Chapter 38 Apology, Sealed and Delivered
Adwait ladled the warm kheer into a porcelain bowl - slow, careful, like it was something sacred. He slid it across the counter toward her.
Iva's eyes flickered to it - the texture, the familiar aroma, the cardamom warmth that used to mean home. Her fingers twitched, tempted. Her stomach betrayed her with a quiet flutter.
But then came the rush - the memory of his lies, the aliases, the walls of deceit built so beautifully around her heart.
Her jaw clenched.
"I'm not here for your food," she snapped, stepping back like it burned. "I'm here to return your thread."
She held up her wrist, the red thread barely hanging on. The charm glinted between them like a cruel joke.
"Please keep it," he said softly, almost pleading.
"No," she said, sharper now. "Why would I keep things from a liar?"
Adwait exhaled. A slow, tired sigh like he'd lived a lifetime in that moment.
"Main kuch bhi karne ko taiyar hoon... agar aap woh dhaga rakhegi toh," his voice was low. Broken glass wrapped in silk.
[I'm ready to do anything... if you're willing to keep that thread]
"Why would I listen to a fake caveman?" she asked, each word a deliberate slice.
His eyes finally met hers. Desperation quietly blooming.
"Please... aap jo chahti hain, main dene ko taiyar hoon."
["Please... whatever you want, I'm willing to give."]
She tilted her head. Something dark danced behind her eyes. A test. A dare.
"Okay," she said.
She walked around the kitchen slab slowly, her heels echoing, and stood dangerously close to him - just like the old days, except everything had changed.
"I'm the owner of your horse now." Her voice was like honey laced with venom. "I know how much you hate it when someone else touches your possessions. So I want you to give him to me. Publicly. Meet me at 5. You'll hand over the reins yourself."
She smiled sweetly. Victorious.
Then, without waiting for permission, she dipped the spoon into the kheer and took a slow, savoring bite. Her expression didn't soften. But it did satisfy.
Adwait flinched - only slightly - at her terms.
"Kaal is... wild," he said finally, voice low. "He can hurt you. Badly."
She turned over her shoulder as she walked away, bowl in hand, already halfway down the hall.
"Then tell him..." she called without looking back, "...his owner has changed. I know how to tame the wild."
She paused for just a breath, the faint steam of the kheer curling upward like memory.
"Adwait, agar dhokhe ka koi swad hota na... toh woh tumhari kheer jaisa meetha hota," she said without turning, voice steady, but laced with the ache she refused to show.
["Adwait, if betrayal had a taste... it would be as sweet as your kheer," she said without turning, her voice steady-but laced with the ache she refused to show.]
And with that, she disappeared around the corner, leaving behind the echo of truth wrapped in sweetness.
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As Iva had demanded, Adwait arrived-precisely on time. Dressed in black, the wind ruffling his hair, he looked like a storm he no longer bothered to hide. By his side stood Kaal, his majestic, untamed horse-his most guarded possession. And today, he was surrendering it.
Wordlessly, he extended the reins toward her. She took them with an air of triumph, her chin high, defiance burning in her eyes.
But Kaal wasn't going to be tamed so easily. The moment she tried to mount him, he jerked back violently. She tried again. And again. And with each failed attempt, her pride frayed a little more. On the fourth try, she slipped-almost falling hard.
Adwait stepped forward instinctively, hands twitching to catch her, but stopping just in time. He couldn't touch her. Not anymore.
"Ivikaa, aap kyun khud ko dard de rahi ho?" he asked, voice raw and desperate.
["Ivikaa, why are you hurting yourself?"]
She steadied herself and looked straight at him, pain and rage dancing in her expression. "Kyunki tumne mujhe pehle hi kaha tha, Adwait, ki tumhare saath mujhe sirf dard milega. Aur maine nahi maana... ab uski hi saza bhugat rahi hoon."
[She steadied herself and looked straight at him, pain and rage dancing in her expression."Because you told me yourself, Adwait - that being with you would only bring me pain. And I didn't listen... now I'm paying the price for it."]
A beat of silence.
He took one breath, then two, before his voice cut through the air like glass. "Jo kaha woh maana nahi... aur jo nahi kaha, woh maan liya?" He walked forward, calm now, and gently but firmly dragged the reins from her hand.
[He took one breath, then another, before his voice cut through the air like glass."You didn't believe what I said... but you believed what I never did?"He stepped forward - calm now - and gently but firmly pulled the reins from her hand.]
Kaal immediately calmed, stepping to Adwait's side like a creature who had never known rebellion.
Iva froze. Her hands, now empty, trembled slightly.
He looked at her-not with anger, not with triumph-but something far heavier. Something that begged to be understood.
Just then, Rudra's voice cut through the silence. "Iva. Ready?"
She blinked, like surfacing from underwater. Her fingers curled into fists for a second before she turned toward him.
"Yes," she replied, walking away without looking back.
But his voice... it lingered like perfume she couldn't scrub off.
"Jo kaha woh maana nahi... aur jo kabhi kaha hi nahi, woh maan liya?"
["You didn't believe what I said... but you believed what I never did?"]
She sat beside Rudra in the car, nodded at his words, responded to his jokes-but none of it truly registered. The racecourse disappeared behind them, but her thoughts stayed exactly where she left him-by that horse, holding the reins like they meant more than just leather and control.
What did he mean by that?
That she believed the worst in him even when he said nothing?
That she refused the love he tried to show-but clung to the betrayal he never admitted?
That she saw his silence as guilt, and his care as a mask?
The window beside her fogged with her breath, but her mind was louder than the engine.
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Since that evening at the racecourse, Iva hadn't been herself.
The world around her moved - meetings, messages, laughter, dinners - but she was stuck, like a vinyl skipping on one haunting line.
Now, seated across from Maya at a high-end restaurant, surrounded by clinking cutlery and murmured negotiations, Iva barely touched her plate.
When the investors finally left, Maya leaned in and asked, "What's going on with you? You've been in a fog all evening."
Iva lit another cigarette, her hands trembling slightly.
"I don't know... it's just-he said something," she exhaled, "Adwait."
Maya raised a brow.
"He said... 'Jo kaha woh maani nahi... aur jo nahi kaha, woh maan liya.'" She let out a short, bitter laugh. "What does that even mean, Maya? You know he never says anything without a reason."
["You didn't believe what I said... but you believed what I never did?"]
Maya stirred her mocktail, then looked up sharply. "And he's right."
Iva blinked. "What?"
Maya leaned forward, her voice low but cutting.
"Kya usne tumse kabhi bola ki woh psycho nahi hai? woh Agnivanshi nahi hai? yaa fir woh Ivaan nahi hai? Jhooth toh woh tumse tab bolta na jab tum usko kuchh puchhti, Iva. Tumne toh usse jhootha, fraud, scammer aur psycho hi bol diya. Jaise sab bolte hai."
["Did he ever tell you he's not a psycho? That he's not an Agnivanshi? Or that he's not Ivaan?He would've been lying only if you had asked him something, Iva.But you didn't even ask.You just called him a liar, a fraud, a scammer, and a psycho - just like everyone else does."]
That hit like cold steel. Iva froze.
Maya pressed on. "You called him a liar without ever asking a single question. He never claimed to be normal, never claimed to be clean. You never asked, he never lied. You just... assumed."
Iva clutched her head, whispering, "Then why didn't he stop me? Why didn't he tell me?"
"Because by then, you'd already joined the mob, hadn't you?" Maya said softly. "Tumne bhi toh sab ki tarah maan hi liya tha na. Kya kehta? woh jhootha nahi hai jab ki woh kuchh bola hi nahi."
["You believed it too, didn't you? Just like everyone else.What was he supposed to say - that he's not lying - when he hadn't even said anything?"]
Iva's throat tightened.
"He told you he couldn't give you all of himself. And instead of asking why, you assumed the worst."
Iva whispered, "He said he wasn't whole. I thought that meant he was hiding something. And when I heard Ivaan's name .."
Maya's voice was calm, but there was fire beneath it.
"Waise toh uska naam Veer bhi tha. Waise toh woh Adwait Rajput bhi tha. Par woh na Veer hai, na Rajput."She looked directly at Iva, her words deliberate now. "Mujhe nahi pata Iva, tum usse kitna janti ho. Par shayad tum usse puchh leti... toh woh tumhe bata deta."
["Technically, his name was also Veer. Technically, he was also Adwait Rajput. But he's neither Veer, nor a Rajput."She looked directly at Iva, her words now deliberate."I don't know, Iva, how well you really know him. But maybe... if you had just asked him, he would have told you."]
Iva was silent, her jaw clenched, eyes glassy.
"Main jaanti hoon uski koi ek identity nahi hai. Aur yeh sab sunkar, dekhkar, kisi ko bhi wahi lag sakta hai jo tumhe laga - ki woh dhokebaaz hai." Maya paused, her voice dipping lower, "Par Iva... kya tumhe sach mein lagta hai Adwait aisa kuch tumhare saath kar sakta hai?"
["I know he doesn't have just one identity. And hearing and seeing all this, anyone would think what you did - that he's a deceiver."Maya paused, her voice dropping lower."But Iva... do you really believe Adwait could ever do something like that to you?"]
And with that one sentence, the air left Iva's lungs.
The weight of every small moment hit Iva all at once -
His tenderness when she vomited.
Washing the blood-stained bedsheet without a word.
Feeding her food, clearing her feet.
Protecting her even when she blamed him.
The way he always stood between her and the storm.
Tears welled up in her eyes before she could stop them.
Iva didn't answer.
But her heart? It cracked - just a little.
"Why didn't you say anything before, Maya?" Iva asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Maya leaned back in her seat, giving her a look that was equal parts amused and exasperated.
"Because the last time I told you not to be with Adwait - that it was forbidden - you nearly slapped me," she said with a dry laugh.
Iva exhaled sharply, tossed the half-burnt cigarette onto the pavement, and crushed it beneath her heel.
"I need to go, Maya," she said suddenly, grabbing her purse and rising from the chair.
Maya looked up at her with a knowing smirk and crossed her arms.
"Of course you do," she said, amused. "Nothing screams emotional clarity like a woman storming off in designer heels at 11 PM."
Iva gave her a quick glance - half glare, half gratitude - and walked away without another word, her mind spinning, heart heavier than before.
Maya just chuckled to herself and muttered under her breath:
"God help that poor man... she's about to rewrite his entire damn fate."
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The sky wore the melancholy of dusk - dusky pinks fading into a heavy indigo. A gentle breeze played with the curtains as Ivikaa stepped onto the balcony, now freshened up, her face washed clean but her heart still aching with residue.
This balcony wasn't just a place anymore. It was a memory. A moment. A shrine.
It was his favorite spot when he lived here. When things were simpler. When she didn't hate him for truths he never uttered.
She lit a cigarette and typed a single word into her phone: "Burning." and sent.
Then she leaned against the railing, the smoke curling like thoughts she couldn't contain.
Within minutes, she felt it-the faint rustle, a shadow climbing. No one else climbed into balconies like they belonged there. Only one man did.
He jumped over, landing softly like a ghost that carried too much memory.
"What's burning?" he asked, slightly out of breath, eyes scanning around in panic.
She raised the cigarette lazily between her fingers. "This."
Adwait closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breath-or maybe the storm inside him. "Please throw it."
She didn't argue. She tossed it off the edge, like it meant nothing.
"Sit," she said simply, gesturing to the mattress in the corner, tucked with familiar pillows.
He obeyed. No resistance. Only silence. He sat and started absentmindedly twisting the sacred thread around his fingers.
"Did you live as Ivaan?" she asked suddenly, arms folded, voice tentative.
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Why?" she pressed, her voice cracking not from anger this time, but confusion. "I don't even know what to ask, Adwait. I just... I need to hear it. All of it. Today, I want to hear everything you never said."
He exhaled, his eyes not meeting hers. "I never lied to you."
"Then what's the truth?" she whispered.
"Sach wahi hai jo sab kehte hai," he said, looking down.
["The truth is exactly what everyone says," he said, looking down.]
She stayed silent.
"Main tumhara sach puchh rahi hoon, Adwait. Sabka nahi."
["I'm asking for your truth, Adwait. Not everyone else's."]
He looked at her then, his eyes heavy.
"Sach yeh hai ki jisne mujhe rakha, usne mujhe apna naam de diya. Aur saath mein duniya ka ek version bhi."
He continued, voice flat but eyes drowning.
"8 saal tak Divya aur Abhay Agnivanshi ne rakha toh Adwait Agnivanshi ban gaya.
Saath mein mila 'psycho', 'abnormal', 'hyperactive'.
8 se 11 tak Ridhima aur Suraj Rajput ke saath raha, toh Adwait Rajput kehne lage.
Aur naya title mila: 'manhoos', 'panauti'.
Fir Raghav chachu London bhej diye, ek nayi pehchaan di: Ivaan - taaki main Agnivanshi ki pehchan aag mein aur naa jalu.
Dadi ko laga 12 saal ka baccha akela kaise rahega?
iss liye Martin pearl ko sath mein rehne bhej diya.
aur ek nayi pehchan ban gayi Ivaan Pearl.
Aur main... I lost count of who I was supposed to be. "
["The truth is, whoever took me in gave me their name - and with it, a version of the world.
"He continued, voice flat, but his eyes drowning.
"For 8 years, I lived with Divya and Abhay Agnivanshi - so I became Adwait Agnivanshi.
Along with it came new labels: 'psycho', 'abnormal', 'hyperactive'.
From 8 to 11, I stayed with Ridhima and Suraj Rajput - and people started calling me Adwait Rajput.
This time, I got new titles: 'jinxed', 'curse'.
Then Raghav chachu sent me to London - gave me a new identity: Ivaan - so I wouldn't burn in the fire of being an Agnivanshi.
Dadi thought, how would a 12-year-old live alone?
So she sent Martin Pearl to live with me.
And just like that, a new name was born - Ivaan Pearl.And me.
.. I lost count of who I was supposed to be. "]
"Toh tum kaun ho, Adwait?" she asked, tears filling her eyes.
[Then Who are you, Adwait?]
He paused, then spoke softly:
"Main Dadi ke liye Veer hoon. London ke liye Ivaan Pearl.
Suraj uncle ki family ke liye Adwait Rajput hoon.
Devaki chachi ke liye Adwait Agnivanshi hoon.
Raha ke liye Adi bhaiya. Aapke liye... bas Adwait.
Jo bhi bacha hai. Aisa maan lo ki zindagi ki jis mod pe mujhe jo mila hai aur jisne mujhe sambhala hai usne mujhe ek nayi pehchan di hai. "
["For Dadi, I'm Veer. For London, I'm Ivaan Pearl.
For Suraj uncle's family, I'm Adwait Rajput.
For Devaki chachi, I'm Adwait Agnivanshi.
For Raha, I'm Adi bhaiya. And for you...
just Adwait. Whatever's left of me. Think of it this way - at every turn in life, whoever took me in, whoever held me together, gave me a new identity. "]
Her breath caught.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No, you don't need to be. Maine pehle hi kaha tha-main aapko kabhi pura Adwait nahi de sakta. Main uska sirf ek hissa de sakta hoon-Adwait V. Jo naam mere zakhmon ne milke banaya hai."
["No, you don't need to be. I told you before - I could never give you all of Adwait. I could only give you one part of him - Adwait V. The name shaped by all my wounds, together."]
He looked away.
"Aur haan, Adwait Agnivanshi failed 10th standard. Psycho bhi hai."
["And yes, Adwait Agnivanshi failed 10th grade. He's also a psycho."]
The city stretched beneath them, glittering like a broken mirror. But Ivikaa didn't care about the world tonight - because her world had climbed over a railing and sat across from her, thread in hand, heart in pieces.
She watched him as he spoke - each word peeling off a layer of the silence he had worn like armor. And as he unraveled, so did she.
She rushed to him and flung herself into his arms, her heart pounding against the cage of her ribs-seeking comfort, seeking him. But he remained still, his hands by his sides, refusing to hold her back.
"Please..." her voice broke into a whisper, vulnerable and bare, "...hug me."
"I can't touch you," he said, voice low but firm-like he was reminding himself just as much as her. His eyes dropped to the floor, as if her memory of rejection still lingered in the air between them.
And it hit her.
She remembered the way she had once flinched, how sharply she'd drawn her boundaries and hurled her words at him like knives: "Don't touch me." She had pushed him away, and now he was holding that distance like a vow.
But not tonight. Not anymore.
She walked toward him like gravity wasn't pulling her but his pain was. She knelt down, looked him in the eyes, and asked in a trembling whisper:
"Ivikaa ko jo chahiye... woh Adwait nahi dega toh kaun dega?"
["If Adwait doesn't give Ivikaa what she needs... then who will?"]
her voice trembling as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck-the place where his scent always lingered like a forgotten warmth.
His breath hitched. And then-like a dam finally breaking-his arms wrapped around her, fierce and full.
He held her as if anchoring both of them, as if her body in his arms was the only truth he trusted anymore.
Like a dam collapsing under the weight of years - his arms wrapped around her with the desperation of someone who's been waiting to be forgiven, waiting to be held, waiting to come home.
It wasn't just a hug. It was the release of days that had felt like years. The weight of silence, of unsaid truths, of wounds inflicted and endured-it all began to lift.
His thread brushed against her skin. So many names, so many identities... but only one heartbeat - and it beat for her.
This was the boy who watched her with eyes so intense it felt like he was memorizing her.
This was the boy who never asked for love but gave it away in spoonfuls of kheer.
She held him tighter.
"You're not broken, Adwait," she whispered. "You're just too much soul for one name to carry."
He didn't reply. He didn't need to.
Because that night, under a smoky moon and quiet stars, something shifted. Not in the world - but inside them.
He came as Adwait, but tonight... he stayed as home.
"Can you please forgive me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, heavy with guilt and raw vulnerability. Her eyes shimmered-not with drama, but with truth. "I was stupid," she admitted. "I didn't even ask you. I didn't give you a chance to speak. I just... assumed."
Adwait looked at her quietly for a moment, the corners of his lips softening. "Let bygones be bygones," he said, breaking the hug gently as he rose to his feet and extended his hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her up with an ease that made her heart ache.
"But Adwait-" she tried again, needing to say more.
"Don't overthink," he cut her off gently, pulling her into another embrace. This one warmer. Calmer. Forgiving.
"It was torture without you," she breathed into his neck, lips grazing his skin as she pressed a kiss there-a small apology in touch.
Just then, the rain began, soft at first, then bolder-like the sky had been holding back tears too.
They looked out from the balcony, side by side, watching Mumbai blur behind a curtain of silver.
"Let's go to your favourite swing," Iva said, pointing down to the garden below.
"You hate rain," he reminded her, eyebrows raised.
"I love everything with you," she replied simply, and without another word, she pulled him by the wrist, laughing softly as they ran through the house and burst through the back door into the downpour.
Within seconds, they were drenched. Hair clinging. Clothes soaked through. The world around them smelled of earth and memory.
"Tumhe baarish bahut pasand hai na?" she asked, half-shouting through the downpour.
[You love rain, don't you?]
"Mumbai ki," he replied, his voice deep and full of something unspoken.
[Mumbai's rain.]
As she walked beside him, her foot slipped slightly-but before she could fall, he caught her effortlessly, pulling her close, her hands landing against his chest. His arm circled around her waist like instinct.
She looked up at him-wet lashes framing stormy eyes-and whispered, "Aur mujhe... Mumbai ki baarish mein hum."
["As for me... it's us, in the Mumbai rain, that I love the most."]
They stood still, thunder cracking above them, rain pouring like a film reel in slow motion. Their bodies were soaked, clothes clinging, hearts thudding against each other.
Adwait's grip around her waist tightened ever so slightly, and she leaned into him. He looked at her lips first, then into her eyes.
"Adwait..." she whispered, like his name alone was her entire confession.
As always, he answered softly, "Hmm?"
Her lips quivered, parted just enough-and she felt his breath, warm and trembling, brushing against her mouth. Just an inch of hesitation, of magnetism suspended in air.
Then lightning lit the sky and thunder roared.
And just like that, their lips met-tentatively at first, exploring the shape of apology and forgiveness. Then deeper. Slower. As if every second of separation had been leading to this moment.
The kiss turned urgent, like rainwater cascading down glass-faster, warmer, impossible to stop. Their hands wove into each other's soaked hair, their breaths tangled like poetry lost in a storm.
And beneath the roaring sky of Mumbai, under the wild monsoon, two broken hearts finally fit back together. More like rain wrote the apology, her lips delivered it.
Nothing screams reconciliation like kissing in a thunderstorm. Classic trauma response-five stars.
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