Chapter 56 The Hall of Fame
Even lions bow when the queen decides who lives.
— Vedashree Vardhan
Vedashree caught Adhrita before she collapsed completely and shouted for her security.
"Clear the road—NOW!" she commanded.
Within seconds, traffic was diverted. Sirens wailed. The route meant for the Prime Minister was emptied in record time, turning the city into a straight, silent passage.
The ambulance shot through the cleared road, and Adhrita was rushed to the hospital in minutes.
Her blood stained every step as they brought her inside.
Vritant, Vedashree, and Shaurya stood outside the emergency room—helpless, breathless, shaken to their core—as the doors slammed shut behind her. A red light flickered above EMERGENCY, swallowing them in a silence louder than anything they had survived today.
The doctor finally stepped out, exhaustion written across her face.
"Mr. Vritant... I need your signature." She held out a form.
"What's this for?" he asked, voice already shaking.
"The babies are critical. We can save either Adhrita... or the babies."
"No..." Vedashree's scream tore through the corridor.
"I want all three saved," she snapped, anger rising like a firestorm.
The doctor swallowed hard — this wasn't just any woman shouting. She was the Prime Minister of the nation.
"M-Ma'am, I'm trying my best," she whispered.
Vritant didn't sign. His hand wouldn't move.
Shaurya placed a steadying hand on his son's shoulder.
"Sign it," he said softly. "Save her."
Vritant closed his eyes, throat tightening as he signed the form.
Shaurya guided him to a bench, making him sit.
"Nothing will happen to her or the babies," Shaurya whispered. "I lost mine. I won't let you lose yours."
But his words couldn't reach Vritant.
He stared blankly at the wall, numb, hollow.
Vedashree slowly sat beside him and took his hand, gripping it tightly — mother to son, pain to pain.
"You will not live with regret the way I did," she whispered.
He looked at her — broken — and she gently let go of his hand. Then she walked to the corner where a small Ganpati idol stood.
She folded her hands.
Her lips trembled.
Her eyes closed.
Vritant stood up and walked beside her, folding his hands too.
"I'm sorry," Vedashree whispered, tears falling. "Save them. Please."
She felt him beside her — silent, shaking.
He turned to her.
"If I pray... will he listen to me?"
"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I prayed every day. He never listened to me."
"If I beg... will he listen?" he whispered.
Then he slowly sank to his knees in front of the idol.
His hands folded.
His head bowed.
A tear fell.
Then another.
And then they wouldn't stop.
"I beg you... please save them," he whispered through trembling breaths. "I know I hated you for taking my brother... but don't punish my wife and babies for my sins. Please..."
His eyes shifted to the small idol of a goddess placed beside Ganpati.
"You're a mother," he said brokenly. "Your son is always with you. My Hrita... she won't survive if anything happens to our babies. Please save them... please..."
Vedashree knelt and placed her hand on his head.
He leaned into her, and she pulled him into her embrace.
"Mumma... mere bacche..." he sobbed, wrapping his arms around her waist, hiding his face against her stomach — like a child seeking refuge.
"My jaan... nothing will happen to them," she whispered fiercely. "I promise you. You and Adhrita will not go through what Shaurya and I went through."
"Mumma... I don't trust my luck," he whispered. "My curse will take my babies too..."
She tightened her grip on him.
"Then trust Adhrita. She is a fighter."
Shaurya came and gently pulled Vritant up.
"You fought life twice and survived," he said, holding his son's shoulders. "They're your babies. They'll fight too."
Just then the nurse pushed open the ER doors.
Vritant ran to her immediately.
Shaurya watched him — then looked at Vedashree.
"Veda..." he called softly.
She turned — and broke.
For years she had held everything in. Today, it shattered.
She rushed into Shaurya's arms, and he held her tightly.
"Shaurya... my son won't survive the regret," she sobbed. "Please save them. You're the savior... please..."
Shaurya blinked back his own tears.
He couldn't break. Not now.
Not when his family was falling apart in his arms.
His daughter-in-law was fighting for her life. His grandchildren were hanging between breaths. And his son... his son was praying for the first time in his life.
Just then, the doctor stepped out of the emergency room, still in her scrubs, mask pulled down, sweat beading along her temples.
"The babies are fine," she said, looking directly at Vritant.
For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
"My wife?" he managed to whisper.
The doctor's expression softened.
"She is stable. Out of danger."
Vritant's knees nearly buckled.
The doctor continued, "One of the babies got away from the cord just in time. That's what caused the bleeding. But we controlled it. Both your babies are fighters... just like their mother."
Vedashree covered her mouth, tears spilling instantly. Shaurya closed his eyes in relief.
And Vritant...
For the first time that day, he took a full breath. A trembling, grateful, collapsing breath.
After some time, Adhrita was shifted to a private room. The doctors finally allowed the family to see her. She was still unconscious, pale against the white sheets, an IV running steadily beside her.
Vritant entered first.
The moment he saw her lying there—fragile, hooked to monitors, the faint beep of the machine echoing through the room—his chest loosened with relief and tightened with fear at the same time.
He walked slowly toward her, almost afraid she would disappear if he moved too fast. Taking her hand, he exhaled shakily, his thumb brushing over her soft skin.
He reached out and gently caressed her cheek.
As if his touch pulled her back, her eyelids fluttered. She opened her eyes with great difficulty, blinking at the harsh hospital light before her gaze found his.
The first word she whispered—barely a breath—was:
"Babies?"
"They're safe," he whispered back, placing his hand carefully over her baby bump.
A soft, exhausted smile curved her lips. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, lingering.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice trembling.
Her fingers tightened weakly around his, telling him she was fine.
Vedashree and Shaurya entered then, rushing to her side.
"Are you fine?" Vedashree asked anxiously.
Adhrita managed a small smile. "Water..." she whispered.
Vedashree quickly poured a glass and held it to her lips, helping her drink slowly with a mother's tenderness.
"Papa..." Adhrita breathed next.
Shaurya immediately came beside her. "I'm here, mere bacche," he said softly, brushing her hair back.
Just then Dr. Smita entered.
"She needs to rest," she said gently. "And we have to be extra careful."
"We will make sure," Shaurya assured her, offering a grateful smile.
Vritant didn't say a word. He couldn't.
His eyes never left Adhrita—not for a second. He was terrified that if he blinked, someone would hurt her again.
He pulled a chair beside her bed, sat down slowly, and kept holding her hand like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
??? V ? A ???
All the news channels were flooded with one headline—
Every anchor replayed the same footage: smoke, chaos, sirens, and the official statement from the police.
"All terrorists involved have been neutralized. They attempted to breach the Prime Minister's residence but were intercepted by security forces before they could advance."
Vedashree stood on the balcony of her room, the city lights blinking below her like distant stars. The television's muffled voice carried through the open door—every word about the blasts slicing through her already frayed nerves.
Her expression was unreadable. Cold. Controlled. Prime Minister mode.
She dialed a number.
"Sudarshan ji," she said calmly, staring into the empty night, "release a statement saying Samarjeet Deshmukh died along with his wife Sunita Deshmukh and their son Ashish Deshmukh."
There was a stunned pause on the other end.
"But ma'am..." Sudarshan ji sounded shaken. "The public—this will raise quest—"
"They won't be seen again," Vedashree said, her voice ice. "That is the only thing the nation needs to know."
And she ended the call without waiting for a response.
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita was discharged the next morning, and they brought her home. Aasha Tai rushed forward the moment they arrived, circling them with her thaali and muttering prayers as she warded off the evil eye—twice, just to be sure—before Adhrita could even step into the mansion.
When Vritant and Adhrita reached their room, he opened the door gently. For the first time in months, it didn't creak.
He helped her lie down on the bed and tucked the comforter around her with slow, careful hands. Then he turned to leave.
But her fingers caught his wrist.
"Won't you meet your heartstoppers?" she whispered.
He froze... then shook his head, fear tightening every muscle.
"Please... they're waiting for you," she said softly.
His knees gave out as he sank beside her, trembling. Adhrita took his hand and guided it to her bump.
"Don't be scared, Papa. We're fighters... just like you," she whispered.
Tears spilled instantly. He bent forward and buried his face against her stomach, hugging her as sobs ripped through him—loud, broken, helpless.
That night, he didn't sleep. He sat at her side, holding her hand, watching her breathe.
The universe could have done its worst. But for once... his luck had not betrayed him.
"They're safe," he whispered to himself, over and over, like a prayer he finally believed.
He leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes.
And saw it— a tiny toddler waving goodbye to him... running farther... farther—
"NOOOOO!"
He jolted awake, drenched in sweat.
Adhrita sat up immediately. "Vritant? What happened?"
He didn't answer. He grabbed her tummy with shaking hands, needing to feel them, needing proof.
"They're here... it was just a nightmare," Adhrita whispered, placing her hand over his.
He nodded, chest heaving.
"My girl..." he murmured.
She blinked. Girl?
"Did you see a girl in the nightmare?" she asked.
He nodded again, eyes distant.
"She can't leave me..." his voice cracked. "No one will leave me. Not even you. Please, Adhri..."
She wrapped her arms around him instantly.
"Relax... hmm? Where's my fighter husband? My sarcastic one? The one who manipulates the whole world?" she said gently. "Our babies need a fighter father. And look at us—we're blessed. God saved them."
"And saved you..." he whispered, holding her tighter.
He closed his eyes and murmured, "Thank you," to a god he claimed not to believe in.
"You're not going back to the hospital," he whispered suddenly, voice firm.
"I'm a doctor, Ant..." she tried to smile.
"I don't care. You're not going. Ever," he said in one breath.
"Okay," she whispered—because tonight, calming him mattered more than arguing logic.
He needed peace. He needed her. And if a small lie could settle his breaking mind, she would give it freely.
He closed his eyes again and remembered the doctor's words:
"One of your babies saved the other."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
Just like his echo saved him once... his children had already saved each other.
Adhrita exhaled softly and whispered with a heavy heart, "You can take your pills."
For a moment, he didn't move. Then he reached toward the bedside drawer, opened it, and took out the pills.
His fingers hovered over them... but as soon as he looked at Adhrita, pale and exhausted yet still trying to be strong for him, something inside him shifted.
Quietly, he put the pills back.
Closed the drawer.
And without a word, he pulled her gently into his arms. Her head rested against his chest, his heartbeat uneven but slowly settling.
He closed his eyes, breathing her in, holding on to her like she was the only anchor left in his storm.
Eventually, her breaths evened out.
His tightened arms loosened just enough to let sleep claim him too.
And wrapped in each other's warmth, the two of them finally drifted into the first deep slumber they had gotten in two days.
??? V ? A ???
Shaurya knocked softly on Vedashree's door.
She opened it—and stopped.
Her husband stood there.
The man who hadn't stepped into her room in years.
The man who hadn't spoken to her directly unless absolutely necessary.
The man who had built an entire life of distance around the pain they shared.
"Can I?" he asked, hesitant... almost unsure of his place.
Vedashree swallowed and stepped aside. He walked in slowly, and she closed the door behind him.
"I'm sorry, Veda," he whispered.
She looked up at him—and saw it.
Guilt.
Regret.
Eighteen years of weight in his eyes.
"I blamed you for killing our son," he said, voice breaking. "I accused you of sitting on that throne with his blood on your hands. I said you loved the country more than your child."
"And?" Vedashree asked quietly.
"And for everything... everything I said," he continued. "I know one sorry can't give you back the years you lost. I separated you from Vritant. I forgot humanity and blamed... a mother. A mother who already lost her child."
Vedashree's eyes softened—but she stayed silent.
"And?" she repeated.
"For everything you had to go through because of me..."
"And?" she asked again, without mercy.
This time he couldn't answer.
Silence stretched.
Vedashree's voice trembled as she spoke.
"And for leaving this room? For leaving me? For never asking me even once—'Vedashree, why did you do it?'
For the torture I went through without your support?
For every moment I sat on that throne, feeling my son's blood under my feet—alone—because my husband decided I didn't deserve comfort?"
Shaurya closed his eyes, pain slicing through him.
"You always said a mother could never be wrong... and the moment I did wrong, you decided I wasn't a mother anymore. You decided I didn't deserve you.
You never asked why, Shaurya.
You never even tried."
Her voice cracked.
"And now? Now you whisper 'sorry' and leave again? Go ahead. Leave. You left me once—eighteen years ago—and I'm still standing there, waiting for the day my husband would come back so I could finally complain to him about my pain.
But no—today you hear the truth, and the first thing you do is walk away again."
Shaurya took a step back, guilt drowning him.
Vedashree's eyes filled.
"Is this what our marriage meant to you? Our vows? Our dreams? Our life?
Everything is broken, Shaurya... shattered.
But broken pieces are supposed to be picked up together.
So why are you leaving again?"
Her voice finally broke.
That was it.
That was the moment Shaurya couldn't bear anymore.
He stepped forward—slowly, unsure, emotional—and pulled her into his arms.
For the first time in eighteen years, Vedashree let herself collapse against him.
"I'm sorry..." Shaurya whispered, voice shaking. "It was all me. The lighter... everything pointed at you. You said you chose not to bargain with the terrorists and I— I lost faith in you. It was me, Veda... all me."
Vedashree's eyes glistened.
"I had plans to save them," she said softly. "I couldn't let them die, Shaurya. Not because of politics... not because of anything."
"It was me," Shaurya repeated, a crack in his voice. "I didn't believe you... and I—"
"Blame me, blame yourself, blame the whole world," Vedashree cut in gently. "But it won't change anything. We're still there... broken beyond repair."
She inhaled shakily.
"I want to move on now. I want to be happy—for my husband, for my son, for my daughter-in-law and for my..."
"Grandchildren," Shaurya finished for her.
A small smile touched Vedashree's lips.
"My son has gone through enough. Fate can't snatch his most beloved babies from him," she said, her voice trembling with both pain and determination.
"We'll never let that happen," Shaurya promised. "No one understands this pain better than us."
He paused, then asked quietly, "What do you want, Veda?"
She looked at him—really looked at him.
"Can I... get my family back?" she whispered. "I know one can never come back..."
Shaurya's breath hitched.
"You know... I still secretly hope that one day someone will come and say, 'Shaurya, here is your other son.'"
Vedashree closed her eyes.
"We can't live in a delusional world, Shaurya. The fact is... he left us. And now... two more are coming to us."
Her voice softened to a fragile whisper.
"I want to be happy. Just once."
"You deserve it," Shaurya murmured.
He leaned in and pressed a soft, trembling kiss to her forehead.
??? V ? A ???
"Let's go for a morning walk," Shaurya suggested when he saw Adhrita and Vritant stepping outside.
"Ji, Papa," Adhrita smiled.
But Vritant said quietly, "You both start walking. I'll join you later."
Adhrita nodded, and he turned back toward the house.
At the entrance, he saw Vedashree descending the stairs.
As soon as her foot touched the last step, her eyes met his.
"I want to see Samarjeet. Now," she said.
Vritant simply nodded.
Outside, he glanced to his right—Shaurya and Adhrita were already walking together, talking softly, sunlight falling gently on them.
He opened the car door for Vedashree. She got in silently.
Then he slid into the driver's seat.
The drive was silent.
Sharp.
Cold.
Necessary.
They reached the Hall of Fame—its basement converted into a high-security bunker where Samarjeet and Ashish were held.
Rawat pulled a chair forward for Vedashree. She sat facing the cell.
The moment Samarjeet saw them, he spat venom.
"I will kill you."
"Tone it down," Vedashree said, her voice icy.
"I will NOT—"
Before he could finish, Rawat walked to the adjacent cell and slapped Ashish across the face.
Hard.
Ashish screamed.
"If you don't tone down," Vritant said calmly, "Ashish will keep screaming."
"I—I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Samarjeet said immediately, panic rising.
"Sit."
He dropped to the corner the moment Vedashree commanded.
"Now answer my questions," she said.
Rawat stopped slapping Ashish.
"Why did they kill my son?" Vedashree asked.
"Because he heard something he shouldn't have," Samarjeet muttered.
"What did he hear?"
"I don't know. They never told me. But they said he discovered something important... something that could collapse their organization. So he had to be killed."
Rawat picked up an iron rod and began heating it.
Vedashree's voice didn't waver.
"Did you feel ashamed while destroying my family?"
Samarjeet said nothing.
"I trusted you because you were family—and you fed on my family like a parasite. You killed my son. All I want is the truth from your mouth. Fail to do so, and Ashish pays."
"Don't—don't hurt him. I'll talk," Samarjeet said quickly.
He took a breath, then started.
"I overheard Baba talking to the intelligence team about saving your kids. And I told him—what if we use this... for the election? He agreed. I convinced him the children would be harmed, not killed."
Vedashree's eyes darkened.
"I misled the intelligence team about hideouts. But they were loyal to you—they found the right one. I had to warn the terrorists. They decided to kill Vedant immediately and take Vritant with them. But you didn't tell me you and Shaurya sent a second team."
His laugh was bitter.
"The second team reached near the car. The terrorists had to run. Kids were left inside."
Vritant's jaw clenched.
"Vritant survived and was hospitalized. But the terrorists wanted him—they thought Vedant might have told him something. I had to help them kidnap him again."
Vedashree's nails dug into her palms.
"For a week they tortured him. He didn't speak. So they burnt his tongue."
Rawat froze mid-motion. Even he wasn't expecting that.
"Shaurya found him again. But he was barely alive... and went into coma. Then he woke up in two days."
"I came out of coma in two days," Vritant said coldly.
Samarjeet glared.
"Yes. And I didn't want any risk. So I arranged to keep you in permanent coma."
Vedashree flinched.
"For two years, I visited you. Observed you. Controlled everything. But when you woke up again... before I could reach you—"
"Papa sent me to London to save my life," Vritant finished.
"Yes," Samarjeet said bitterly. "Your father placed impenetrable security around you. And then at twenty-five, you became a name too big to touch. I erased all evidence connecting me to the kidnapping... online and offline."
"You mean Agnivanshi," Vritant said quietly. "You knew."
"Yes. Some officials knew. That's why everything had to be offline," Samarjeet said. "I kept you away from politics. First step: make your mother the villain. I used her guilt. I used Shaurya's anger. I drove wedges until your family broke."
Vedashree stared at him with burning eyes.
"I took your mother's lighter and planted it," he said. "To show she chose the country over her children."
Vedashree's hatred throbbed in the air.
"And it worked perfectly. You hated her. Shaurya hated her. She stood alone. Exactly what I wanted."
Bitterness tainted his voice.
"Everything was going fine until I found out Ashwin Adani's daughter was in your marriage alliance. The CM's daughter marrying the PM's son? Disaster for me. She'd keep you in India. And she could ruin everything."
"Well, she ruined every bit of it," Vritant said, pride in his voice.
Samarjeet snarled.
"I tried to separate you. At your reception, I slipped your medical report into her purse. Thought she'd run away. She didn't. Then I tried using Vedashree against her... didn't work either."
He exhaled sharply.
"You didn't leave India. You strengthened security around her. Every attempt failed. Then Ashish... he made a mistake. He harassed her. I thought I could manipulate the situation. But neither of you let it go."
His voice cracked.
"Sunita first. Then Ashish. Both vanished. Both because of you."
Vritant didn't blink.
"I don't know what happened next. Somewhere... something slipped. I don't know why you weren't scared of terrorists anymore. I thought trauma would break you. I wanted you damaged so I could get my son back."
He looked at Vritant.
"But you... this manipulative bastard... you knew my reality."
The room fell silent.
Vedashree slowly stood and turned to Vritant.
"Leave," she said.
Her voice carried death.
Rawat handed her the iron rod, then unlocked the cell and dragged Samarjeet out.
Within seconds he was tied to the chair, powerless, trembling.
Vedashree stepped forward.
There was no hesitation.
No mercy.
No softness of a mother—only the cold rage of a woman whose child had been murdered.
The first strike landed.
Samarjeet screamed.
Rawat closed the cell door behind them, muffling the echoes.
The basement swallowed his cries.
??? V ? A ???
When they returned home, the mansion was quiet except for one figure standing near the entrance.
Adhrita.
The moment she saw Vritant, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him.
"Be careful," he whispered, instantly supporting her weight, holding her like she was made of glass.
"Where were you? You said you'd join us..." she whispered into his shoulder.
"Sorry, I was out with—" he began, but paused when the hug broke and he saw Vedashree walking toward them.
"Mumma," Adhrita called softly.
Vedashree managed a tired smile.
"I need to get fresh," she said, and headed upstairs, her steps heavy.
Adhrita turned to Vritant.
"Did you talk to her?"
He shook his head.
"When will you?"
"I... I don't know," he whispered.
Then he pulled her into his arms again—this time holding her tighter, burying his face in her neck.
As if she was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita was sleeping, but discomfort tugged her awake. She reached out instinctively — the other side of the bed was empty.
She blinked, adjusting to the dim light, and saw him on the balcony.
Vritant sat on the floor, Karma curled up asleep beside his lap, his eyes fixed on the night sky. Something in his stillness made her chest ache.
She smiled softly and walked toward him. Reaching the balcony, she bent slightly to hug him from behind—
"Ace, don't," he said immediately, catching her gently and turning her around.
He made her sit beside him.
"Don't bend. It will hurt," he whispered.
She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked.
"I was thinking... what if history repeated itself?" His voice was low, haunted.
"It didn't," she whispered. "And that happened for a reason."
"You're nearly eight months..." his voice cracked. "And when the doctor said either you or the babies—"
"Whom did you choose?" she asked quietly.
"You."
"You should have chosen our babies," she said sharply.
He looked at her, eyes glassy.
"Seventh month... they would've been premature. Your life would've been in danger. Thankfully they fought — and somehow all three of you survived. But tell me... would you have forgiven me if I'd chosen you? Would our babies forgive me if I hadn't chosen them?"
His mind was spiraling again.
She softly placed his hand on her belly.
"Right now, they're craving Papa's touch," she said.
He began caressing her bump, slowly, almost reverently. She placed her hand over his, playing with the veins she loved tracing.
"You're behaving differently," she whispered.
"Differently?" he frowned.
"You're not sarcastic. You don't look at me the same way. You don't touch my hair or me the way you used to before I got pregnant."
He swallowed hard.
"I'm scared... what if I do something wrong? What if I'm the curse?"
"What if I and our babies just want you and your love?" she countered gently.
He looked at her — confused, vulnerable.
She continued, her voice soft but firm:
"What if we're overthinking? Overcomplicating something that's already heavy? I know where you're coming from. Your past with your echo, your family, yourself — I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
But I also remember the man I met at Saanvi and Aryan's wedding.
The man who helped me on stage.
Who took me to New York.
Who took care of me.
Who made me his wife.
Who gave me a life so beautiful that two little sparrows decided to join our nest.
And now you're scared of even the wind or a fallen leaf touching us."
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"I told you once, and I'll say it again — God said tathastu in the form of you when I prayed for nothing but happiness.
You lost years, I know. But it wasn't your fault. If you still choose to sit in your pain and seek comfort in it... then whatever you lose after this will be your fault.
It's okay to sit with pain.
It's not okay to settle inside it.
It's not okay to see yourself without pain."
She touched his cheek.
"I can live my whole life with you — any version of you. I accepted you long before I knew your past. But our little midnights..." she placed his hand firmly on her belly, "...deserve a dad of dawn."
Vritant let out a small, helpless laugh. She laughed too.
For the first time in days, the night felt a little lighter.
He got up and bent down and carried her like a bride in a swift moment.
"Wohhh," she exclaimed, feeling one of the babies kick against his hand.
Before he could react, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
The moment lingered—quiet, tender, healing.
Vritant stood up slowly, helping her to her feet as well. Without a word, he guided her inside, holding her close as though she might disappear if he let go.
He helped her onto the bed, adjusting the pillows behind her with careful hands. Then he lay down beside her, pulling the comforter over both of them.
She curled into him instinctively. He wrapped an arm around her, resting his palm protectively on her bump.
??? V ? A ???
The next morning, Vritant walked to Vedashree's room and knocked softly.
She opened the door—and froze for a moment.
"Adhrita?" she asked, assuming he must have come with a problem concerning her daughter-in-law.
"I want to talk to you," he said.
She glanced at the clock. She still had time before leaving for office. Ever since the blast, her days had been consumed by meetings and crisis calls.
"Come," she said gently.
"Not here."
His voice was low... almost fragile.
"Please come," he whispered, turning away.
Vedashree felt her heart tighten. Something was different today.
Silently, she followed him.
He walked down the corridor she hadn't entered in years—past closed memories, past swallowed pain—and stopped at a familiar door.
He pushed it open.
Vedashree halted at the threshold.
It was his room.
His and Vedant's.
A space frozen in time.
Vritant stepped inside and switched on the lights.
Vedashree's breath hitched.
Everything was exactly the same.
The twin beds.
The shared study table.
The posters, the books, even the half-used crayons in a cup.
Nothing had moved.
Nothing had aged.
It looked as though two twelve-year-old boys had just stepped out a minute ago... and would come running back in any moment.
Her heartbeat stilled.
For the first time in years, she was standing in the doorway of a life she had lost.
And her son was standing in the middle of it, looking at her with eyes that had carried eighteen years of silence.
Well... welcome to his museum of unresolved trauma. Tickets are free, regrets included.
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