56
SHIVANI
He died.
He took a bullet for me. The only person who truly cared for me in that house is gone.
He was my first best friend, the only one who stuck with me till the end.
Always knew how to lift my mood. He never asked too many questions—he just knew when something was off.
And instead of pressing me, he made me laugh, distracted me, and gave me something to smile about.
I remember once he got scolded badly by my father.
They were going to fire him. And the reason was that I was upset that day, and instead of taking me to class like he was supposed to, he took me to the market.
Bought me the toys and chips I had been craving.
My parents were furious. But he didn’t care. He only cared that I was smiling again.
Even in his last moments, all he could think about was my well-being.
The doctors discharged me two weeks ago, though I’m still on bed rest. Everyone’s been supportive.
Someone or the other is always beside me— family , the people who genuinely care.
And I like it... most of the time. But there are moments when I just want to shut everyone off.
No voices, no sympathy, no one watching me like I might break.
I want to go back. Just one moment. Just long enough to save him somehow.
Simbu curls up in my lap, breaking the train of my thoughts. He looks up at me as if he can sense my pain. I muster up a small smile, and he silently goes to sleep.
I haven’t cried. Not even once. Rudra keeps telling me I should.
Says I’m an emotional person, and maybe letting it out would help.
But I can’t. I don’t understand it. Maybe it’s because I know the moment I cry, I’ll have to face it.
I’ll be accepting the fact that he’s gone.
That he’s not coming back. And I don’t want to.
Not yet. My throat tightens, and I take in a deep breath, patting my chest.
Rudra’s been extra protective. He hasn’t gone to the office since it happened.
I keep telling him I’m fine, that he should go back, that there are so many people here looking after me.
I don’t want to be a burden. But he shut me up real quick with one question: What would you do if you were in my place?
And I didn’t have an answer to that. “Rudra?” I ask quietly.
He looks up from his laptop, his face softening the second he sees me. “Yes, darling?”
There’s a warm smile on his face, the kind that makes my heart ache a little less.
“My father?” I whisper. “Is he alive?” I don’t even know if I want to hear the answer. But I ask anyway.
Rudra’s smile fades instantly. His expression hardens, his jaw tightening as he closes his laptop slowly and sets it aside. His entire energy shifts. “Your father?” He repeats, as if disgusted by his name, his voice low and sharp.
“Yes.”
Just saying that word makes my skin crawl. The idea of him being alive—breathing, walking free—terrifies me. I will never be safe if he still exists in the same world as me. “Don’t worry, darling. He’s in my custody,” Rudra tells me, his voice cold, deprived of the warmth it carried earlier.
“I’ll end him with my own hands.” He is talking about murdering someone, and I can't even feel disgusted, because one, I love Rudra, and no matter what, I will always love him, and two, it's my father, the monster who had always made my life hell, so he deserves it.
It's time I stop empathizing with people who hurt me.
He sits beside me on the bed and takes my hand in his. His touch is warm, but his grip is firm, like he’s calming me down, like he needs me to feel safe.
“I want to see him,” I mumble. Rudra’s face darkens as his grip tightens, and for a second, I feel him silently pleading with me not to go there.
“You’re not well enough to see him,” he says, the edge in his voice softening a bit. “You need to rest, Shivani. To recover.”
“I know,” I sigh, “but I want to meet him. I have to talk to him.” He looks at me like I’ve lost it. Maybe I have. Maybe grief does that to people.
“Baby, he’s a dangerous man.” He states, his eyes softening as he tries to change my decision.
“I know that,” I say, chuckling a little at the irony. Dangerous feels like an understatement.
He glares at me, and I raise my hands in surrender. “Please, Rudra.” I pout. Just a little.
He groans, running a hand through his hair, then lets out a long sigh. “Fine. But I’ll be with you. I’m not leaving you alone with that man!”
“Okay. But only you. No one else.” He nods, then pulls me gently into his chest. I rest my head over his heart, closing my eyes as I listen to his steady heartbeat. It’s oddly calming.
“Can we go now?” I ask, my voice muffled against his shirt.
He pulls back, stares at me for a long moment, and then finally nods. He helps me up from the bed, and Simbu jumps out of the bed, staring at Rudra, who stares back at him. I love this rivalry.
We change slowly. My body still feels sore and weak, like I’m stitched together with pins and needles.
But I manage with the help of Rudra. He slowly slides down his hoodie on me.
He has strictly forbidden me from wearing any of the traditional clothes.
Not because he doesn't like them, but because it's difficult to move myself so much and he doesn't want to see me in pain.
“Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand as we walk out of the room and down the hallway.
We get into the car, and Rudra drives slower than usual, extra careful with every bump and turn. I’m grateful for that. “Shivani,” he calls out to me, and I turn to look at him.
“Yeah?”
“Remember—you’re still recovering. If you feel tired or unwell, we leave immediately. No questions.” I nod. I already know he won’t take no for an answer if I even look faint.
We pull up outside a shabby-looking bungalow. It’s quiet, tucked away, almost forgotten by the world. Rudra unbuckles my seatbelt and helps me out gently. His fingers don’t leave mine as we walk toward the door.
Each step feels heavier than the last. Part of me wants to see my father. The other part wants to run far away from here and never look back.
But I keep walking. Because some things need to be said—face-to-face.
There are a few men around—scary-looking, built like they’ve done this kind of thing before—but none of them even glance at me. They don’t have to. Rudra’s with me. He doesn’t say a word, just leads me forward, his presence solid and quiet. He opens the door and guides me inside.
The room is stark and cold, with peeling paint on the walls and a faint, musty smell that makes my stomach churn.
There’s a single overhead light, flickering like it’s given up on life but hasn’t quite died yet.
Shadows stretch along the corners, eerie and unsettling.
And right in the center, there’s a worn-out wooden chair.
He’s sitting there. My so-called father.
This looks like a scene out of a Bollywood movie.
He looks… ruined. Disheveled, gaunt, like life’s been kicking him every day and he just let it. His clothes are torn and dirty, his hands bound tightly to the arms of the chair. He lifts his head as we walk in, and his eyes meet mine—dark, narrowed with recognition.
A chill races down my spine. His hair is matted, and deep, ugly shadows linger under his eyes. The whole room feels suffocating. Heavy. Like it remembers everything that’s ever gone wrong here. Like it knows violence too well.
He sneers. "Well, if it isn’t my precious daughter," he spits out, voice full of nothing but contempt.
I flinch. His tone hasn’t changed. Still venomous, still mocking. Rudra’s fingers snake through mine as he grips my hand tight in quiet support. I glance at him, grateful he’s here.
The man in front of me shifts, the chair creaking under his weight. "My, my," he drawls. "You definitely look uglier than before." The words hit harder than I expect, but I don’t react. I can’t give him that satisfaction. Instead I stand a little taller.
Rudra signals the guard to wait outside. He sets his gun on the table beside us—maybe as a warning, maybe just in case. The cold metal gleams under the flickering light.
"Why?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Why did you never love me?"
He laughs. That hollow, bitter sound I’ve heard before. It echoes off the walls like a ghost.
"I was your daughter!" I shout, louder now. My voice breaks with emotion. "You were supposed to protect me. You were supposed to love me! Not… not become my nightmare!"
His sneer deepens as he leans forward, as far as the restraints will allow.
"A daughter?" He repeats with disgust. "No. You were a mistake. A constant reminder of everything that went wrong in my life. I never wanted you." Each word is a knife, slicing through me.
"I did everything I could," I choke out, tears threatening, "to make you proud. To earn your love. But you never saw me. You never cared."
"That’s because you were never worth it," he spits. "You were weak. Just like your mother."
Rudra takes a step forward, his entire frame tense. "That’s enough," he says, voice low but sharp. A warning.
But the man just laughs. "You’re not my daughter," he growls.
My breath catches and my eyes widen. I search his eyes to see if he's lying. "You heard me," he continues. "That slut whored around, obviously. And you were born. You're not my DNA. Good thing she died."
I freeze. The words hit harder than any slap, any punishment he ever gave me. My chest tightens, and my breath shortens. It’s like everything is unraveling. All this time—every moment I spent trying to earn his approval, every scar I carry—I was trying for nothing.
I feel Rudra’s hand on mine again, steady and strong, but I pull away.
"You’re not my father," I whisper. The truth tastes bitter in my mouth as shock engulfs me.
"God, how stupid can you be?" He scoffs. "Of course I’m not."
"Shivani," Rudra whispers beside me, voice gentle, trying to coax me away. "We can go."
"Yeah," the man laughs darkly. "Take her. She’s too weak to handle the truth anyway."
My heart feels like it’s caving in. The world spins, my stomach knots. I hear Rudra, feel him trying to guide me toward the door—but I can’t move. His words echo around me, mocking me.
“Weak,” I repeat, under my breath. That word again.
Rudra’s grip tightens on my arm, sensing I’m about to collapse. But I shake him off. Not this time.
I face the man again, teeth clenched, fists trembling. "I'm not weak," I say, my voice steadying. "And I never was."
His laugh grates against my ears. I look around and spot an iron rod on the table—thick, rusted, and heavy. I grab it before Rudra can stop me and strike it against his back. Hard.
"I AM NOT WEAK! YOU ARE!" I scream, my throat itching from the harsh words.
Rudra steps forward in shock, catching me as I stumble back, breath ragged, body trembling. My so-called father howls in pain, still strapped to the chair.
"You got pleasure by torturing the weak," I spit as I straighten myself. "You liked seeing fear in my eyes. But I always stood back up. No matter what you did, I stood back up."
He glares at me, but I keep going. The words pour out, burning and broken.
"You failed, Ranveer Singh Rathore. You couldn’t break me. It took you nights and nights to even crack me, but look at you—at the verge of death with just one hit." Tears blur my vision. My hands shake and my voice wavers, but I don't stop.
"You don’t get to call me weak. You don’t get that right. You Coward,"
His eyes narrow, twisted in fury. "You think you've won?" He hisses. "You think this makes you strong? You're just as pathetic as ever, Shivani."
Rudra steps in before I can reply, the weight of him grounding me again. He faces Ranveer, eyes cold.
"Enough," he grunts out words through his teeth. "You don’t get to say another word."
But I’m still staring at the man who destroyed everything. "You killed Madhav Uncle!" I cry out. The pain resurfaces like a fresh wound. "He was important to me."
Ranveer chuckles, then winces from the pain. "I know," he sneers, an evil glint covering up his eyes. "It seems you were important to him too."
"What?" My voice drops and my heart sinks.
He smirks, eyes gleaming with malice. "Of course you were. He was your father, after all." Everything stops. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t breathe. Did he just—?
"What?" I whisper again, barely audible. Different kinds of pain grip me. My breath catches in my throat.
"Shocked, huh?" He taunts as if proud of himself. "Why do you think he was always so kind to you? He used to be a big businessman—you’ve heard of Kanwar Tiles, right, Rudra?"
I turn to Rudra only to see that his face mirrors my shock. Ranveer laughs. "When he found out about you, he came to me. Wanted to take you away. But I saw a good opportunity. I blackmailed him and took away everything. Still, he chose to work as my driver. Just to stay close to you."
My knees almost buckle. I can’t make sense of anything. Madhav Uncle… was he really my father? All those small kindnesses. The way he looked at me like I mattered. "How stupid of him," Ranveer adds with a cruel smile.
Tears spill from my eyes. I want to scream. I want to turn back time. I want to bring him back. "And my mother?" I ask, almost scared of the answer.
He laughs again. That ugly sound grates on my nerves, and I feel the urge to hit him again to stop his laugh. "She was greedy. Power, money—that’s all she ever wanted. And I gave her that. So she did what I asked."
The pieces fall into place and leave me shattered. Madhav Uncle was my father. My mother was complicit. And the man in front of me—the monster—I was never his to begin with. I never owed him anything. And yet he took everything from me.
"You killed him," I whisper, my voice cracking. "You killed my father."
Ranveer sneers. "And I’d do it again. He was weak. Just like you."
And that’s it. Something in me snaps. Before I know what I’m doing, I grab the gun Rudra had placed on the table.
All senses fly over from my head as I hear him yell my name, panic lacing his voice, but I don’t stop. My hands are shaking, but my aim is steady.
"Shivani, no!" Rudra shouts. But it’s too late. My finger squeezes the trigger. And the shot rings out, deafening.