Chapter 47 The Aftertaste of Silence
Grief sleeps lightly; it wakes at the faintest whisper.
- Author
Author's Note:
I'm curious to know what you think of this chapter. Don't leave me hanging - drop your thoughts, reactions or even your eye-rolls. Every comment fuels the chaos I love to write.??
Adhrita opened her eyes and saw Vritant sitting on the floor, holding her hand while sleeping.
She gently caressed his hair. He stirred, and she quickly slipped her hand out of his grip. He woke up at the movement and looked at her.
"Adhri..." he called her name, his voice heavy with sleep.
She didn't reply. Instead, she went to their room, came back with a few dresses, and quietly placed them inside the wardrobe.
"Why are you shifting your clothes here?" he asked, confused. She said nothing.
"Adhri... kuch toh bolo," he pleaded softly.
(Say something)
She stopped and turned to him, her voice trembling but clear.
"Kya bolu, Vritant? Ki Adhrita ka pati sirf naam ka hai? Ki Adhrita usse kuch poochh nahi sakti... na hurt ho sakti hai, na hurt dikhha sakti hai?"
(What should I say, Vritant? That Adhrita's husband exists only in name? That Adhrita can't ask him anything - can neither feel hurt nor show it?)
Her eyes glistened. "Tum batao, kya mujhe hak hai apne pati ko jaane ka? Mujhe bas aadhe-adhure Vritant se pyaar karne ka haq hai, isse zyada kuch nahi."
(You tell me - do I even have the right to know my husband? I only have the right to love a half-present, incomplete Vritant... nothing more.)
She took a deep breath. "Kabhi kabhi lagta hai humare beech ka rishta mujhe sabse zyada kha raha hai. Na main apne pati se kuch poochh paati hoon... na yeh bata paati hoon ki mujhe kaisa lag raha hai."
(Sometimes I feel like this relationship between us is what's consuming me the most. I can't ask my husband anything... nor can I tell him how I feel.)
She stepped closer and took his hand, placing it gently over her heart.
"Nahi achha lagta tumhe aise dekh kar... yahan dard hota hai."
(It doesn't feel right seeing you like this... it hurts here.)
Her voice broke as she continued, "Bahut dard hota hai... par tum samjhoge bhi kaise? Tumne kabhi helpless feel kiya hi nahi."
(It hurts so much... but how would you understand? You've never known what it feels like to be helpless.)
"Main nahi samajh paunga?" He let out a hollow laugh. "Mujhse zyada kaun samajhta hai iss baat ko ki helplessness kya hoti hai...
("You think I wouldn't understand?" he let out a hollow laugh. "Who would understand helplessness better than me?")
Echo meri wajah se gaya, main helpless tha. Usko nahi bacha paya kyunki main helpless tha. Main apne papa ka dard kam nahi kar sakta, kyunki main helpless tha. Main aaj bhi unn palo ko roz jeeta hoon, kyunki main helpless hoon.
Meri yeh memory mujhe jeene nahi deti. Woh chehra... woh cheekhein... roz mera gala ghot'ti hain."
(Echo left because of me - I was helpless. I couldn't save him because I was helpless. I can't ease my father's pain - because I'm helpless. And even today, I relive those moments every single day - because I am helpless.
My memories don't let me live. That face... those screams... they choke me every night.)
He took a shaky breath, his voice breaking between every word.
"Aur iss beech main kya chahta tha? Bas apni biwi se pyaar karna. Main toh woh bhi dhang se nahi kar paata.
Pata hai, jab pehli baar aapko dekha tha uss party mein- mujhe uss pal ke liye dard mehsoos nahi hua tha. Aapki aankhon ne mujhe 'naa' bola tha... aur maine wahi kiya jo aapne bola. Maine woh glass rakh diya tha. Kuch pal ke liye, main apni helplessness se bahar aake aapki duniya mein aagaya tha."
(And what did I want in the middle of all this?
Just to love my wife. And I can't even do that properly.
Do you know - the first time I saw you at that party, for that one moment, I felt no pain.
Your eyes told me 'no,' and I obeyed. I put the glass down.
For those few seconds, I stepped out of my darkness and into your world.)
He smiled faintly, lost somewhere.
"Phir jab aapko rote dekha... toh laga ki mujhe jo dard mil raha hai, woh aapko nahi milna chahiye.
Aur phir... aapne mera sabse weak point dekha- mera panic attack. Aryan ki shaadi mein."
(Then when I saw you crying... I felt that whatever pain I have, you should never have to feel it. And then... you saw my weakest moment - my panic attack. At Aryan's wedding.)
He swallowed hard.
"Maine, Aryan ne, aur Echo ne decide kiya tha ki hum saath shaadi karenge...
Par mera bhai hai hi nahi. Woh baat mujhe itna tod gayi ki main khud ko rok nahi paaya. Par aapne mujhe pakda... Phir se apne andhere se bahar nikaal kar apni duniya mein kheench liya.
Aur jab papa ne bataya ki Ashwin Adani apni beti ki shaadi mujhse karna chahte hain...
Mere dil ko sukoon mila- aisa jo maine pehle kabhi nahi mehsoos kiya tha.
Main chahta tha ki aap mera sukoon bani rahe...
Par aapki aankhon mein fir se woh helplessness dekhi, jo main hamesha se khud ke liye mehsoos karta aaya hoon.
Par main itna selfish nahi ho sakta tha, na...
ki apne sukoon ke liye aapko helpless kar doon. "
(Aryan, Echo, and I had decided we'd get married together one day... but my brother isn't even alive. That truth shattered me - I couldn't control myself. But you held me. You pulled me out of that darkness and into your light.
When Papa told me Ashwin Adani wanted me to marry his daughter, for the first time in my life, I felt peace - a peace I'd never known before.
I wanted you to remain that peace for me.
But then I saw in your eyes the same helplessness I've always felt within myself.
I couldn't be so selfish as to make you helpless just to keep my peace.)
He looked down, voice trembling.
"Main aapko le gaya tha- aapki duniya mein wapas chhodne.
Par aapne wahan mujhpe aise haqq jataya, jaise main sirf aapka hoon.
Aur main chah kar bhi aapko chhod ke nahi aa sakta tha.
Phir aap meri ban gayi- meri mangetar. Roka ke din jab aapne mera haath thama tha, toh laga, meri zindagi mein sirf andhera nahi hai... ek Adhrita bhi hai."
(I took you away - only to return you to your world. But you claimed me as yours, as if I belonged only to you. And I couldn't walk away. Then you became mine - my fiancée.
On the day of our roka, when you held my hand, I felt that my life wasn't all darkness anymore... there was also Adhrita.)
His eyes softened.
"Us din jab aap mere saath mere bhai se milne aayi...
tab samajh gaya tha- aap meri zindagi ka woh hissa ho jise main kabhi nahi nikal paunga.
Main chahta toh mandir mein shaadi kar sakta tha, par main aapka har khwab poora karna chahta tha. Aapne bachpan ka sapna tha na- paani ke upar shaadi karni hai? Aur aapka rajkumar aapko lotus flower de? Bas wahi chhoti si khwahish thi na aapki?
Main woh har sapna poora karna chahta tha, kyunki jab main woh kar raha hota tha, tab main bhool jaata tha ki main andhere mein baitha hoon.
Aap meri aisi khaas bani ki main bas aapka hona chahta tha- aapka pati banna chahta tha.
Roz raat ko main Echo ko bacha na paane ke sapne nahi dekhta tha, main dekhta tha Adhrita meri biwi kaisi lagegi."
(That day when you came with me to meet my brother...
I knew then - you were a part of my life I could never erase.
I could've married you quietly in a temple, but I wanted to fulfill every dream of yours.
You had that childhood dream, right? To get married over water?
And your prince would give you a lotus flower?
That was your only little wish, wasn't it?
I wanted to make every dream of yours come true, because when I did that, I forgot I lived in darkness.
You became so special to me that I wanted to belong entirely to you - to be your husband.
At night, I stopped dreaming about not saving Echo.
Instead, I dreamt about how Adhrita would look as my wife)
He laughed bitterly, voice breaking.
"Aur jab phere le kar maine maang mein sindoor bhara na...
tab mujhe yakeen ho gaya tha- ki main Adhrita se itna pyaar karne laga hoon, ki shayad khud yakeen nahi kar paata.
Aapka doctor licence dekhke aapka khush hona- mujhe laga meri zindagi mein pehli baar koi mujhse khush hai.
Itna ho chuka tha aapka, ki mujhe pata hi nahi chala- aapka ek dard mujhe kitna maar sakta hai.
Riots mein jab aapko dekha... toh laga jaise main fir se uss andhere mein chala gaya. Phir se woh helplessness mehsoos karne lag gaya. Par phir... aapne mera haath thama, aur main aapko le gaya apni duniya mein- Mriga Trishna. Woh jagah jahan main sirf khud ko mehsoos karne jaata hoon.
Aur ek din... aap meri ho gayi poori tarah se. Aapne apna sab kuch mujhe de diya- bina kisi shart ke, bina kisi jhijhak ke.Woh pyaar dekha hai maine aapki aankhon mein. Usi aankhon mein maine aansu bhi diye hain. Aur unhe kam bhi nahi kar sakta- yeh hoti hai helplessness.
Chah kar bhi apne andhere ka hissa nahi bana sakta- yeh hoti hai helplessness.
Apni biwi ki aankhon mein pyaar dekh kar usko woh khushi nahi de paana- yeh hoti hai helplessness.Kya batau main?
Photographic memory hai meri. Chah kar bhi nahi bhool paata kuch bhi- na khud ke liye, na aapke liye. Yeh hoti hai helplessness.
Chah kar bhi aapko nahi bata paaya ki... Hrita- usne mujhe jaanwar ki tarah maara tha. Usne mere bhai ko maara tha. Usne mera poora parivaar bikher diya. Meri zindagi barbaad kar di. Aur yeh so-called powerful business mafia, 'Vritant Vardhan'... kuch nahi kar paaya tha.
Uski chhodi hui asar aaj meri biwi bhugat rahi hai."
(And when I took those vows and filled your hairline with sindoor, I truly believed it - that I loved you so much, I could barely believe it myself.
Seeing you happy with your doctor's license made me feel, for the first time, that someone was genuinely proud of me.
I had become so much yours that I didn't even realize how deeply your pain could destroy me.
When I saw you during the riots... I felt like I'd fallen into darkness again, drowning in that same helplessness.
But then... you held my hand and I took you to my world - Mriga Trishna.
That place where I go only to feel alive.
And one day... you became mine completely.
You gave yourself to me - unconditionally, without hesitation.
I've seen that love in your eyes. And in those same eyes, I've given you tears.
I can't even lessen them - that's what helplessness is.
Not being able to make my wife happy even when she loves me - that's helplessness.
Having a photographic memory that won't let me forget anything - neither for myself nor for you - that's helplessness.
I couldn't even tell you that Hrita...
she beat me like an animal. She killed my brother.
She shattered my family. She ruined my life.
And this so-called powerful business tycoon, 'Vritant Vardhan'...
couldn't do a damn thing.
And now, the scars she left behind - my wife is the one paying for them.)
His jaw clenched.
"Roz papa ko takleef mein dekhta hoon,aapko dekhta hoon,aur khud ko...
aur 'Aai'- jisse main ab PM sahiba bulata hoon-unhe roz dekhta hoon,
kyunki aaj bhi yakin nahi kar pa raha ki unhone mere bhai ko marwa diya."
(Every day, I see my father in pain. I see you. I see myself. And 'Aai' - whom I now call the Prime Minister - I see her too. Because I still can't believe she had my brother killed)
He looked at her, eyes red but calm.
"Adhrita... aapka pati bas ek hara hua insan hai. Jisse pyaar karna toh aata hai,
par jatana nahi aata. Shaadi toh kar li, par nibha nahi paaya. Aur jitni baar sikhne ki koshish ki, mera past uspe haavi ho gaya. Mera past meri biwi ko bhi kha jaayega... aur main fir se ek helpless pati ban jaaunga. Yeh hoti hai helplessness."
(Adhrita... your husband is just a defeated man.
He knows how to love, but not how to express it.
He got married, but couldn't live up to it.
And every time he tried to learn, his past drowned him again.
And now... it'll devour his wife too. That's helplessness.)
He took a step closer, voice low, raw, and shaking.
"Manta hoon... layak nahi hoon. Par koshish kar raha hoon.
Khud ko justify nahi kar raha... jo galat hai, woh galat hai.
Par dur jaane ka option nahi hota na? Woh kaise le liya aapne?
Janta hoon... mere saath galat hua. Par main duniya ke saath galat nahi kar sakta- specially apni biwi ke saath.
Jo mera sukoon hai, mera ghar hai, mera pyaar hai.
Bahut pyaar karta hoon aapse. Maine khud ko badalne ki koshish bhi ki... Maine alcohol chhod di- kyunki aapko pasand nahi. Maine racing chhod di- kyunki jiss sikke se maang bhari thi, woh kabhi khali na ho. Maine apne ateet ke woh panne jee kar dekhe jo sochna bhi nahi chahta tha.
Toh batao Hrita- dur kaise chale gaye? Adhrita chali jaayegi toh Adhrita ke pati ka kya hoga? Woh kaha jaayega?
Manta hoon, puri biwi ke saamne aadha pati nahi hota. Main khud se ladke pura dene ki koshish mein baar-baar haar raha hoon. Aur iss baar... apni biwi se bhi haar gaya.
Par main kya kar paunga? Kuch nahi.
Adhrita aur Vritant ke raaste alag kaise kar sakte ho aap? Kisne haq diya aapko?
Maanta hoon- aap pe kharoch aayi toh main duniya jala sakta hoon, par jab aap mujhe dekh kar darr gayi... maine gusse mein bhi aapse dur jaane ka nahi socha. Aapne kaise soch liya?
Main kaise rehta? Aapke liye sab chhod diya...
aur aap mujhe hi chhod dogi?"
(I admit it - I'm not worthy.
But I'm trying. I'm not justifying myself - wrong is wrong.
But when there's no option to walk away...
how could you take it?
I know I've suffered injustice.
But I can't pass it on - especially not to my wife, who is my peace, my home, my love.
I love you deeply. I've tried to change - I quit drinking because you didn't like it.
I quit racing because I wanted that coin that filled your hairline to never be empty.
I've faced pages of my past I never wanted to open again.
So tell me, Hrita - how could you leave?
If Adhrita leaves, what happens to Adhrita's husband?
Where does he go?
I know - a half-husband isn't enough for a complete wife.
I've fought to be whole, but I keep losing.
And this time... I've lost to my own wife.
But what can I do? Nothing.
How can you separate Adhrita and Vritant?
Who gave you that right?Yes - when you get hurt, I can burn the world.
But when you looked at me with fear, even in anger I never thought of walking away.
How could you?
How was I supposed to live?
I gave up everything for you... and now you'll leave me?)
He took a trembling breath.
"Ant ka ant mat kijiye."
(Don't bring it to an end... please don't.)
A bitter smile curved his lips.
"Sab bolte hain, main kisi ko bhi manipulate kar sakta hoon apne fayde ke liye. Toh agar aapko lagta hai ki yeh sab main aapko manipulate karne ke liye keh raha hoon... toh mujhe woh bhi manzoor hai. Bas... dur jaana allowed nahi hai. Hate me- bas saath rehke kar lo."
(Everyone says I can manipulate anyone for my benefit. So if you think I'm saying all this to manipulate you - fine. I'll accept that too. Just... don't go away. Hate me if you want - but do it while staying close.)
"Iss baar nahi, Vritant. Tumhe samajhna zaruri hai - ek tarfa koshish rishte aur insaan, dono ko tod deti hai." she said, voice firm but weary.
("Not this time, Vritant," she said, her voice firm but weary. "You have to understand - one-sided effort breaks both the relationship and the person.")
"I never wanted to break you," he replied immediately. "Rahi baat gusse ki, toh trust me - I never want to raise my voice. Pata nahi mujhe kya ho jaata hai..." He sank down onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion and shame making his shoulders slump.
("I never wanted to break you," he replied immediately. "And as for my anger... trust me, I never want to raise my voice. I don't even know what happens to me...")
For a moment the room held its breath. Then a distant memory cut through the silence - Dr. Radhika's warning, precise and clinical:
"These pills aren't harmless. Even at the normal dose, they mess with your brain. You'll wake up groggy, your balance is shot, and you'll keep snapping at people without knowing why. That's the mild stuff."
He closed his eyes and whispered her name. "Radhika..."
A small, hard truth settled on him. He opened his eyes, steadier now. "You're right," he said to Adhrita, voice quiet but resolved. Slowly, he got up from the bed and walked out of the room.
??? V ? A ???
He got ready quietly that morning. The towel went on the rack - not the bed. The wardrobe door closed softly, no clutter, no haste. He didn't create any mess today. Downstairs, he saw Adhrita having breakfast. Without a word, he walked past her, stepped into the car, and drove away.
Later, Adhrita came into their room, half-expecting the usual chaos. Instead, everything was neat. The bed made, clothes folded, towel in place.
"Better..." she murmured to herself, almost smiling, before heading to Dadi for the Diwali puja.
The day rolled into preparations - flowers, diyas, trays of sweets. She was in the kitchen shaping gujiyas when her phone buzzed.
"Vritant?" she thought, wiping her hands, but the screen said Vardhan LifeCare. Her heart skipped. Without another second, she left for the hospital to attend an emergency case.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the city, Vritant stepped out of his office and into Dr. Radhika Mehta's clinic.
"Vritant?" she looked up, surprised. "You again?"
"You were right," he said, his voice low. "The pills are affecting me badly. I've started snapping at my wife." He sank into the chair across from her.
"This is the third time you've shown up without an appointment," she noted dryly.
"I'm sorry." His tone was unexpectedly soft. Radhika's expression shifted - not irritation, but quiet empathy.
"Don't be. I wasn't taunting. I actually like that you're ready to accept the damage."
He exhaled, long and tired. "Help me," he said. "Help me get over everything."
She tilted her head. "Why suddenly?"
"Because till now, only I was suffering," he said. "But now... my wife will, too."
"Good," she said, scribbling on her notepad. "Then first, stop taking the current medicines. If they're affecting you this badly, I'm prescribing new ones."
He nodded. "Okay."
"Frequency of nightmares?" she asked.
"Less than before," he answered quietly.
Radhika looked up from her notepad. "Less than before," she repeated softly. "That's not a recovery, that's adaptation. You're learning to live with them, not without them."
He didn't reply, just looked out the window. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the silence.
"You've associated fear with protection," she said calmly. "You think the moment you love, you'll lose."
He looked up at her, a tired smile on his lips. "You sound like PM sahiba"
"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, smirking faintly. "But tell me something, Vritant - when was the last time you felt peace? Not happiness, not relief - peace."
He thought for a long moment.
"When she fell asleep holding my hand," he said finally. "I didn't dream that night."
Radhika exhaled quietly. "Then stop running from what calms you. You've been fighting ghosts that don't exist anymore."
He looked at her with eyes that were suddenly very still. "Ghosts don't leave, doctor. They just learn to sit beside you quietly."
Radhika didn't argue. She knew this man's war was not with the world - it was with the echo inside him.
She signed the prescription, slid it across the table, and said softly,
"These are temporary. Healing isn't. Try talking to her - not as a husband trying to explain, but as a man trying to breathe."
He took the paper, folded it neatly, and stood up.
"Talking never helped me," he said.
"Then maybe listening will," she replied.
He got up and turned to leave.
"Next time, if you plan to change my medicines, don't involve my wife," he said, his voice even.
Radhika's brows lifted. "How do you know?"
He turned halfway, a faint smirk ghosting his face.
"You think I'm dumb? I even know the way my wife breathes around me - you think I wouldn't notice?
" He exhaled sharply. "I had a doubt. But I thought my wife would never meddle with my medicines.
I forgot that if you're involved, she could. "
"I only told her the truth," Radhika said quietly.
"I know," he replied, his tone softening just a fraction. "I'm not angry, Radhika. You did what you thought was best for us. Just-" he paused, looking directly at her- "don't involve her next time."
And he left - composed, polite, but leaving the faint echo of authority that made even silence feel like a closing door.
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita was getting ready for the Diwali puja. Once dressed, she came downstairs and saw Rawat entering with a few men carrying boxes.
"Ma'am, these are for you," he said.
Adhrita frowned slightly. "For me?"
"A few days back, sir had ordered them," he explained.
She nodded, and the boxes were placed on the floor. Adhrita knelt and began opening them one by one - rows of diyas, fairy lights, colors, and a small wooden box inside.
When she opened the small box, she found a photo frame - their wedding picture, perfectly framed.
Her hands stilled. He planned all this before we fought.
She held the frame close to her heart and closed her eyes for a moment - guilt and ache settling like dust after a storm.
Dadi walked in just then, and Adhrita quickly asked the servants to help with the diyas and rangoli.
A while later, she went back to their room and placed the frame on the side table. Her gaze lingered on it before she picked up her phone and dialed Dr. Gupta's number.
"Happy Diwali, Dr. Gupta," she greeted.
"Happy Diwali, Dr. Vardhan," he replied warmly.
"Did Vritant come in to change his bandages?" she asked.
"No, he hasn't visited," Dr. Gupta said.
"Thank you, Doctor." She ended the call and set the phone down.
Almost instantly, another message lit up her screen.
From: Dr. Radhika Mehta
He knows about his pills.
Adhrita exhaled softly, setting her phone aside. Then she went downstairs, lit the first diya, and let the light fill the silence he had left behind.
Adhrita began placing diyas along the staircase steps, one after another. When she turned to pick the next plate, she noticed the helper was gone- and Vritant was standing there, holding a tray of diyas himself.
She took one quietly and placed it beside the first. He handed her another. And another. Step by step, flame by flame, they lit the house together in wordless coordination.
Soon, Aaradhya and Dadi came by for the rangoli and paused, smiling softly at the sight. Even Shaurya, watching from across the hall, found his lips curve with a quiet relief he hadn't felt in years.
Vritant and Adhrita continued moving from room to room, balcony to balcony, lighting each corner with golden flickers. Even their private studies glowed under the soft light. In some quiet way, he was fulfilling her wish - to light every corner of the Vardhan house this Diwali.
Only one diya remained. He picked it up and walked toward a door at the end of the corridor.
Adhrita turned just in time to see him push it open - the air inside still heavy with untouched years. It was Vritant and Vedant's childhood room.
He walked to the window, placed the diya on the sill, and watched as its light spread across faded walls and old toys - chasing away eighteen years of darkness.
Adhrita stood at the doorway, her throat tight as he stared at a picture of two boys in school uniforms, laughing. She wanted to walk in, to hold him - but stopped herself.
When the call for puja came, she quietly went downstairs. The family gathered, and Dadi asked her to sit for the rituals. She took her place beside the priest.
Just as the prayers began, a rustle of fabric made her turn. Vritant - in a red kurta.
Everyone froze. The man who hadn't looked toward God since Vedant's death, the man who'd mocked rituals for eighteen years - sat beside her, hands folded.
It wasn't faith that brought him here. It was her.
For the first time, his silence wasn't a wall - it was effort. He didn't believe in miracles. But he was ready to become one, for her.
When the puja ended and sweets were distributed, he took one, broke it in half, and quietly extended a piece toward her. Her eyes glistened as she accepted it. Especially today, she thought, how can I see him like this and not break?
He rose silently after the puja and walked to his study. There, he placed the remaining half sweet in front of a framed photo of Vedant.
"Happy Diwali," he whispered.
When he turned, Adhrita was standing at the door - holding a plate of gujiyas. She walked closer and offered him one.
"Happy Diwali," he said softly, a faint smile breaking through the distance.
"Happy Diwali," she replied.
He reached for the drawer, pulled out a slender long box, and placed it gently in her hands.
"Yeh Diwali ke liye laaya tha... agar aap..." he said, his voice low, uncertain.
Before she could respond, he turned and walked out.
(This was for Diwali... if you..)
She placed the gujiya plate on the table and opened the box. Inside lay a pair of silver anklets - delicate, gleaming, thoughtful.
She turned to call him, but he was already gone.
She came downstairs and saw everyone gathered around the dining table.
"Beta, dinner?" Dadi asked.
"With Vritant," she replied softly.
"He's gone out.." Dadi said, and Adhrita's face fell for a second.
Then she smiled faintly. "Yes... he told me before leaving. He'll be back soon."
"The rangoli was beautiful," Aaradhya said.
"Thank you," she smiled.
Just then, Raj Vardhan entered. He placed a gentle hand on her head, blessing her.
"After so many years, light has returned to this house," he said, his eyes glinting with emotion. "See, Vedashree? I told you - if he's being so stubborn about this girl, don't stop the marriage."
"Thank you, Dadaji," she said with folded hands.
"You're Gujarati, right? Then your New Year is tomorrow?" he asked.
She nodded with a small smile.
"We'll celebrate that too,," he announced warmly.
"Really, Dadaji?" she asked, eyes lighting up like a child's.
He chuckled and nodded.
"Bhabhi, firecrackers?" Aaradhya asked eagerly.
"We'll do that later," she whispered with a small smile, her voice low and distant.
Later, she went to her room and dialed his number-
Unreachable.
Where could he be at this hour?
Then she remembered his words: "Mriga Trishna is the only place where I go."
She stepped onto the balcony. Firecrackers burst across the night sky, painting the darkness in gold-but her husband's absence dimmed it all.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from him:
"I'm ready to take any bashing."
She sighed. "Don't be harsh on him, Adhrita," she murmured to herself.
Without thinking twice, she grabbed her car keys and the gift box. She went to the kitchen, packed the food neatly, and asked the butlers to load the car. "Also keep the diya box and rangoli colors," she added.
Minutes later, her car stopped in front of Mriga Trishna.
The lake shimmered under the reflection of fireworks, the night air cool and quiet.
She climbed the steps toward the lake house.
It was dark.
She pushed open the door, her phone flashlight slicing through the darkness-
and there he was.
Sitting on the bed, shoulders heavy, eyes distant.
"It's heavy," she said softly.
He looked up at her.
"Boxes are in the car," she added.
He got up wordlessly, walked past her, and began unloading the boxes from the car one by one.
Inside, she placed the bag on the kitchen counter, opened the first box, and took out the diyas.
One after another, she lit them-until the house began to glow again.
She replaced every candle with a diya, walked outside, and started placing them along the railings and steps.
"Ab kya ghar ka kaam sirf mujhe hi karna hai?" she asked, her tone teasing but low.
He came beside her without a word and began helping her.
She then sat near the doorway, tracing circles on the floor for a small rangoli.
"Fill the colors," she said quietly.
"Which one?" he asked.
"Any except your favorite," she said dryly.
Their hands brushed as they worked, both a little messy, both silently healing.
After a few minutes, she leaned back and looked at their work.
"Now this house looks like a home," she said softly, her eyes glimmering in the flicker of light.
He looked at her-really looked this time-and whispered, "Aap... thank you."
(You...)
"Maaf nahi kiya," she said without looking at him.
(Still have not forgiven you.)
"Tumne jo kiya hai, uske liye ek payal se maafi nahi milegi."
(What you did can't be forgiven with just an anklet.)
She turned and went inside, opened the food containers, and began serving the plates.
She turned and saw a small wooden frame hanging on the wall. It was their first picture together-from Saanvi's wedding. They stood close, his arm around her, both smiling without knowing the weight that would follow.
"Dinner karna hai?" she asked softly.
(Do you want dinner?)
He shook his head.
"Diwali ke din bhookhe rehna hai?" she pressed, crossing her arms.
(You plan to stay hungry on Diwali?)
He didn't utter a word.
"Gussa mat dilao," she said, exhaling. "Idhar aao aur chup chaap khaa lo."
("Don't make me angry," she sighed. "Come here and just eat quietly.")
He came forward quietly and sat on the floor beside her. She set the plates down, and both began eating in silence-only the faint crackle of diyas filling the air.
"Itna sab karne aata hai," she said suddenly, breaking the silence, "par sorry nahi bola jaata... Tumhe kya lagta hai, tumhara accident ka sunke mujhe kaisa laga hoga?"
("You know how to do everything," she said, "but you can't say sorry? Do you have any idea how I felt when I heard about your accident?")
He stayed silent, eyes lowered.
"Kyun?" she asked again, voice trembling. "Aaj koi sarcasm nahi bologe? Ek baat sun lo, Vritant-main tumhe uske liye maaf nahi karne wali... meri jaan nikal gayi thi tumhe aise dekhkar."
("Why?" she asked again, her voice trembling. "No sarcasm today? Listen, Vritant - I'm not forgiving you for that. I nearly lost my breath seeing you like that.")
A tear slipped from her eye; she quickly wiped it away.
"Not today..." he said softly, reaching for the box of sweets. "It's your favorite festival."
He broke a piece of kaju katli and gently offered it to her.
She hesitated, then took a small bite.
"I never want to see you like that again," she whispered. "Not on Diwali. Not any day."
He looked at her, voice low. "But I want to become deserving of you... Snapping wasn't justifiable. Being rude-never was."
"Then say sorry," she demanded, eyes locked on him.
He held her gaze. "Sorry," he whispered.
"Par maaf..."
(but forgive..)
He gave a faint smile, almost sad. "Nahi karogi, pata hai."
(You won't, I know.)
"Abhi jo kiya, woh bhi sahi nahi kiya," she said, her tone sharp but breaking in the end. "Sab galat kaam karna aata hai tumko..."
("What you just did wasn't right either," she said sharply, her tone cracking at the end. "You seem to know only how to do the wrong things.")
He looked at her, confused.
"Who leaves his wife alone on Diwali?" she asked, voice trembling with emotion.
"I didn't want to ruin your day by being there," he said quietly.
"Ab meri taraf dekhoge bhi nahi?" she asked, and he froze.
(Now you won't even look at me?)
"Main hi galat hoon na..." she whispered, and tears spilled down her cheeks.
(I'm the one who's wrong, right)
Vritant put the sweet back on the plate and moved closer. Without a word, he placed his hand on her shoulder, then pulled her gently into his arms.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered against her hair. He lifted her carefully into his lap, dragged her plate near, and began feeding her in silence.
"I know... it's the medicine's side effects," she murmured.
"Yeah," he admitted, "but what I did was utterly wrong. You don't punish your loved ones for sins they didn't commit. You're not my punching bag. I need to learn to channel my anger somewhere else."
He fed her another bite, and she began complaining softly about everything he'd done wrong. For once, he just listened - every word, every pause.
"Ab nahi sataunga..." he promised quietly, offering her the last bite.
(I won't trouble you anymore)
She took it, then pulled his plate closer and handed it to him.
"Khatam karo. I don't like you wasting food," she said, giving him a small glare.
(Finish it. I don't like you wasting food)
"Payal acchi lagi?" he asked after a moment.
(Did you like the anklet?)
"Haan," she said, smiling faintly. "Pehli baar tumne mujhe normal gift di."
("Yes," she said, smiling faintly. "For the first time, you gave me a normal gift.")
"Sorry," he said with a small grin. "Ab se sirf normal gifts dunga."
("Sorry," he said. "From now on, only normal gifts.")
She laughed softly, her anger dissolving as she continued complaining in her sleepy tone. Before long, her voice faded, and she drifted off - asleep in his lap.
He looked at her, peaceful for the first time in days. Slowly, he got up, carried her to the bed, and tucked her in. Then, silently, he cleaned the plates, placed them aside, and returned to her.
Sitting on the floor beside her, he took her hand in his, rested his head there, and closed his eyes. The glow of diyas danced across their faces - two broken souls finding home, one apology at a time.
??? V ? A ???
Next morning, she woke up to an empty bedside. His side of the bed was cold.
Where did he sleep?
Rubbing her eyes, she got up and noticed a small note stuck to the fridge - in his neat, almost emotionless handwriting:
"Going out for a therapy session. Happy New Year! :)"
She smiled.
The plates from last night were cleaned, not a sound made. Typical Vritant.
Her gaze wandered to the wall where their photo hung - their first picture together from Saanvi's wedding - him standing close, his hand resting around her as if it belonged there.
Then she noticed the side table - a small wooden lotus and a boat sat there, delicate and oddly symbolic.
Curious, she opened his wardrobe and found the pills still inside. He hadn't taken them.
Just a bit more, Adhrita... keep going.
He'll come out of this darkness - not because someone told him to, but because he loves you enough to try.
Radhika's words echoed in her head:
"He won't do it for himself, but he may do it for you."
Her phone buzzed repeatedly - notifications flooding in.
She unlocked it and read the trending headline:
"RajasthanRDP social media handle wishes Gujarat's son-in-law a very Happy Diwali and New Year!"
And below it -
"Question is - is he going to contest the Rajasthan seat?"
#RajasthanRashtraDharaParty
She blinked at the screen and laughed softly, shaking her head.
"Wah, yahan Adhrita ko hi nahi pata uska pati kya aur kaha lad raha hai."
She put the phone down, still smiling - the first real one in two days.
She got ready and came out, the soft winter sun brushing against her skin. Her eyes landed on him - Vritant was running around the lake, his breath steady, his strides measured, as if every step was an argument with himself.
The morning mist curled around him, faint glimmers of sweat tracing his jaw. He wasn't running fast - just enough to feel something. His grey T-shirt clung to his back, his focus unbroken, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Every lap he took, he slowed near the banyan tree, touched its bark for a second - a small ritual maybe, before picking up pace again.
Adhrita leaned against the doorway, watching silently.
For once, he didn't look like the man drowning in his own mind - he looked alive, fighting, breathing.
She smiled faintly.
Maybe this was what healing looked like - not grand gestures, but one quiet morning, one lap at a time.
After a few more laps, he stopped near the edge of the lake, rolled his neck, and dropped down for pushups. The sound of birds, wind, and his quiet breaths filled the silence.
One. Two. Three.
He was focused - palms pressing into the cold ground, muscles taut, hair falling on his forehead.
Adhrita walked up behind him and crossed her arms, watching with a small smirk.
"Abhi therapy se aa rahe ho ya army training se?" she asked.
(Are you coming from therapy or army training?)
"Both require discipline," he replied, without pausing.
She crouched beside him. "Bas discipline hi chahiye ya help bhi?"
(So you only need discipline, or a little help too?)
Before he could answer, she sat carefully on his back. He froze mid-pushup.
"Hrita..." he muttered, holding his position.
"I am just testing you, Mr. Vardhan. Dekhte hain kitna strong hua tumhara determination."
(Let's see how strong your determination really is.)
He gave her one long exhale, then pushed again - slow, controlled, refusing to lose.
"Impressive," she said, laughing lightly. "Maybe I should sit a little longer. Motivation milta rahega."
(Keeps you motivated.)
He straightened up and looked at her over his shoulder. "You're lucky I'm healing. Warna aap lake mein hoti."
(Otherwise, you'd be in the lake by now.)
"Really?" she said, raising a brow. "then therapy cancel?"
He sighed, smiled faintly, and got up, brushing his hands. "Great. I survived miles of running only to get... pinned."
She smirked, looping her arm through his. "And yet, here you are."
He didn't reply, just tightened his grip slightly as they walked back toward the house, the lake reflecting the rising sun and a rare, quiet peace settling between them.
Vritant 2.0: He swapped his pill-fueled anger for poetic guilt - trading medicine for diyas, outbursts for anklets, and therapy for a suitcase full of apologies.
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