Chapter 8 : Pehla Pyaar Ka Pehla Gham

Maysha did not realize her mother was watching her.

She entered the house the way dusk enters a room — quietly, without announcement, without disturbance, yet altering the air all the same. The faint click of the door shutting behind her was soft enough to be mistaken for nothing, but Shaira heard it. Mothers always heard the sounds that mattered.

From the living room sofa, Shaira’s gaze followed her daughter’s figure as she crossed the hall. There was nothing visibly wrong — no tears, no trembling, no anger — and yet everything was wrong. The way her shoulders held themselves too carefully. The way her eyes did not wander around the room as they usually did, searching for familiarity, for warmth, for someone to greet. Tonight they remained lowered, as if afraid that looking up might break something fragile inside her.

She walked past her mother without noticing her and disappeared into her room.

The door closed gently.

That gentleness was what settled the certainty in Shaira’s chest.

She did not call after her. She did not go to the door. Pain, she knew, retreated when chased. Instead she reached for her phone and dialed a number she could have dialed in her sleep.

"Maira, beta," she said when the call connected, her voice calm but threaded with quiet urgency, "come home."

*

Maysha was lying on her bed sobbing when the knock came.

It was soft, hesitant, almost polite.

She didn’t move at first. Her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling as if she were studying the faint shadows cast by the fan blades. "Come in," she said faintly.

She quickly wipped her tears knowing it could be her mom.

The door opened. She turned her head.

"Di?"

Maira stood at the threshold, one shoulder resting against the frame, her expression deliberately casual, as though she had simply dropped by on a whim rather than crossed half the city because something in her mother’s voice had sounded wrong.

"What brings you here?" Maysha asked, pushing herself up slightly.

Maira’s lips curved in a small, warm smile. "Big sister duty calls."

Something in Maysha’s chest loosened at that — a knot she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She shifted silently, making space beside her without speaking. Maira slipped off her sandals and climbed onto the bed, settling next to her with the easy familiarity of someone who had done this a thousand times before — during storms, after nightmares, on nights when childhood fears had felt too large for one person to hold alone.

For a while neither of them spoke.

The quiet was not empty. It was listening.

After a few minutes, Maysha said softly, "Mom called you."

It wasn’t a question.

"Mhm," Maira admitted.

A faint breath escaped Maysha’s lips. "She notices everything."

"She noticed you didn’t ask about dinner," Maira said lightly. "That was alarming enough."

A ghost of a smile touched Maysha’s mouth, flickered, then faded.

Her gaze drifted away again, back to the ceiling. When she spoke, her voice was steady, but it carried a tiredness that hadn’t been there before.

"We didn’t fight."

Maira turned her head slightly. "That sounds worse."

"It is."

Her fingers tightened around the bedsheet.

"We just… understood."

The word lingered between them, fragile and heavy.

"He wasn’t angry," Maysha continued. "He wasn’t distant. He didn’t say anything cruel. He was careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid honesty might hurt me."

Her throat tightened, though her tone stayed composed. "Do you know how unfair it is when someone breaks your heart kindly?"

We didn’t fight."

Maira turned her head slightly. "That sounds worse."

"It is."

Her fingers tightened around the bedsheet."We just… understood." The word lingered between them, fragile and heavy.

"Distances were so silent in our relationship, that even it was there but it wasnt visible to our eyes, it was just felt.And when it ends without any blame game, where nor either one of us is wrong".Her throat tightened, though her tone stayed composed. "Do you know how unfair it is when someone breaks your heart kindly?"

Maira didn’t answer. She simply let her hand drift across the mattress until her fingers brushed against Maysha’s. The contact was light, barely there — not an interruption, not a comfort forced upon her, just presence.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full — full of everything she didn’t yet know how to say.

"I thought we were aligned," she murmured after a while. "Like Mom and Dad. Like… destiny had already decided."

Maira’s voice, when it came, was soft. "Destiny doesn’t decide. People do."

She leaned sideways, her forehead resting against Maira’s shoulder without quite realizing she had moved. Maira stayed still, letting her settle there, one hand lifting gently to cradle the back of her head.

*

After dinner Maira brough Maysha to her room and they settled into the bed

Carefully, Maira eased her down onto the pillow and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She lingered for a moment, brushing a strand of hair away from her sister’s face — a small gesture filled with a tenderness she rarely showed when Maysha was awake.

Then she stepped out and closed the door halfway. Maira walked towards the hall slowly, the quiet pressing around her now that she no longer had to be strong for someone else. She lowered herself onto the sofa and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, face buried in her palms.The composure slipped.Not dramtically , just enough.The cushion dipped as Shaira settled herself and she says "I know that posture".

"No am fine".

"Really you think you can hide your feelings from your birth mom? I may not have raised you bacha, but I have given you birth and I know exactly how you are feeling even when you don't say it and it's not Maysha you are concerned about". She continued "She will heal, it's something else that's flooding your brain and the person name start with an I".

Then Maira lowered her hands.

"Detective Mother Shaira Wadhwa you won...It's Ishaan". and she smiled and scoffed through her tears

"Tell me whats bothering you about him?"

"I always thought respect and love were enough," she said quietly. "That if two people had those, a marriage could survive anything."

"They are important," Shaira said.

Maira’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor with her eye brimming. "What if they exist… but something else doesn’t?"

Shaira didn’t interrupt.

"What if respect is there. Love is there. But your life… your wants… the future you imagined… doesn’t fit inside the marriage anymore?" Her voice thinned. "Then it just becomes a marriage of convenience."

Shaira reached for her hand and held it. "Fights don’t break marriages. Differences don’t break them. Silence doesn’t break them."

"Then what does?" Maira whispered as her tears streamed as heart ached with the pain of knowing Ishaan and her don't have a chance to save their relationship as none of them want to compromise. .

"Stopping the effort to understand each other."

Maira swallowed.

"What if one person keeps trying," she murmured, "and the other stops or and sometimes the opposite?"

Shaira’s expression softened, touched by an old memory. "You know that your father and I disagreed about almost everything when we were techincally really married but living their lives differently one in the illusion of marriage and one with trying to end this chaos soon . Dreams. Priorities. Even what happiness looked like. But when life gave me its hardest blow when your adoptive dad came into picture and ruined my life…" She smiled faintly. "It wasn’t applause that held me together. It was your Mayank dad. His love. Our fake turned real marriage saved our bond..

She then continued while her fingers brushed the beads of her mangalsutra "Just imagine me being the person who once felt these marriage symbols like cage....know if 1 day if I don't wear it, I feel incomplete that's what marriage does to you when it's with the right person"

Maira’s eyes shimmered.

"Desires matter," Shaira continued gently. "They should. But marriage survives on compromise. Not sacrifice — but a compromise. Sacrifice empties you. Compromise reshapes both people."

Maira leaned sideways then, resting her head against her mother’s shoulder like she had when she was a child.

"I’m tired," she whispered.

"I know," Shaira said, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Strong hearts get tired too."

"Mom promise me, you won't tell Diya mama that am facing marital problems with Ishaan.She will simply take stress and I don't want her to worry about something which I can handle".

"Okay Maira I won't, since you said this is something you can handle am keeping my mouth zipped but the moment I know things are getting serious you know that I will do what's right".

Maira swallowed knowing that one day she and Ishaan have to tell everyone regarding their impending divorce and she tried to hide her worry with a smile and says "You should Mom but only when it's necessary okay".

Shaira cups Maira's face nodding her head in a yes.

Maira then rose up from the sofa and walked towards Maysha's room and she slid the blanket over her and she gently laid besides Maysha, she pecked her sister's forehead and she closed her own eyes.

Sleeping like they had years ago, when the world had not yet grown complicated enough to break hearts quietly.

The door remained slightly open.

Shaira stood in the hallway, her fingers resting lightly against the frame, watching them through the narrow gap. The sight stilled her.

Both her daughters lay curled toward each other, their foreheads nearly touching, their hands loosely clasped between them as though even in sleep they were afraid of drifting apart.

Her chest tightened — not with sadness, but with that deep, aching tenderness only mothers knew. The kind that came when love and worry existed together in equal measure.

She didn’t step inside.

She didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace resting over them.

A pair of arms slid gently around her from behind.

She smiled before even turning her head.

"Congratulations, Shaira," Mayank murmured near her ear, his voice warm with barely contained pride. "Your ladla Shayaan has made his football team win. Not just his team — he made India proud today. Proper star player."

Her eyes lit instantly. "Really?"

"Mhm," he chuckled softly. "Goal bhi maara, assist bhi diya. Crowd chanting his name like he’s already a legend."

Her smile widened, pride softening her features. "Wow… he’s really doing it. He’s really becoming something."

Then, almost absentmindedly, she gestured toward the room. "She’s really there for him too, you know."

Mayank followed her gaze.

And saw them.

His expression changed — softened, warmed, quieted. "Arre…" he whispered. "How did Maira land up here for a sleepover?"

Shaira’s voice lowered, fond and gentle. "Just what sisters do. Being an emotional support system."

She kept watching them as she spoke, her tone growing thoughtful. "Mayank… I’m worried about our girls. Both of them are going through a rough phase in their relationships." A pause. A mother’s instinct tightening invisibly. "Bas ab dua karti hoon… koi tufaan na aaye inke beech jo unke rishton pe aanch laaye."

Mayank studied her face for a moment, then shook his head with a small smile — the kind husbands wore when they knew their wives’ hearts ran deeper than logic.

"Shaira," he said softly, "you’re thinking too much."

She glanced at him.

He nudged her lightly with his shoulder. "It’s just life doing what life does. Cycle repeat ho raha hai. Play of minds. Nothing else." His voice softened. "They’ll figure it out. They’re our daughters."

She exhaled slowly, some of the tightness leaving her shoulders.

Mayank gently took her hand and tugged her away from their daughter's room. "Bas. Ab chalo."

"Where?"

"Mission recovery," he took her to their room and he declared solemnly. "Sit."

She raised a brow but obeyed, settling onto their bed. He lowered himself at her feet and lifted one gently into his lap.

"What are you doing?" she asked, amused.

"Foot massage therapy," he said, already pressing his thumbs into her sole. "You walked me half to death at that winter exhibition today. Mere pair toot gaye hain."

She laughed under her breath. "Same with you. Tumne bhi mujhe kam nahi chalaya."

"Exactly," he nodded seriously. "So we release leg tension together. First yours, then mine. Fair deal."

Her gaze softened as she watched him, affection settling into her expression like a familiar melody as the husband and wife sat quietly tending to each other’s tiredness.