Prologue
The night was heavy. As if the air itself carried the weight of unspoken truths and unfinished emotions.
A storm was brewing—not outside, but within the walls of a modest yet traditional Bengali home in the heart of Mumbai.
The Mukherjee residence stood quiet from the outside, its yellow light barely spilling through the curtains, but inside, a verbal cyclone had already begun its course. The dining table was still set, untouched food laid across ceramic plates, steam slowly fading into the silence. Tension gripped the air like an invisible noose.
Riya Mukherjee, ETF officer, fiercely independent, trained in crime-fighting, a warrior on the field—yet at this moment, she was reduced to a daughter caught between her heart and her home.
She stood rigid, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed at the tall man pacing in the living room.
Mr. Sudhanshu Mukherjee, her father, a retired government professor with a habit of quoting Tagore and wearing neatly ironed dhoti-kurtas, looked anything but composed tonight.
“Widower hai woh, Riya!” he shouted, his voice shaking the photo frames on the wall. “Ek baar uske saath zindagi ne dard ka mazaak kiya hai… kya guarantee hai ke dobara nahi karegi?”
Riya flinched—not because of the tone, but because of the truth it carried. Pain was real. Arjun’s pain—more so.
“Baba!” she said, a crack in her voice. “Woh sirf ek widower nahi hain. Woh insaan hain… jise main… pyaar karti hoon.”
A sharp gasp came from the doorway where her mother stood—Sushmita Mukherjee, draped in a soft cotton saree, eyes shimmering with emotion and restrained laughter. “O re baba... dekho toh, amader meye toh bolche she loves him!” she said, clutching her pallu dramatically, then looked at Riya with a mother’s pride.
Riya threw her a warning look.
“Maa!” she whispered, “Yeh joke ka time nahi hai!”
But Sushmita wasn’t the one to stay silent. She floated across the room, her anklets softly chiming, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder.
“Sudhanshu, tum professor ho, ek samajhdar aadmi. But yeh dil ki baat hai. Tum khud ke jawani ke dino ko yaad karo… tum bhi toh ek baar mujhe leke Calcutta mein dada-dadi se lad gaye the, na?”
“Arre!” Sudhanshu frowned. “Main na ladta! Tumhara baba mujhe gun dikhaya tha!”
Riya blinked. “Gun?!”
Sushmita rolled her eyes with flair. “Toy gun tha, beta. But drama toh Tagore-level ka tha.”
Before the situation could spin into another family tale, Riya raised her hand. “Can we come back to the actual issue?”
Her voice was calm, but there was a storm behind her eyes.
“Baba, I know you don’t like Arjun. I know you think he carries too much pain, too much... loss. And you're not wrong. But do you know what else he carries? Integrity. Courage. Depth. The kind of silence that shields everyone else from breaking.”
She stepped forward, voice trembling but strong. “Woh toot chuke hain, Baba. Par woh kisi aur ko tootne nahi dete.”
The room fell into silence.
Even Sushmita didn’t dare quip this time.
Sudhanshu adjusted his glasses and sat down, his hands folded, elbows on knees.
“Aur tum? Tumhara kya?” he asked softly.
Riya looked at him, then at her own hands, fingers clenched.
“Main bhi kabhi na kabhi tooti thi, Baba. Maa ko yaad hoga. Us drug cartel case mein jab meri best friend…”
Sushmita’s eyes welled up. She looked away.
“Us waqt Arjun sir… woh the. Kuch nahi bole… sirf… baith gaye mere saath. Teen ghante tak.”
Sudhanshu looked at her face. This wasn’t his daughter’s infatuation. This was a soldier’s testimony. She wasn’t in love with a hero. She was in love with a man who survived hell.
Just then—a low vibration buzzed through the room.
Riya picked up her phone. Her eyes went sharp.
“Sirens? ETF emergency?” Sushmita asked.
Riya nodded.
“Human trafficking ring bust karna hai. ACP Rawte ke saath nikal rahi hoon.”
Sudhanshu clenched his jaw but didn’t say a word. He simply stared at the plate of untouched luchi and begun stirring the daal with a spoon.
As Riya walked past her father, she paused, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.
“Aapko bas ek baar usse bina judge kiye dekhna hoga, Baba. Sirf ek baar.”
She stepped away, not waiting for approval. She didn’t need it right now. She needed to do her job. For now.
As the door clicked behind her, Sudhanshu whispered, almost inaudibly—
“Ek baar hi toh diya tha usne apna dil... aur dekho, zindagi kya le aayi. Mujhe dar lagta hai, Sushmita. Bahut zyada.”
Sushmita sat beside him, holding his hand. “Ladkiyan jab kisi broken aadmi se pyaar karti hai na... woh usse thik bhi kar leti hai. Riya kuch bhi ho, tumhari beti hai. Uske paas himmat hai... usse Arjun jaisa aadmi hi chahiye.”
The room fell quiet again.
Outside, thunder rumbled—not just from the clouds, but from the streets of Mumbai where justice and love often collided. Where broken men held guns in one hand and pain in the other.
And where a girl like Riya Mukherjee had already chosen both.
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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