Chapter 57 Finally Us
Truth waits in silence until the brave come looking.
— Vedashree Vardhan
Vedashree sat down on one of the twin beds and gently ran her hand over the mattress.
Her boys used to sleep here.
She used to tuck them in every night.
She used to sit between these two beds and watch them breathe.
"Thank you," Vritant said suddenly.
His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"For saving... my wife... and my..."
He stopped. Tried again.
"Thank you for saving my wife and my—"
"Little owls?" Vedashree asked softly.
He nodded.
Then something hit him—like a punch straight to the heart.
He turned to her quickly.
"You..." he tried to continue, but the words refused to form.
For eighteen years, he blamed her for everything.
His life.
His trauma.
His brother's death.
He punished her without ever asking how she survived the same night that destroyed him.
He wasn't with her when she needed him the most. And somewhere along the way, he became another source of her pain.
Vedashree stood slowly.
"You don't have to force yourself, beta," she said quietly. "What you went through was hell. If you hated me, it was justified. I hated myself too."
She understood him... even before he could form a single sentence.
He simply nodded and walked out.
When he entered his room, Adhrita was sitting on the bed, waiting for him.
As soon as she saw him, she asked, "Did you talk to her?"
He nodded, eyes heavy.
"I couldn't ask for forgiveness," he whispered. "But she understood."
And before she could say anything, he turned and walked quickly into the washroom— because his voice would not hold any longer.
When he came out of the washroom, he tossed the towel onto the bed and stood in front of the mirror, combing his hair with slow, distracted strokes.
Adhrita walked up beside him.
"Did you try?" she asked gently.
"I tried..." he said, eyes fixed on his reflection. "But the moment she justified my behaviour, I... lost the courage."
"It's fine," she whispered, touching his arm. "It took eighteen years to break... it'll take a little time to heal."
He looked at her, then slowly turned her to stand in front of the mirror.
His arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her close.
"There was a time I hated looking at the mirror," he murmured.
"But now..." she pointed at their reflection, "...what do you see?"
She smiled.
"There was a time I actually fell for a sarcastic man. But now..."
She reached up and pinched his cheek.
He sighed dramatically.
"I know, I know. You feel I'm not the same anymore. I'm just a bit—"
"Emotionally messy?" she finished for him.
He nodded.
"Don't worry, Ace. Your sarcastic husband is still inside... just drowning under emotional nonsense," he said, raising one eyebrow.
Adhrita laughed, her forehead brushing his chest as she leaned into him.
??? V ? A ???
"I will help you, don't miss the chance," she said to Vritant.
He nodded—reluctant, but listening.
"What do you want for lunch?" she asked.
He replied with a perfectly straight face,
"I'd prefer a dose of sarcasm and—" he leaned in, "—and you. Preferably served warm, on a plate, with dessert."
"And here I was complaining my husband wasn't sarcastic anymore," she muttered under her breath.
"Even Karma behaves better than you," she said, pointing at the dog.
"Yes, because you don't know his kaale kartut behind the scenes," he defended himself immediately.
"Even I don't know your kaale kartut..."
"You're favoring Karma against me?" he gasped.
"You're accusing me—and competing against a dog?" she raised her brow.
Right then Karma trotted in and sat near her feet like a model citizen.
"See? He behaves more gracefully than you," she said proudly.
Vritant grabbed her hand and lightly bit her fingers.
"Because I behave worse than a dog," he declared.
Adhrita burst into laughter.
He walked into the dressing room, opened the wardrobe, and froze.
His Hot Wheels collection was... rearranged.
"Did you touch my Hot Wheels again?" he shouted.
"Yes," she shouted back. "And grow up! You're going to be a father, and you still throw your towel on the bed."
He came out, dramatically offended.
"Fine, sorry—just don't shout," he said, picking up the towel and tossing it onto the rack.
"I seriously wonder how your mom raised you," she muttered.
He grabbed her hand and dragged her downstairs.
Vedashree was having her breakfast. He stopped in front of her like a guilty schoolboy presenting a complaint.
"She wanted to ask you something," he said.
Vedashree looked at Adhrita.
"Nothing, Mumma," Adhrita said quickly and sat at the table.
"Are you alright?" Vedashree asked.
"I'm fine," Adhrita smiled, then shot Vritant a look—talk to her.
Vedashree finished her tea and stood up to leave.
Before she could take her second step, something gently tugged at her saree.
She turned.
Vritant stood there, holding her pallu—not as the sharp, controlled man he had become, but like the little boy she hadn't seen in eighteen years. A boy who finally had the courage to reach out.
"Bhukh lagi hai..." he whispered.
(I'm hungry.)
Vedashree froze.
After eighteen long years... her son had finally said he was hungry.
To her.
Not Adhrita.
Not the staff.
Her.
Even Adhrita looked stunned.
"Sit," Vedashree said gently, her voice thick with emotion.
She went straight to the kitchen, took out the pan, and began making poha and chai—his favourites.
Aasha Tai rushed in. "Tai, I will—"
Vedashree shook her head.
"I'll do it."
She finished cooking, served the poha on a plate, poured chai, and walked back to the dining table.
She placed the plate in front of him.
He picked up the spoon... and before he could take a bite, a little poha slipped off, landing on the table.
"Not again," Vedashree muttered—half scolding, half smiling.
She sat beside him, took the spoon from his hand, and fed him herself.
He froze, watching her.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then he quickly looked away, and she continued feeding him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He drank chai—after years—slowly, almost reverently. He used to sip from her cup as a child. Today felt like a forgotten memory returning home.
Once he finished eating, he took her pallu and wiped his mouth with it.
Adhrita smiled softly.
She had seen him ruin her dupattas and sarees countless times. It wasn't mischief. It was comfort. The warmth he always searched for.
Vedashree shook her head and went upstairs to change her saree, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips.
Vritant looked at Adhrita. She gave him a tiny thumbs-up and mouthed, Well done.
He stood up and walked to the photograph of his twin. He lit the diya and stared at Vedant's picture for a long, silent moment. Then he moved slowly toward the home temple.
He stopped at the entrance and looked at Adhrita.
She got up and walked to him, standing at his side.
"I just wanted to thank..." he whispered.
She frowned softly. "Thank who?"
"For saving my life," he said quietly.
And she understood. He meant her. And their babies.
She gently slid her hand into his.
Together, they stepped into the temple. Vritant bent and lit the diya before the gods.
Adhrita joined her palms and bowed her head. Vritant looked at her—then joined his hands too, bowing deeply, finally thanking the god he once hated... for giving him back what he thought he had forever lost.
Both of them returned to their room, and Vritant was hesitant again.
"Go and talk..." Adhrita nudged him gently.
"But... eighteen years..." he said, voice small.
"It's more than enough. Don't waste more time," she murmured.
"How do you always make sense?" he muttered.
"I'm going to be a mum now... I just know better," she teased, pushing him again.
He kissed her cheek softly, held her hand, and squeezed—gathering courage from her touch.
She walked to her wardrobe and pulled out her dupatta.
"You always gave me your lighter. Now, take this," she said, handing him the dupatta.
He wrapped it around his palm like it was armor... like it was courage.
He nodded and left the room.
He walked into his childhood room and opened the windows.
Light spilled into the dark, untouched space. Dust motes floated in the warm beam, settling over frozen memories.
Flashbacks hit him—he and his echo laughing, fighting over toys, racing across the room.
He looked at the wall—family pictures, still hanging exactly where they had been eighteen years ago.
He walked toward the doorway, lost in old memories, when he suddenly saw another memory forming—
His parents coming out of the same room years ago.
His father brushing a kiss on his mother's cheek.
His mother blushing.
His father laughing and walking away.
She used to always leave right after, adjusting her pallu and rushing for her next duty.
Without thinking, he said softly—
"Aai... wait."
The word slipped out naturally, instinctively...
Vedashree froze.
She turned slowly.
Vritant stood in the doorway of his childhood room— just like the ten-year-old boy who once called her Aai and ran into her arms.
Vedashree walked toward him.
He stepped back into the room.
She followed.
He closed the door behind them.
Vritant walked to the drawer, opened it, and pulled out a small notebook and a broken crayon.
He sat on the floor, scribbled a word on the page—
Then he held his ears, bowed his head, and whispered—
"Sorry, Mumma..."
Vedashree broke.
Tears streamed down her face as she pulled him into her arms, and he collapsed into her embrace.
Moments passed... then he began to sob. At first softly... then loudly, painfully, like eighteen years of grief tearing out of him at once.
"Sorry..." he choked out between sobs.
"Naa, meri jaan..." she whispered, kissing his hair.
"Mumma..." he tried to speak, but emotions strangled his voice.
"Meri jaan ko bohot dard diya tha na?" she asked softly, asking about the torture he endured.
He nodded silently.
"I called you Mumma..." he said, tears flowing uncontrollably. "I... I called you Mumma..."
"And I am sorry I couldn't save you on time," she whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't save your echo too."
"No, Mumma... I'm sorry."
He cried harder.
"You already lost echo and I still left you. I didn't give you a chance to raise me. I hated you. I was bitter, rude... I hurt you again and again. I should have trusted my mother. I'm sorry for hating you."
"Hate is just another shape of love, beta..." she whispered.
"No, Mumma. Hate is hate. I hated you."
He shook his head, devastated.
"Why didn't you tell me the truth? Why didn't you tell me anything?"
"Mere liye tumhari nafrat hi mera sahara thi," she said, voice breaking.
"If I took even that away from you... what would be left?"
"Hate me, please..." he whispered, defeated.
"No," she said firmly, cupping his face. "I can never hate you. I only hate myself for not saving you. I know you were calling me that night... and I didn't reach you in time. I lost your echo too."
He sobbed harder.
"I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for never calling you Mumma. I'm sorry for not being your son when you needed me. I'm sorry for calling you PM sahiba. I'm sorry for all the pain you went through because of me. Mumma... I don't deserve you."
"Chup. Bilkul chup," she said softly, wiping his tears.
"Do you think I don't know how much pain you lived with? Do you think I don't know how you survived? We both died that day, Vritant. I lost you, and you lost your echo. You had no peace. Neither did I."
"How can you forgive me?" he whispered. "I was the worst son—"
"If I didn't celebrate Diwali, you were also in darkness," she said.
"If I didn't eat sweets, you didn't eat willingly either. I lived with the regret of losing one son... and losing the other to hate. But beta, you were grieving too."
She held his face tenderly.
"But now... we have a chance to live again. Look at you—so grown up. About to become a father of twins."
"And you're going to be a dadi," he completed, a tiny smile breaking through.
Vedashree smiled back.
"Yes. And I will spoil them shamelessly," she teased.
"I never gave you a chance, did I?" he whispered.
"So what?" she chuckled softly. "I'll take it now—with you and your two little owls."
He smiled... a real one.
"Mumma... what if—"
"No."
She placed her hand on his mouth.
"Don't you dare say anything negative. Nothing will happen to them. I promise you, meri jaan."
"I won't let anything happen to them either," a voice added.
They both turned.
Shaurya stood at the door, holding it open, eyes filled with tears he'd never admit to.
He walked in, sat beside Vedashree, and placed a hand on their son's head.
Vritant lay in his mother's lap, and his father gently began caressing his hair, something he hadn't done in years.
The family that shattered eighteen years ago... finally began stitching itself back together.
"What about me?" a soft voice came from the door.
All three turned.
Adhrita stood there, holding the doorframe, eyes shining with emotion.
Vedashree smiled instantly.
"I am also a Vardhan," Adhrita added as she walked toward them.
Shaurya chuckled, wiping the corner of his eye discreetly.
"Well, currently you are three Vardhans," he said, guiding her gently to sit between him and Vedashree.
Adhrita settled between them, and instantly the circle felt complete — mother, father, son, and the bridge who brought them all back.
"Thank you," Vedashree whispered, her voice full and sincere.
She knew exactly where her son had found the courage he needed.
And that courage... was sitting right beside her.
??? V ? A ???
"I want to see Samarjeet," Vedashree said.
"Okay," Vritant replied immediately.
"You're not meeting him alone," Shaurya added firmly.
"I also want to meet him," Adhrita said from the other side.
"No," all three—Vedashree, Shaurya, and Vritant—said together.
"Please," Adhrita pleaded softly. "I promise I won't go near him."
Before Vritant could refuse, Shaurya exhaled sharply and said, "Fine. But you will stay with me, and you will not go anywhere near that filthy bastard. Understood?"
She nodded quickly.
Vritant helped her stand, steadying her gently.
And together—Shaurya, Vedashree, Vritant, and Adhrita—they left for the Hall of Fame.
As they reached hall of fame, Adhrita got scared seeing the way her husband manipulates everything. This was literally a hall and he converted into cells to keep people.
As soon as Adhrita entered the basement corridor, she saw Dr. Aman, Ashish, Samarjeet, and a few other captured men. The air felt colder here — thick with the weight of betrayal.
Shaurya unlocked the cell door.
Vedashree walked inside with the steady calm of a storm ready to strike.
Samarjeet was half-asleep on the floor.
Without warning, Vedashree slapped him hard, the crack echoing off the cement walls. Then she threw a folded newspaper straight at his chest.