Part 6 : Beginning of What?

Shilpa held open the door as Armaan quietly carried Riddhima inside.

The same doorway which he had crossed thousands of times laughing with Shilpa feels impossibly heavy today.

His slippers leave faint wet footprints across the floor and water drips steadily from Riddhima's rain-soaked clothes onto the polished tiles.

For a while, nobody speaks, not because there is nothing to say but because there is far too much to express what simply words can't decipher.

And like that, the evening that had begun with laughter ended in absolute silence. No one had prepared for this.

Rainwater dripped steadily from Armaan's sleeves as he carried her through the front door. His arms felt strangely numb, not because she was heavy but because she wasn't supposed to be there.

Five years ago, he had stood before people who had told him to let go, to move on, to accept.

And he had.

Yet here she was. Breathing, alive and unconscious in his arms.

Each step echoed through the house.

Water fell from the ends of Riddhima's rain-soaked hair, leaving tiny marks of droplets across the polished floor. Like the past quietly entering a life that had long rearranged itself.

~

The living room.

Just an hour ago it had echoed with Nikki's giggles.

Crayons still lay scattered across the carpet. The family drawing she had proudly shown Armaan was still lying on the coffee table.

Three smiling figures.

Papa.

Mama.

Nikki.

Also a crooked little cat squeezed into one corner.

The paper fluttered gently as the evening breeze slipped in through the still-open door. The drawing looked painfully innocent, as though it belonged to another world.

Of course, nothing had moved. And yet...the room no longer looked like the same room.

Armaan lowered Riddhima carefully onto the couch. His movements were gentle and instinctive which any normal person would do after spotting an unconscious person.

He reached for a cushion and placed it beneath her head.

As he began adjusting, his fingers paused for the briefest second. There was a healing scar near her temple which he had never seen before. A thought crossed his mind.

How many scars had life given her while everyone believed she no longer existed?

The scenario alone lodged painfully somewhere inside his chest.

Meanwhile, Shilpa stood a few feet away.

She wanted to help...she genuinely did. But every instinct she had betrayed her.

Should she bring a blanket? Water? A pillow? Or should she simply stay away?

But every option somehow felt wrong. Because the woman lying unconscious on their sofa wasn't merely an injured stranger.

She was the first chapter of her husband's life.

Now Armaan knelt beside the couch, his hands trembled almost imperceptibly. Not because he loved Riddhima the way he once had, but because grief does not know where to place itself after the dead breathe again.

Five years.

Five years of mourning, five years of accepting, five years of healing.

And now...his past had opened its eye again.

Every single thought in his mind was painful now because he was no longer a person who could differentiate between the past and the present. It turned out to be more crueler now.

He is now a bridge between the past and the present where every single step..be it forward or backward...mattered.

Every instinct Shilpa had collided with another.

If she stepped forward...what exactly was she?

The Host? Caretaker? His Wife? Or merely the woman who had unknowingly built a home inside someone else's unfinished story?

The questions came one after another. They were cruel, uninvited. And she hated herself for thinking about them. Yet she couldn't stop.

Suddenly, A tiny hand tugged gently at her kurta.

"Mama..."

Shilpa looked down.

Nikki stood there clutching her stuffed rabbit so tightly that its little face was squished.

Children never understood tragedy but they understood silence. And tonight...their home had returned into a fragile stillness.

Shilpa bent to her level immediately.

"It's okay, sweetheart." It wasn't. But mothers often borrowed lies from hope.

Nikki looked toward the unfamiliar woman sleeping on the couch.

"...Is aunty hurt?"

Shilpa opened her mouth but nothing came out. She looked helplessly towards Armaan.

He was still kneeling beside the couch.

Staring...not at Riddhima directly but through her. As though he himself had become lost somewhere five years ago.

~

Dinner was served long time ago yet it remained untouched.

Three plates, three chairs. Yet only one chair was occupied. Nobody ate anything.

The spoons laid exactly where they were placed. Steam had long disappeared from the food.

Time had passed. But...nobody actually reached for a bite.

Finally,

Shilpa stood up.

"I'll put it away." Her voice sounds unfamiliar.

She walked into the kitchen and to the sink. While turning on the tap, the running water was somehow louder than it has ever been.

She gripped the edge of the sink.

And suddenly...she realized she cannot remember the last thing Armaan looked at.

Was it her?

Or...

the woman sleeping on the couch?

The thought made her stomach twist. And immediately guilt follows.

How could she even think that?

A woman had returned from the dead.

How selfish was she? Shilpa pressed both her palms against the counter. Ashamed of herself, ashamed of the relief she wanted and ashamed of the fear she couldn't stop sprouting inside her head.

Shilpa didn't realise when a lone tear escaped her eye.

~

Shilpa quietly took out the blankets in the guest room. Earlier, she had coaxed Nikki to eat something and had put her to sleep.

Shilpa and Armaan had decided to arrange a room for Ridhhima where she could rest because the couch was not a suitable place.

Guest room. The phrase echoed strangely inside her head.

Guest.

Was she? Or was someone else?

Her movements stopped as her fingers trembled slightly.

She again hated the thought and hated herself for still having it.

A woman had returned after unimaginable suffering.

And all Shilpa could think about was where everyone belonged. The guilt was suffocating her, making her head spin.

Shilpa sat on the bed for a while, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.

It will pass...it will definitely pass...she kept reassuring herself.

Soon Armaan brought Riddhima up and put her on the bed as Shilpa adjusted the comforter arround her.

~

Past midnight, the house had finally grown quiet.

Or at least...everyone pretended it had.

Shilpa laid wide awake in their room, staring at the ceiling.

Listening and waiting for the familiar sound of Armaan slipping into bed beside her. But it never came.

He sat downstairs instead, back resting against the couch. His hands were clasped loosely together.

The dim light casted long shadows across the floor.

He wasn't guarding the room. He just simply couldn't make himself walk away.

Inside slept the woman whose death had once destroyed him.

Down the hallway waited the woman who had slowly taught him how to live again.

His heart belonged to the present while his guilt belonged to the past.

And tonight both found the same place.

~

Much hours later, a soft creak disturbed the silence.

The guest room door had opened slightly.

Riddhima stood there, barefoot and half-awake. Her eyes wandered slowly across the unfamiliar yet familiar hallway.

Then...almost unconsciously, she began walking.

There was no particular destination in her mind. Only her instincts guided her somewhere.

Soon, she stopped before a small bedroom.

The door was slightly open.

As she pushed open carefully, she saw the same little girl sleeping peacefully, hugging a stuffed rabbit against her chest.

Riddhima didn't know why she had come. She only knew...something inside her hurt less when she looked at the child.

She walked dazed and knelt beside the bed slowly, carefully. Her trembling hand lifted reverently, hovering just above Nikki's forehead but never touching. As though afraid she might break the dream.

Then a melody slipped from her lips.

It was soft, somehow broken, almost soundless...it was a lullaby.

Ridhhima didn't even realize she was singing.

~

From the end of the corridor-

Armaan froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

Earlier, he had rushed upstairs hearing footsteps and faint noises.

Now he didn't even dare to breath out loud.

Because he knew that song. The song wasn't that famous and it wasn't something anyone else would know.

But...

It was the lullaby Riddhima had made up herself and had often hummed...for their baby daughter Nikki.

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Hey guysssss I am back with an update it's been too long enjoy reading and do tell how it was