A slow breath left me, sharp enough to cut.
"Tomorrow, you will see hell—by Vidyut Rajvansh."
The room was silent again.
Except for the steady rhythm of their breaths...
...and the storm rising inside me.
—--------------