Chapter 53 Prescription Patience
Some families inherit wealth, others inherit wounds.
- Shaurya Vardhan
"We're telling the truth, bhabhi. Vritant came to ask if we were behind his kidnapping," Shweta said, glancing at Anamika before turning to Vedashree.
"I know, bhabhi. I was jealous of you, but I never had any malicious intentions," Anamika said softly.
"Why not, Anamika?" Vedashree's tone turned sharp. "I took Aaradhya under my guidance, and you didn't like it."
"Bhabhi, I thought she-"
"You supported her in her wrongdoings," Vedashree cut her off. "What she did was punishable."
Anamika fell silent. Shweta quickly stepped in.
"But bhabhi, after all these years, why did Vritant suddenly bring up that incident? Wasn't it supposed to be forbidden? Shaurya bhaiya clearly said no one should ever mention it. That's the reason he was sent to London in the first place."
Vedashree looked at her coldly. "If he's asking questions, what's wrong with that? Wasn't he with both of you just before he was kidnapped?"
"Bhabhi, you know that's not true," Shweta replied. "I was with Aryan, and she was running after Aaradhya. I swear on Aryan, your own security guard came and took them away, saying Vedashree ma'am had called for them."
Vedashree's eyes narrowed. "Shaurya already dealt with the terrorists. And you seem to be forgetting who the Prime Minister of this nation is."
Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving the room thick with silence and unspoken accusations.
??? V ? A ???
"Sir, why Mumbai?" one of the ministers asked cautiously. "You could directly aim for Delhi."
Another leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. "But sir, there are... questions being raised about you."
Vritant looked up from the file he was signing. "Questions?" he asked, his tone flat but sharp enough to slice through the room's chatter.
"Yes," the man said, hesitant. "Like-why suddenly politics? Are you following in your mother's footsteps? And people are eager to know... why now? What do you plan to bring to the party?"
Vritant leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk touching his lips. "Money?"
The room went silent. Not a shuffle, not a breath-just the echo of that one word settling like dust over their discomfort.
Then he looked up, his expression unreadable. "Ask them this instead-what would I get in return?"
Before anyone could respond, he continued, voice low but edged with irony. "I already have money. I just want to serve the nation." He smiled-just enough to make everyone wonder if he was mocking them-and stood up.
"Let's not waste my time again on such trivial issues," he said, buttoning his coat. "I have a business to run. And as for the media-don't we already have an elected party leader? Make use of him."
With that, he walked out, leaving the ministers exchanging uneasy glances.
As soon as he stepped outside, the bright flash of cameras greeted him. Microphones thrust forward, voices overlapping-
"Mr. Vardhan, are you joining politics?"
"Are you replacing your mother?"
"Is this a power move or a legacy move?"
Vritant paused, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his lips-like a man who knew exactly how much chaos his silence could cause.
??? V ? A ???
Neil entered the office without knocking, a thick brown file clutched in his hand. He placed it on Vritant's desk.
"Yes?" Vritant asked, not looking up from the document he was signing.
"Our ports," Neil said quietly. Just two words-enough for Vritant to stop writing and reach for the file.
"We've noticed some unusual activity," Neil added.
"Which port?"
"The usual-Mumbai."
Vritant's eyes flicked up from the pages to meet Neil's. "Dig up."
Neil nodded once, understanding the weight behind those two words, and walked out.
A few moments later, Vritant's phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
"Meet me in an hour."
He typed a simple reply: "Okay."
Leaning back in his chair, he exhaled slowly and unlocked his phone again. The camera feed from his home flickered on-Adhrita was asleep, her face calm, the rise and fall of her breath steady.
He watched her for a moment longer than he should have, then locked the screen. The brief softness in his eyes vanished as he stood, reached for his coat, and walked out of the office-heading to meet the person who had just texted him.
??? V ? A ???
Vritant drove through the dimly lit lanes, the city's noise fading behind him. The address he'd been sent to was unfamiliar-an old, forgotten part of Delhi where walls peeled and the air smelled of rust and rain.
He stopped in front of a small, nondescript house, pushed the creaking door open, and stepped inside. The place was quiet except for the faint ticking of an old wall clock. He sat down on the worn-out sofa and waited.
A few moments later, Sudarshan Rao walked in carrying a glass of water. He placed it on the table in front of him.
"Thank you, Sudarshan ji," Vritant said, taking the glass and drinking a sip.
"Baba... the Prime Minister has started to suspect," Sudarshan said hesitantly.
Vritant set the glass down, his expression unreadable. "What happened?"
"I think she knows about us," Sudarshan continued nervously. "She said it's strange how we always find the information before anyone else... and how all the illegal clubs are getting shut down so conveniently."
"So?" Vritant asked calmly. "She knows I'm the one helping you? Then she must have asked you to stop working with me."
"No, she didn't," Sudarshan replied. "She just asked whether I'm working for the nation... or for Vritant Vardhan."
A faint smirk tugged at Vritant's lips. "If she's that sure I'm involved and still hasn't stopped you, then what's the emergency?"
Sudarshan looked uneasy. "Aren't you... scared?"
"Why would I be scared?" Vritant leaned back, his tone steady. "I'm helping the nation, aren't I? Those club owners were either mafias or smugglers. Drugs, fake currency, human trafficking-what exactly am I supposed to be afraid of? The truth?"
"The government gives you twenty percent of the seized money," Sudarshan reminded.
"I'm a businessman too, Sudarshan ji," he said, a cold smile playing on his face. "Even patriotism needs funding."
Sudarshan sighed. "Baba, people are starting to call you a gambler because of these operations."
Vritant chuckled under his breath, his gaze fixed on the empty glass.
"Let them," he said finally, voice laced with quiet irony. "At least I gamble for the country, not on it."
He rose from the sofa, picked up his coat, and added in a low tone before walking toward the door,
"And if the nation wins, who really cares what they call the player?"
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita paused at the wardrobe and froze.
A neatly wrapped package sat on the shelf where she kept her scarves.
She slipped off the paper with fingers that trembled just a little and smiled when she saw the small wooden frame inside.
The first photographs of her twins were tucked carefully beneath the glass, tiny faces already claiming a place in her heart.
A warm smile spread across her face. "Thank you, ant," she whispered, cradling the frame as if it might break.
She set it on the wall where light would catch the photos in the mornings.
Then she drifted back into the dressing room, drawn to the dupattas he had always loved.
She ran her hand over the soft fabric and let a memory wash over her-the way he would fuss over a fold, the way he called a certain color his favorite.
The memory made her both ache and laugh.
She opened a drawer and her hand brushed something cold.
She drew out a small pistol and a chhalava, the metal dull in the lamplight.
Habit and fear moved together. He had protected her, and now she would do the same for their babies.
She slid the items into her bag with a careful, practiced motion, then rested her palm on the swell of her belly.
The movement was automatic, fierce with the promise of protection.
She glanced toward his wardrobe and the memory of an old safe stirred in her.
There had been one behind a row of coats, a relic of a man who trusted only a few numbers.
The keys were where he always left them, on the same peg by the door.
Adhrita retrieved them, fingers steady now, and opened the wardrobe.
Clothes and two small shirts, folded with a tenderness that made her chest tighten, lay side by side.
She drew out a faded toy and laughed softly, then returned it to its place.
The safe sat quiet and stern, its lock staring back like a dare.
She knelt, tried a combination she thought might mean something to him.
Nothing. She tried another. The lock clicked and stayed stubborn.
On the tenth try, her fingers trembling slightly, Adhrita turned the dial and entered 7777.
A soft, reluctant click broke the silence. Her breath caught in her throat.
She hesitated for a long moment, her pulse thudding in her ears. Then she drew in a deep breath, pressed her trembling hand to the latch, and opened the safe.
A faint scent of old paper and metal drifted out. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.
Inside were neatly arranged files and a small stack of CDs, each one carefully labeled in Vritant's familiar, precise handwriting.
She reached for the topmost file and opened it. Her eyes widened.
Her fingers moved faster now, flipping through the pages-police reports, sealed statements, and official testimonies.
Every name that defined the Vardhan-Deshmukh dynasty stared back at her from the paper. Every page carried the seal of the Government of India.
She blinked rapidly, unsure if what she was seeing was real. The ink, the signatures, the typed lines-they were too official, too real to be forged.
Her gaze shifted to the CDs stacked beside the files, each labeled with chilling simplicity:
Her hand hovered over them. She could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips.
The safe wasn't just a vault-it was a vault of secrets. Secrets that her husband had locked away from the world... and maybe, from himself.
She closed the file slowly, her mind spinning. Why did he keep them? Why were all these statements-family, ministers, his mother, his uncle-hidden here?
And most importantly- What truth was he protecting?
Her breathing grew shallow as she stared at the pile of files and discs spread before her - each one whispering of truths too dangerous to exist.
For a long moment, she just sat there, frozen, the air thick with questions she wasn't ready to ask.
Then she exhaled shakily and began to gather everything, her hands moving with quiet urgency.
She placed the files back one by one, aligning their edges exactly as they were.
The CDs followed, stacked neatly in the same order she'd found them, as if even the dust would betray her if something looked out of place.
When she was done, she closed the metal door gently, her fingers lingering on the cold surface. Her reflection in the polished steel looked pale, uncertain-like she was staring at someone else entirely.
With a small turn of the key, the lock clicked shut again. The sound felt heavier this time, as though it sealed not just the safe but a truth she wasn't ready to carry.
She closed the wardrobe doors carefully, her hand trembling just slightly on the handle.
??? V ? A ???
Vritant entered Mriga Trishna, the dim light of dusk spilling through the glass panels. The air inside smelled faintly of sawdust and rain. A few planks of wood leaned against the wall - smooth, uncut, waiting.
"Cradle," he murmured with a faint smile, running a hand over the grain.
The idea had been sitting in his mind for days - something made by his own hands, something his children could sleep in.
For once, it wasn't about legacy, business, or politics.
It was about two small lives he hadn't even met yet.
He rolled up his sleeves and got to work. The rhythm of carving steadied him - the quiet scrape of the chisel, the soft fall of wood dust. His phone buzzed once, and he wiped his hands on his shirt before unlocking it.
He quickly typed: "Busy in a meeting. Will be home soon."
He didn't want to worry her. Not tonight.
At home, Adhrita sat curled on the couch, absently stirring her tea while the television droned in the background. But then a familiar name cut through the noise.
"Breaking News: Vritant Vardhan emerging as the people's favorite for the upcoming national elections..."
Her eyes lifted to the screen, her pulse quickening.
The channel switched to clips of him - walking into meetings, shaking hands, standing beside his mother, the Prime Minister.
Anchors debated. Party members argued. Words like "succession," "influence," and "dynasty politics" flooded the screen.
The opposition's voices were loud, biting.
"Another heir in power?"
"Is this leadership or inheritance?"
Adhrita muted the television and pressed a hand to her chest. The anxiety crept in slowly, like an old shadow she thought she'd left behind.
Vritant... in politics?
Her mind swirled with memories - his quiet defiance, his disinterest in public life, the way he always stayed away from the corridors of power that defined his family.
She stared at the blank screen.
She thought she was just watching from the sidelines - that all of this was some quiet game he was playing, something harmless, strategic, temporary. But as she stared at the news replaying his name and face again and again, it no longer felt like a game.
Was he really going into politics?
Her heart wouldn't stop racing. She switched off the television and stepped out of the room, desperate for air. The night was still; the garden shimmered faintly under the moonlight. She walked toward the lake, each step slow and careful, her thoughts loud enough to drown the sound of the crickets.
After a while, her legs began to ache, the fatigue of pregnancy settling in too quickly these days. She sat down on the bench by the lake, breathing deeply, watching her reflection ripple in the water.
"What are you doing here?"
The familiar voice startled her slightly. She turned to see Shaurya Vardhan, his presence as commanding as ever, standing a few steps away.
"For some fresh air," she said softly, forcing a smile.
He studied her face for a moment, the kind of look that saw through everything. "Something is going on?"
She shook her head too quickly. "No, nothing."
He walked closer, sat beside her, and rested his hands on his knees. "Where's Vritant?"
"He's stuck in a meeting. He'll be home soon," she whispered.
"Kuch hua hai?" he asked quietly.
"Papa, woh..." she hesitated, then fell silent.
He turned to her, eyes softer now. "Papa ko nahi bataogi aap?"
Her throat tightened. "Vritant is still not over his past... and I don't know how to help him."
Shaurya exhaled slowly, his gaze turning distant. "Beta, Vritant went through a lot..."
"He's trying therapy again," she murmured.
"He joined it again?" Shaurya asked, surprised. "I thought after... everything..."
She looked at him quietly. "Papa, you never talk about it either."
He went silent, his jaw tightening. "It's not something I like to even remember."
"What happened back then?" she asked gently.
"You already know," he said quickly.
"Not from you," she replied, her voice calm but steady.
Silence stretched between them. Only the faint rustle of the wind through the trees filled the space.
"You're not over it either, Papa," she whispered.
He turned away. "You shouldn't stress yourself over anything right now."
"I don't want to," she said, her voice trembling. "But after seeing him-seeing the news-actually saying his name in politics..."
He gave a small chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes. "He's just playing around."
"I don't know what's true anymore," she said under her breath.
Shaurya looked at her, his expression softening. "Leave it, beta. Just focus on your health. Believe your papa. Take care of the little ones," he said, gesturing to her stomach with a faint, protective smile.
She stared at him for a moment. "Are you... not happy, Papa?"
Shaurya froze, his lips parting as if caught off guard.
"I'm going to be a grandpa," he finally said, forcing a laugh. "And I want to tell the world how happy I am."
"You're not happy," she said quietly. "I saw your face when Vritant told you I was carrying twins. You weren't happy."
"I was just..." He struggled to finish.
"Don't I deserve the truth?"
He looked at her then, eyes tired but full of something deeper. "You deserve everything, beta. It's just me..." He exhaled shakily. "When he said twins, I..."
"Got scared?" she completed softly.
He nodded.
"I'm scared history might repeat itself," he said at last, his voice cracking at the edges.
"What history?" she asked, her tone gentle but insistent.
"The one where Shaurya Vardhan lost everything," he whispered.
Her hand reached out instinctively, resting on his shoulder. "Could you... share it with me?"
He looked at her, eyes glistening with something he'd buried for years. "I don't want to stress you."
"How will I stop worrying," she said softly, "if I don't know what the history even is?"
He stared at her for a long moment, and then finally, he nodded.
"It started when..." he began, but his voice faltered. He cleared his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the lake.
And for the first time, Adhrita saw not the powerful Shaurya Vardhan, but a man haunted by a past that refused to stay buried.
Shaurya's voice grew quieter with every word, as if each memory carried the weight of gunfire and smoke. The night around them seemed to hold its breath. Even the wind through the garden slowed to listen.
He began slowly, his tone almost detached at first - the way people speak when they've practiced not breaking down.
"We went to Mumbai for Ganesh Visarjan. It was always Vritant and Vedant's favorite festival," he said, his gaze fixed on the lake as the reflection of the moon trembled in the ripples. "We'd been doing it every year - it was a tradition, a celebration that meant peace."
His voice cracked slightly. "That year, we shifted to the last boat for the immersion. Anamika and Shweta were taking care of the kids. Vedashree and I went ahead for the Visarjan, and when we came back to their boat, they were standing there - with Aryan and Aaradhya - but my sons were gone."
Adhrita's breath hitched. Shaurya's eyes glistened, though his expression stayed painfully composed.
"Vedashree asked them where the twins were. They said one of the security officers came and took them, saying 'Vedashree ma'am asked for them.' We believed that for a few seconds. Then the panic started."
He looked down at his hands, as if he could still see the stains of that night. "For two hours we searched everywhere. Security was on high alert, some men even dived into the water. But both were missing. And the officer who took them? Gone."
Adhrita's eyes filled, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach.
"My father-in-law, Nandish Deshmukh, was the Prime Minister then," Shaurya continued. "He put Mumbai on lockdown. Veda was out of control - she wouldn't listen to anyone. I used every contact I had, but there was no trace."
He exhaled shakily. "Late that night, Nandish got a call. Terrorists. They said they had my sons."
Adhrita covered her mouth, silent tears sliding down her cheeks.
"We flew to Delhi. Every agency - RAW, NIA, everyone - got involved. We reached a dead end. Then the next day, the phone rang again. They wanted to negotiate - two of their men in exchange for my sons."
His voice grew low, heavy. "Nandish Deshmukh refused. Said the nation doesn't negotiate with terrorists. But I... and Veda..." He paused, his throat tight. "We were parents. We were ready to go to any length."
He looked away, eyes lost in the dark. "The next day they called again.
Said it was our last chance. That they'd kill the boys if we didn't agree.
We decided to give in. But Veda and Nandish had other plans.
They traced the number, found the hideout, and sent an operation team. Veda went with them."
He swallowed hard. "By the time she reached the location, they had already moved. The car was blasted. One of my sons was dead. The other half-dead."
Adhrita gasped softly, her tears now steady.
"We brought him to Delhi. He couldn't speak - his tongue had been burnt. He was in shock. But you know what he did?" Shaurya's voice broke for the first time. "He wrote his brother's obituary. For Vedashree."
He paused, closing his eyes as if the image burned too vividly behind them.
"We cremated Vedant. And admitted Vritant to the hospital. He was barely alive."
He rubbed his face, his fingers trembling. "The next day, he disappeared from the hospital. Kidnapped again. For a week, we searched like madmen. The government failed. I failed. Then one day, I got a lead. And I went myself."
His voice hardened, steel replacing grief. "I found him. Bloodied. Starved. But breathing. I killed every last one of those men. I didn't wait for orders, didn't care for politics or headlines."
He looked up at the stars as if confessing to something that still haunted him.
"After that, I took him to London. I didn't want him here. India had taken everything from him - his brother, his childhood, his peace. He spent two years in hospital, fighting to stay alive. When he finally opened his eyes... I swore I'd never let him return."
He fell silent for a long while, then continued more quietly.
"But while he was healing, I was preparing. The terrorists had come through the water - through Mumbai, then Gujarat. I needed allies who understood that world. That's when I met your father... and Adwait Agnivanshi."
Adhrita lifted her gaze in shock. "My father?"
Shaurya nodded slowly. "Ashwin Adani owned the ports. He knew every route, every illegal entry point. And Adwait... Adwait was a genius. Barely seventeen, but with a mind that could bring down a nation - or protect one."
He managed a faint smile. "I promised them whatever they wanted. Together, we traced the network. Adwait's technology, Ashwin's ports, my access - and in the end, we wiped the entire group out."
Adhrita's heart pounded.
"When your mother died," Shaurya continued softly, "Ashwin got paranoid about your safety. He knew he'd helped me - and that meant enemies. So he made me and the government promise your protection. That's why you were sent abroad."
Her lips parted. "And Vritant?"
"Vritant and Adwait lived together in London. Under the protection of the Shunya Team - a special force Adwait built with government support. Later, the government gave him an island, far from India, to expand it. In exchange, he vowed to protect every Vardhan."
He paused, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Ashwin Adani knew about that. And when he heard about rumors of Vritant's engagement after Aryan's wedding, he panicked. He wanted his daughter safe. So he asked for Vritant's hand. And... he got it."
Adhrita blinked back tears. Everything - her father's desperation, the sudden marriage, the secrecy - it all began to make sense.
"And now," Shaurya said quietly, "here you are - my Vardhan bahu. Married to a man who's seen hell and never truly came back from it."
He turned to her, eyes wet but steady. "You asked if I was happy.
How can a man who lost both his sons ever truly be happy, beta?
I got one back, yes. But not completely.
The other one... I lost forever. That's why when I heard about twins again...
" He paused, his voice barely audible now.
"I got scared. Because I know what it's like to lose everything you love in a single night. "
Adhrita wiped her tears, her heart aching with the weight of everything she'd just learned.
"Papa..." she whispered.
Shaurya finally looked at her - not as the Prime Minister's husband or the patriarch of a dynasty, but as a broken father who had lived too long with ghosts.
"That's the history you wanted to know," he said softly. "The history I pray never repeats."
"History will not repeat itself," Adhrita said, voice steady but small.
"And I will make sure of it," Vritant replied. Shaurya and Adhrita turned, and saw him standing in the distance.
??? V ? A ???
Vritant stood before the vanity mirror, the dim lamplight spilling across his reflection - sharp suit, tired eyes, the faintest tremor in the hand resting against the table.
From the bed, Adhrita's voice broke the silence. "I know you never look at the mirror."
He didn't turn. "I see you in the mirror," he said quietly. A smirk ghosted across his lips. "I saw us in the mirror."
"But never you," she said softly.
He stilled. The air in the room seemed to tighten. "You know why I can't see myself."
"Should I tell you something?" she asked gently.
He glanced at her through the reflection, his eyes wary but curious. "Tell me."
"I don't think your brother would be happy," she said.
The smirk vanished instantly.
"He gave his life so you could live yours," she continued, her tone calm, unflinching. "But you're wasting it in regret, Vritant."
He finally turned toward her, eyes dark, jaw clenched. "Adhri-"
"He died so you could live," she interrupted, her voice trembling but resolute. "Did you ever live?"
The words hit harder than anything he'd faced in years - sharper than the bullets, deeper than the wounds. It felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on his soul.
He looked back at the mirror, but all he saw was him - the same face that haunted him since childhood. The same face that once belonged to his twin.
All his life, he had avoided his reflection - not out of vanity, but guilt. He could never bear to see Vedant staring back at him, alive in the mirror when he wasn't in the world.
Adhrita's voice softened, almost a whisper now. "You've punished yourself enough, Vritant. The dead don't want your sorrow. They just want your peace."
For the first time, his eyes didn't look away from the mirror. His throat tightened. He didn't know if he was seeing himself or his brother - but for the first time, he didn't turn away.
And behind him, her reflection smiled faintly - the first crack of light in years of silence.
He didn't say another word after her question - not even a look.
Just stood there for a moment, watching her reflection in the mirror, before walking away quietly.
The sound of the shower filled the silence that followed - steady, deliberate, almost like rain trying to wash away what words couldn't.
When he came out, his hair still damp, t-shirt clinging slightly to his shoulders, Adhrita was sitting on the bed, waiting. Her eyes softened as he crossed the room and without a word, he lay down beside her.
He reached for her gently, his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her closer until his face found the crook of her neck. He kissed the small moles scattered there - slow, reverent, as if memorizing them.
His foot brushed against hers under the sheets, and he turned her toward him. Their eyes met for a fleeting second before his lips found hers - a kiss that was long, quiet, and full of everything he didn't say out loud.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against hers. "Aren't you exhausting yourself too much?" he asked softly.
She smiled, her voice teasing. "Yeah... the kiss was exhausting."
He let out a small, honest laugh - the kind that sounded rare on him.
"Hritu..." he murmured after a moment, his tone turning serious again. "Don't dig up the past. I want you and..."
He stopped.
"And?" she asked, brushing his cheek with her thumb.
He hesitated, eyes flickering - torn between instinct and fear.
"...and them to be safe," he said finally.
She frowned slightly. "Them? Who?"
"Hritu..." His voice carried a quiet warning, the one he used when something was better left unspoken.
But she pressed again, softer this time. "Them? Who, Vritant?"
His eyes met hers, unguarded for a moment - a flash of something raw and fearful passing through.
"Heartstoppers," he said finally.
She frowned, half-smiling. "What?"
"I thought your cars were your heartstoppers," she teased.
He exhaled a quiet laugh, brushing his thumb along her jaw. "I guess someone changed a few things in my life."
"Someone?" she asked, still smiling.
He leaned closer, his voice a low murmur against her skin. "Two someones. The only ones who can stop my heart and make it start again in the same breath."
She felt his warmth, the weight of truth under the teasing.
"Your heartstoppers," she repeated softly.
He nodded. "Yeah. My heartstoppers."
Just then, a sharp pain shot through her and Adhrita yelped.
"It hurts," she gasped, clutching her stomach.
Vritant immediately reached for her, his hand pressing gently against her tummy. She screamed again, and panic flashed in his eyes.
"Let's go to the doctor," he said quickly, looking around for his phone. It was somewhere on the table, but in his rush, his eyes refused to focus.
"Ouchh... Mumma..." she whimpered, her voice trembling.
That single word sent him running. He got up and rushed straight to Vedashree's room, knocking hard enough to wake the whole corridor.
After a moment, the door opened.
"Vritant?" Vedashree began, but he didn't let her finish.
"Adhri's in pain," he said, his voice unsteady, and grabbed her hand before she could even react.
They hurried back to his room. Adhrita was sitting up on the bed, breathing unevenly, one hand on her stomach.
Vedashree moved to her instantly, the Prime Minister gone, only a mother and would-be grandmother left.
"What happened, beta?"
"It was paining," Adhrita whispered.
Vedashree's tone softened. "And now?"
"It's... fine now," she said, embarrassed.
Vritant exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "She was screaming in pain a moment ago," he muttered, still shaken.
Vedashree gave him a faint, knowing smile. "It's normal in pregnancy. The body keeps reminding you something precious is growing inside."
She adjusted the pillows around Adhrita, gently guiding her to lie back. "Sleep carefully," she said, her voice laced with quiet affection.
When Adhrita's breathing steadied again, Vedashree stood up. "Call me if it happens again, alright?"
Adhrita nodded, her eyes grateful. Vedashree gave her one last glance - a mother's look, complicated but tender - and left the room.
Vritant closed the door behind her and turned back to the bed. He sat beside Adhrita, then carefully slid down next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
"Forgive her," Adhrita whispered, half-asleep, her voice fragile.
His hand stilled on her stomach. "I can't," he said quietly. "She took my brother away from me."
"Sleep," he whispered, his hand moving slowly across her stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles as if soothing the little lives within. "Sleep peacefully... all three of you."
And for the first time that night, the house fell completely silent - except for the soft rhythm of their breathing, and the echo of an old hurt that refused to die quietly.
Forgiveness might heal, but he'll stick to pain - it's hereditary anyway.
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