Chapter 20 He didnt stay but he never left
The vanity room buzzed softly with the hum of stylists and assistants outside, but inside, it was just Ivikaa and her tablet, coffee, and chaos-Paris files open on screen, messages from Alex blinking, and a to-do list that refused to shrink.
A soft knock.
She looked up, surprised.
Adwait stood at the door-shirt crisp, hair nearly tamed, holding out a bar of dark chocolate.
Again?
"Chocolate therapy before a big night?" she teased, one brow raised, her hands too full to take it.
Without asking, Adwait stepped in, unwrapped the chocolate, and broke off a piece. Gently, he brought it to her lips. She hesitated only a second before accepting it.
"So this is your ritual? Feeding girls chocolate before a big event?" she asked, tongue sharp but voice soft.
"Raha always gets nervous," he shrugged. "Chocolate calms her down. It's become a thing now."
"Rituals are sweet," she said, then let the next one land, "like dancing with Devaki aunty?"
He paused, eyeing her with half a smile. "She mentioned it?"
"Only how much you love your nose pins. And how they're reserved for your future wife." Her words were playful, but her eyes searched his face.
Adwait gave a short laugh. "It was a joke. I was young. Stupid."
"So... they weren't for your lady?"
His jaw tightened. "Na koi mere liye hai, na kabhi hogi. Toh uske liye kuch rakhne ka sawaal hi nahi hota."
("There's no one for me, and never will be. So there's no point keeping anything for her.")
The silence that followed was razor-sharp.
Ivikaa froze. His words-matter-of-fact, blunt-cut clean through her.
Before her mind could censor her heart, the words tumbled out:
"What about me?"
He blinked. "Kya?"
"Don't play dumb, Adwait." She stood up. "Let me ask you clearly-main kaun hoon tumhari life mein? Who am I to you?"
He looked cornered, caught off-guard-but not shocked. As if he'd always feared this moment would come.
"Maine pehle hi kaha tha," he said quietly, "main kisi ke duniya mein nahi jaa sakta. Na kisi ko apni duniya mein laa sakta hoon. Aur aapko bhi pehle hi kaha tha-main aapko dard nahi de sakta."
("I told you before-I can't step into anyone's world. Nor can I bring anyone into mine. And I told you-I can't give you pain.")
"Main tumhari apni nahi hoon, Adwait?" Her voice cracked.
("I'm not yours, Adwait?")
He swallowed, eyes dark with conflict. "Try to understand..."
"Haan yaa naa, Adwait. Main tumhari apni hoon ya nahi?" she pressed again, louder.
("Yes or no, Adwait. Am I yours or not?")
He said nothing.
His silence-louder than a scream-was her answer.
She let out a sharp breath, her voice brittle but controlled:
"So my pain is mine alone. You don't even need to speak, and people understand. Well, I've understood too, Adwait."
Her eyes were shining, but she blinked the tears back before they could fall. Without another word, she brushed past him and walked out-her heels echoing off the marble, louder than the silence he'd left her with.
Adwait's words hung in the air like smoke-"Naa koi mere liye hai, naa kabhi hogi. Kisi ko meri duniya mein aane ki ijaazat nahi hai."
["There's no one for me, and there never will be. No one is allowed to enter my world."]
Iva stared at him, momentarily stunned. The ache behind her ribs sharpened. "Toh main kya hoon, Adwait?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
["Then what am I, Adwait?"]
He looked away, visibly struggling. "please-"
"Nahi," she interrupted, her tone rising. "Seedha jawaab chahiye. Main tumhari apni nahi hoon?"
["No," she interrupted, her tone rising. "I want a straight answer. Am I not yours?"]
Adwait said nothing. Silence grew heavy between them, pressing into the walls of the vanity room.
"Matlab mera dard bhi sirf mera hai," she said bitterly. "You don't need to speak, right? You think people understand without words? Fine. I understand now."
["So my pain is mine alone too"]
Her eyes were shining, but she blinked the tears back before they could fall. She turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked out of the room without looking back.
The event was in full swing outside. Strings of lights shimmered over the open lawns, guests gliding through laughter and champagne.
The Ambani twins, Virya and Vayu, along with their father Viren Ambani, had arrived earlier to surprise Iva.
Ritika, too, had joined, proud and glowing beside her family.
Iva threw herself into the event, managing final fittings, adjusting stage lighting, checking with Maya on the models. From Paris to Lonavala, she had built this night thread by thread-and tonight it shone.
But her heart wasn't in it.
The afterparty began with an opulent burst of music and cocktails. Bollywood's biggest names poured in, thanks to Divya's connections. Maya spoke to Iva about the event's success, but Iva was barely listening. Her mind kept returning to Adwait's words.
"You okay?" Maya asked gently.
"Just a lot on my plate," Iva replied with a mechanical smile.
Before Maya could press further, the dance floor opened, and Vayu came over to lead Iva away. Iva found herself caught in the swirl of music, swapping dance partners. One moment with Vayu, the next with Rudra, who tried to charm her again.
"Iva," he said, leaning close, "you really should stop pretending you don't like being chased."
She stepped away mid-twirl.
Then came someone else-a smooth-talking actor with the charm of a snake.
"Ah, Parisian beauty," he murmured. "Single? Or ready to be taken by someone like me?" He winked, hand snaking around her waist.
"Don't you dare," Iva warned, pushing him away.
"Feisty. I like that," he sneered, gripping her wrist tighter. "You think you're exclusive to Rudra? He's my best friend. And we share everything."
SLAP.
The sound echoed through the music. Gasps froze mid-air.
Iva's heel landed hard on his foot, and he yelped, stumbling back.
Within seconds, Virya and Vayu were beside her, rage burning in their eyes. They lunged at him without a word. Rudra tried to stop them, but the twins were merciless.
As the crowd parted in alarm, Maya came running.
"Iva! Viren uncle... he's not well. We brought him to the vanity room, but he's having trouble breathing. Doctor is on the way-please get your brothers!"
Iva's world tilted. Her anger evaporated. She turned on her heel and ran to get the twins.
Within minutes, the scene changed from glittering party to emergency chaos. Viren Ambani was rushed to a nearby hospital. The doctor confirmed-minor heart attack. They needed to move him to Mumbai immediately.
The ambulance doors flung open.
Iva jumped down first, her heels long discarded, her gown now creased and forgotten. She clutched her father's hand as the stretcher rolled down the corridor, sterile white lights flickering above like judgmental eyes.
"Papa... please don't close your eyes. Your princess needs you," she whispered, her voice thick with unspoken fear.
Virya and Vayu rushed beside her, coordinating with their private medical team already on standby. LM Ambani Hospital-named after their grandmother-was now holding the heartbeat of their family.
"ICU ready hai?" Vayu barked at the head nurse.
"Dr. Shah is on the way," she nodded, leading them through the sliding doors.
Iva didn't cry. Not yet.
She stood frozen outside the ICU as the team stabilized her father inside. She heard monitors beep, the rustle of gloves, a sharp instruction from the cardiologist. But it all blurred like white noise.
Ritika came, gently holding her daughter's shoulder. "He's strong. He'll be fine."
Iva gave a numb nod. "I know. He has to be."It was all too much.
And yet, she stayed composed.
Because tonight, she had no room left for heartbreak.
Only strength.
Half an hour later, the doctor stepped out. The moment his white coat appeared, the Ambani siblings surged toward him.
"Stable," he said. "It was a minor myocardial infarction. No permanent damage, but it was close. He's resting now."
Iva finally exhaled, her knees almost buckling.
"Can we see him?" Virya asked.
"One at a time."
Iva went in first.
The ICU was quiet. The hum of machines filled the space, but her eyes went only to the figure lying on the bed.
Viren Ambani looked peaceful now-oxygen mask over his face, an IV in his arm, heart rate steady on the monitor. Iva sat beside him and held his hand, the same one she had held through the ambulance ride.
"Papa," she said softly. "Nothing will happen to you.
Her voice cracked at the edges.
"I'm sorry. I should've noticed. I should've seen."
She bent forward, resting her forehead against his hand. "I will do anything to take you safe and healthy home. Please."
She didn't realise she had started crying-silently, fiercely.
When she walked out of the ICU, the twins saw the tear-streaked face. But neither said anything. They simply stood beside her, one on each side.
And for the first time in years, none of them needed to say a word.
The terrace was cold and silent, the only sound was the distant hum of city lights and the faint sirens echoing through Mumbai's skyline. Iva stood near the edge, a cigarette pressed between her trembling fingers. She took a long drag, exhaled a shaky breath, eyes blank.
Her father was still in the ICU.
She could have lost him. That thought hadn't stopped replaying since the doctor said "minor heart attack."
Then, she heard footsteps behind her. Soft, deliberate.
She didn't need to turn. She already knew.
"Ivikaa..."
His voice-low, careful.
She didn't respond. Just raised the cigarette again.
Adwait reached her before she could take another drag. Without a word, he gently pulled the cigarette from her fingers and tossed it over the terrace wall.
"Don't," she snapped, voice sharp and hollow. "Just go, Adwait. I don't need you."
Lie. A big one. But his earlier words still clung to her like thorns.
He didn't speak. Instead, he stepped behind her and slowly, cautiously, wrapped his arm around her waist. No explanations. No justifications. Just his quiet presence.
She stiffened at first...
Then slowly, like a tired tree bending to the wind, leaned back into him. Her breathing shallow. Her eyes closing. Tears finally slipping out.
"Maine wada kiya tha aap se," he whispered into her hair. "Aapke dard mein sath rahunga."
["I promised you," he whispered into her hair. "I'd stay with you through your pain."]
She broke from his arms, turned to face him.
"Yeh mera dard hai, Adwait. Let me deal with my own."
["This is my pain, Adwait. Let me deal with it myself."]
"Ivikaa..." his voice cracked just a little. "Please. Mujhe pata hai maine aapko hurt kiya. But just for now... let me be here. Bas is waqt."
["Ivikaa..." his voice cracked, just slightly. "Please. I know I hurt you. But just for now... let me be here. Just in this moment."]
She stood frozen... then let herself fall into his chest.
The dam broke.
Her sobs were loud, raw, shaking her whole frame. Her arms clung to him like she was afraid he, too, might disappear.
"Main tut jaati, Adwait..." she cried, voice catching. "Agar unhe kuch ho jaata... main sach mein... sambhal nahi paati..."
["I would've broken, Adwait..." she cried, her voice catching."If something had happened to him... I swear... I wouldn't have been able to handle it..."]
Adwait cupped the back of her head, holding her tighter.
And for that night-for that one fragile, shattering moment-he didn't talk about boundaries. Or rules. Or his broken world.
He just stayed.
Like someone who belonged.
He heard her every emotion-each tremble in her breath, each crack in her voice-and with a quiet tenderness, wiped away every falling tear as if collecting pieces of her breaking heart.
But then... he noticed her wrist.
Faint red finger marks. Ugly. Violent. Fresh.
"Yeh kaise hua?" he asked, his voice low but firm, a dangerous edge lurking beneath the calm.
["How did this happen?"]
"Courtesy of Rudra's best friend," she said, eyes heavy with exhaustion, lips barely moving.
Adwait's jaw tightened, but all he did was take her wrist carefully and run his thumb over the mark with infinite gentleness-like his touch alone could undo the pain.
"Seems like my days are getting darker," she said bitterly, trying to mask the fragility cracking beneath the surface. "First those horrible memories... then this party fiasco... now Papa."
She paused, then let out a cold laugh.
"And how can I forget you and your legendary 'I won't let anyone come to my world' dialogue."
Every word stabbed through him. Yet, he said nothing.
He just stood there-taking her pain like a punishment he believed he deserved.
She didn't mean to be cruel. But the weight of the night, of everything she was holding in, had to go somewhere-and it landed right where it hurt the most.
He still didn't speak. His silence screamed louder than any excuse.
Because what could he say?
Yes, he had hurt her. And all he could do was stand with her, quietly mourning the parts of him he didn't know how to give.
Iva wasn't in the mood for anyone.
-----------------------
After everything - the heart-wrenching image of her father breathless in the vanity room, the scene at the party, Adwait's silence, and her own unbearable helplessness - she just wanted a pause.
So when the Agnivanshi family arrived at the hospital, she politely excused herself.
She walked down the quiet corridor and entered the private room assigned for her rest.
She needed silence. Not sympathy. And definitely not small talk.
Inside, the lights were dimmed. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a second - only to reopen them when her gaze fell on the table near the window.
A neatly wrapped sandwich. A bottle of water.
And a folded note in the unmistakable handwriting.
"Gussa mujhpe hai, khane pe nahi."
["You're angry at me, not the food."]
She exhaled through her nose - a soft scoff. Of course, it was Adwait. Feeding her through guilt now?
Not now, Iva. Let Papa be okay first, she told herself, pushing the sandwich aside as if avoiding his presence altogether.
Just then, the door creaked open again and Maya stepped in with Martin trailing behind. Maya looked tired but composed. Martin looked... Martin - mildly irritated by everyone's emotional incompetence and equally ready to fix it.
"Iva, everyone has eaten. Even Vayu finished two plates," Maya said softly. "You need to eat too. You haven't had anything since breakfast."
"I'm not hungry," Iva replied quietly, staring blankly at the water bottle as if it might answer her pain.
Martin rolled his eyes and walked straight to the hot container he was carrying. With a sigh that was more theatrical than necessary, he opened it, plated a small portion of pulao, and walked over.
Without asking, he placed it on the table in front of her, leaned slightly, and said in that maddeningly calm British accent of his:
"Well, the sandwich gave up. I'm here to negotiate on behalf of the pulao."
Iva blinked. Then gave the faintest twitch of a smile, though her eyes remained heavy.
Martin wasn't done. He crossed his arms and added with practiced dryness,
"This pulao has no opinion on nose rings, ex-best friends, or dramatic exits. Just eat it"
Maya stifled a chuckle, but Iva only shook her head.
"Martin, not today," she whispered.
Martin, unbothered as always, simply replied,
"Especially today."
And with that, he pulled up a chair and sat - determined to babysit her into taking at least three bites of survival.
Iva narrowed her eyes at the plate, then looked up at Martin, suspicious.
"You came here on your own?" she asked, voice laced with irony. "He sent you, didn't he?"
Martin arched a brow. "Does he need to?"
Iva scoffed. "Of course not. No words, and you just understand. If not him, then his shadow must've slipped you a memo."
Martin smiled faintly, walked over to the window, and pulled the curtain half open before replying, deadpan:
"Oh no, Miss Ambani. The shadow just passed me a scroll. In Sanskrit. Signed with a mogra flower."
Iva let out the ghost of a laugh. It hurt, but it helped.
Later, the doctors informed them that Viren Ambani would be discharged the next morning.
Devaki Agnivanshi was firm, her tone brooking no argument. "He's coming with me. He's my dearest friend-how can I let him go back to an empty house like this? He needs family now. And... I still have a few old debts to pay."
No one had the energy to counter her-least of all Ivikaa. She simply nodded, her mind too cluttered, her body too drained. Arguing over logistics wasn't worth it. Not tonight. Not when the world had already spun off its axis.
Martin entered the room quietly, placing her half-finished plate closer.
"You're not alone, you know," he said, almost too casually.
She opened one eye to glance at him. "Meaning?"
He gave a theatrical shrug. "Let's just say... someone's always nearby. Watching. Feeding. Hovering like a very intense guardian angel with boundary issues."
Iva exhaled a tired breath, too hollow to smile but not too numb to understand. Of course she knew who he meant. But she didn't ask. Didn't need to.
She closed her eyes again and leaned back into the sofa, the scent of hospital disinfectant clinging to her skin, the chaos of the day pressing down on her like a second skin.
She was tired. Just so tired.
But in the corner of her mind, she knew-he hadn't left. He never really did.
Between Adwait's silence, her father's condition and Martin's unsolicited catering - she wondered if the universe had misplaced the script of her life with a tragicomedy.
? ? ?