Zindagi Ke Rang ~ Rangad/Kabirima/Amritam FF - Page 2

Chapter 9

The Wake of the Storm

One Week Later...

Pritam slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh white lights above him. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and it didn't take long for him to realize—he was in a hospital bed.

His throat was parched, voice hoarse, but he managed to croak, "Help..."

Within moments, Nitin and Monty burst through the door, their faces lighting up in relief.

"Pritam! You're awake!" Nitin rushed to his side.

Monty leaned in, smiling faintly. "How are you feeling, buddy?"

But Pritam didn't spare a second for himself. "Where is my family?" he asked, his voice fraught with urgency.

That question wiped the smiles clean off their faces.

Their expressions fell—an unmistakable shadow of sorrow clouded their eyes. They looked at each other, silently urging the other to speak, but neither did.

Pritam's chest tightened. "I'm asking again—where is my family?"

Still no answer.

Frustrated and fearful, he began to lift himself off the bed. Alarmed, Nitin and Monty quickly restrained him.

"No, no, Pritam! Lie down. We'll tell you," Monty said, voice soft but grave.

Pritam's pulse quickened. He could sense something was terribly wrong.

Nitin exhaled deeply. "Pritam... it's been a week since we brought you here. You've only just regained consciousness today."

Monty added quietly, "And in that one week... everything changed."

Pritam stared at them, eyes wide with dread. "Tell me what happened."

Nitin looked down, gathering strength. "Beeji... you knew she had already survived two strokes. Her health was fragile. The drug overdose... it pushed her beyond her limit. Her blood pressure shot up, and she suffered a massive heart attack. She didn't make it, Pritam. She passed away that same night."

Pritam's breath caught in his throat.

Monty continued gently, "Your mother... she survived the drugs. But her immune system was shattered. With this virus going around... she got infected almost immediately. She fought hard. But two days ago... she lost the battle."

Tears welled up in Pritam's eyes, overflowing and tracing silent paths down his bruised cheeks. He felt the ground slip from beneath him, though he was still in bed.

He wiped his face, trembling. "And... Vishaka? Rahul?"

The question seemed to strike another blow to Nitin and Monty. Their eyes dimmed, their silence heavier this time.

"Tell me!" Pritam shouted. "Have they... have they left me too?"

"No!" Nitin rushed to say. "They're alive..."

"But..." Monty began.

"What is it?" Pritam pressed, his voice nearly breaking.

Monty hesitated. "Vishaka... isn't herself anymore. After witnessing Beeji and your mother's deaths—and seeing what happened to Rahul—she broke. Completely."

Pritam's heart pounded. "What happened to Rahul?!"

Monty didn't respond fast enough.

Grabbing him by the collar, Pritam snarled, "What happened to my son?! Tell me!!"

"RAHUL IS IN A COMA, PRITAM!" Nitin burst out, unable to bear it anymore.

Pritam froze. His grip loosened, and his hands fell limply to his sides.

Monty added softly, "The overdose damaged him deeply—physically and neurologically. The doctors say even if... even if he wakes up, he might never be the same again."

The words hit like a freight train. Pritam stared blankly at the wall, the noise around him vanishing into a hollow silence. He whispered, "Leave me alone... please."

"Pritam—"

"Get out," he said, louder this time, voice shaking.

Nitin and Monty hesitated, then silently stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

Left alone, Pritam curled into himself on the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. He buried his face into it, muffling the raw, guttural sobs that tore from his throat.

His mind swirled with memories—Rahul's first steps, the first time he called him "Papa," their giggles during bedtime stories. And then... that last moment, Rahul's tiny arms outstretched, screaming Papa before falling limp in the arms of evil.

"Papa failed you, my son," he whispered through his tears. "I promised I'd be your everything... but I couldn't protect you."

He held the pillow tighter, sobbing until his body could no longer take it.

Later that evening, Nitin and Monty wheeled Pritam toward the ICU where Rahul was being kept.

As they entered, Pritam's breath caught in his throat. His little boy lay motionless under the weight of machines, a ventilator supporting every breath. His face was pale, a shadow of the joyful child he once was.

Pritam broke down, gripping the wheelchair armrests, trying to hold in the scream building in his chest.

Nitin placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You need to stay strong, Pritam. For Rahul."

Pritam nodded faintly, tears never stopping.

Then a thought struck him. "Where's Vishaka?"

Both Nitin and Monty exchanged that familiar, dreaded glance again.

Pritam turned sharply to them. "Where is she?"

Nitin looked away, and Monty finally spoke. "She's not the same, Pritam... not anymore."

Government Mental Health Centre, Delhi

Inside a dimly lit cell, Vishaka thrashed wildly, her screams echoing through the sterile corridors. Nurses and doctors struggled to hold her down as she howled in anguish.

"Pritam Choudhary... I won't leave him!" she shrieked, eyes blazing with fury. "He destroyed my life— my dreams, my child, my family! I lost everything... all because he chose his damn duty over us!*"

The medical staff tightened their hold, but her rage only grew more unhinged. "I won't spare that man!" she howled, attempting to break free.

Just then, at the end of the corridor, Pritam appeared—frail, leaning on a walking stick, flanked by Nitin and Monty. The moment Vishaka's eyes fell on him, her aggression halted. A strange calm washed over her, unnerving in its suddenness.

The staff hesitated, then slowly released her arms.

Vishaka walked to the gate of her enclosure, her eyes locked on Pritam's. The fire in her voice simmered down to a low, haunting tone.

"Why, Pritam?" she asked, almost tenderly. "What did I ever do to deserve this? You showed me a dream and then drowned it... just like that. You gave an orphan a family, only to tear it away piece by piece. Why?"

Pritam couldn't meet her gaze. Her words sliced through his chest like a blade. His eyes dropped to the floor as guilt consumed him.

After a long pause, he gathered the courage to speak. "I'm... I'm sorry, Vishaka."

Vishaka's expression changed in an instant. Rage returned like a tidal wave. She charged forward, grabbing his collar through the bars.

"Sorry?" she spat. "Is that all you have left, ACP Pritam Chaudhary? Just that one pathetic word?"

Tears streamed down her face as she shouted, "You promised you'd help me fulfill my dreams. You promised you'd be both mother and father to Rahul. And what did you do? You sacrificed him... our son... for your duty!"

She wept uncontrollably, trembling with grief. "He needed you, and you weren't there! I needed you, and you abandoned me!"

Her rage escalated—she scratched and hit Pritam in fury. Nitin and Monty rushed to pull her off him while doctors and staff intervened again.

As they restrained her once more, she screamed furiously, "It was our hatred for drugs that brought us together—and now that very hatred has torn us apart! You've only seen my love till now, Pritam Choudhary... now you'll see my hatred. I'll destroy you the way you destroyed me!"

The doctors exchanged a glance, then gave a grim nod. One of them prepared the sedation equipment.

As Vishaka was strapped to the bed and given electric shock therapy, her screams faded into twitching silence. Pritam, unable to bear the sight, stumbled away from the cell. He collapsed against a wall, crouched, covering his ears in anguish, and let out a guttural scream:

"Aaaahhhh!"

Present Day – Sakhuja House

Pritam jolted awake, gasping for breath. He found himself in the familiar, warm room of the Sakhujas. Sweat clung to his forehead, and his heart was pounding.

A soft, melodic hum reached his ears—Amrita was humming a lullaby to her unborn child. The sound, gentle and full of hope, stirred something deep in his soul.

Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of Rahul—his little boy who once clung to his fingers, called him Papa, and now remained only in memories... and in legal files.

Vishaka's words echoed in his mind.

"She was right," he whispered. "I did lose everything... because of my loyalty to duty. But she never saw the whole truth. I never chose duty over family—they were both my world. I just didn't get the chance to save either."

He sat up, staring at the ceiling. "I always tried to see her side, to support her... but she never tried to see mine. She just kept blaming me."

His heart clenched as he recalled what followed her release from the mental health centre. In the year that followed, she transformed her love into vengeance.

When Rahul finally came out of coma, Pritam had planned a birthday celebration to make up for all they had lost. But Vishaka took Rahul away, filed false charges, and placed him in a child welfare home—cutting Pritam off completely.

Then came the divorce petition—against his will. A bitter custody battle followed, where she accused him of negligence and abuse. She didn't stop there—false complaints to the department cost him his post.

But Pritam never stopped serving his country. Stripped of his badge but not his purpose, he went undercover with his loyal friends, Nitin and Monty—his Changu-Mangu. Disguised as low-life drug peddlers, they infiltrated cartels, risking their lives every day.

It was during this phase that Mansoor Uncle, his confidant, helped him rent the Sakhuja's room. That little space became his sanctuary.

In time, the Sakhujas became more than just landlords. Pritam found brothers in Angad, Kabir, and Sonia. A family in Sukhbir, Santosh, and Guneet. Even Nimrat, who had once been wary, began to see him as her own son.

The pain of losing one family had begun to heal in the warmth of another.

Love and Hate—Two Sides of the Same Coin

When you love someone with all your heart, and they wound you deeply—whether knowingly or unknowingly—that love can curdle into hatred. The deeper the love, the sharper the hate.

And so it was for Pritam and Vishaka.

Once united by their mutual mission to rid the world of drugs, they had built a life on shared ideals. But when that mission destroyed what they held dearest, their love turned to ashes... and from those ashes rose vengeance, bitterness, and grief.

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To be continued.

Chapter 10

A Storm at the Sakhujas'

After severing all remaining ties with his former life, Pritam shifted permanently into the Sakhuja household. But peace remained elusive. The battle over Rahul's custody with Vishaka only grew uglier. Tired of the legal tug-of-war and desperate to protect his son from further trauma, Pritam finally made a bold move—he took Rahul from Vishaka's house and brought him to the Sakhujas.

His sudden arrival with the boy left the entire Sakhuja family bewildered. Whispers floated around the breakfast table, eyes followed Pritam's every move, but he refused to answer a single question about Rahul's identity. His silence only deepened the mystery.

Unfortunately, secrets don't stay buried for long—especially in a tightly-knit mohalla.

Soon, curious murmurs turned into loud accusations. Neighbours, suspicious and self-righteous, began questioning Pritam's intentions. Rumours escalated—some claimed he was a fugitive, others insisted he had kidnapped the boy. Wherever Pritam went, prying eyes and pointed fingers followed.

One day, as Pritam stepped out with Rahul to buy groceries, the residents surrounded him like vultures. Their taunts were cruel, their tone accusatory.

"Whose child is this, haan?"
"What kind of man hides a child from everyone?"
"Kidnapper! Have some shame!"

Rahul trembled in fear, clutching Pritam's shirt tightly, his little face contorted with terror. Pritam tried to calm him, shielding him from the onslaught of voices. But nothing worked.

Something inside Pritam snapped.

"Bas karo sab ke sab!" he roared, silencing the crowd. His voice thundered across the lane. "Shut up, all of you! I'm not a kidnapper—I'm IPS Pritam Choudhary!" he shouted, his voice heavy with raw pain, pointing at Rahul. "And this boy... this child... is my son!"

A stunned silence fell.

Gasps escaped. Eyes widened. Mouths fell open.

Nobody moved as Pritam scooped up a sobbing Rahul in his arms and walked silently back into the Sakhuja house. He climbed the stairs slowly, each step heavy with heartbreak, and once inside, slammed the door shut with finality.

Downstairs, the Sakhuja men stepped forward, condemning the mohalla's actions. "Shame on you all!" Sukhbir scolded. "You call yourselves neighbours? Is this how you treat someone who's done nothing but help this family?"

Despite the warning, the gossip mill didn't stop. And it wasn't long before word reached Vishaka.

The Past Comes Knocking

Days later, Vishaka stormed into the Sakhuja residence unannounced. Her eyes scanned the house furiously until they landed on Pritam.

"What are you doing here?" Pritam snapped, anger rising. "Get out before I lose my patience."

Before anyone could intervene, Amrita—pregnant and ever empathetic—stepped forward. "Pritam, calm down. She's a mother too. Let her speak. Maybe... maybe she just wants to see her son."

Her kindness, however, became a fatal mistake.

A Mother's Wrath, A Lover's Despair

The very next morning, Vishaka unleashed chaos.

Hired goons barged into the Sakhuja home, tearing apart furniture, shoving family members, and demanding the child. Pritam fought valiantly, but the men were many, and their plan, vicious.

One of them grabbed Amrita, pressing a gun to her temple.

"ACP Pritam Choudhary!" he sneered. "You want this woman and her unborn child alive? Then hand over Rahul—now."

The Sakhujas broke down in panic. "Pritam, save her!" Nimrat cried. "That child is our zindagi!"

Fuelled by desperation and rage, Pritam launched a counterattack. He managed to disarm the man threatening Amrita and shielded her in time. But in the chaos that followed, a single gunshot rang out.

Time slowed.

Pritam and Vishaka turned sharply—only to see Rahul clutching his chest, blood blooming like a red rose against his shirt.

"No!" they screamed in unison.

Rahul stumbled backward, gasping for breath, his tiny hand reaching out. By the time they reached him, it was too late. His eyes fluttered shut, his chest still.

Their world stopped.

Vishaka collapsed beside her son, cradling his lifeless body, wailing as though trying to call his soul back.

Pritam didn't move. He knelt silently, eyes fixed on Rahul's face. His lips trembled, but no words came. The man who had once fought drug lords and crime syndicates stood frozen—broken in a way that no bullet could have done.

Aftermath

Soon, police officers led by Nitin and Monty arrived. They arrested Vishaka and her hired men. Rahul's body was taken away for post-mortem and final rites.

Nitin and Monty knelt beside their shattered friend, urging him to speak, to cry, to move.

But Pritam didn't flinch. His eyes remained vacant, his soul trapped in the moment when he lost the only light he had left.

Rahul, his son, was gone.

And with him, a part of Pritam Choudhary had died too.

The Weight of Loss and the Gift of Life

In the days that followed the tragedy, the atmosphere at the Sakhuja house was a blend of grief and gratitude. Pritam, shattered by the loss of his beloved son, drifted into silence. He avoided eye contact, spoke only when necessary, and distanced himself from everyone—whether it was his loyal friends Nitin and Monty or his ever-supportive Mansoor Uncle.

Meanwhile, the Sakhujas, though devastated by Rahul's untimely death, found solace in the fact that Amrita and her unborn child had survived the ordeal. For Amrita, the events had shifted something deep within her. She began to see Pritam not just as the aloof tenant or the rough-edged saviour, but as a man—vulnerable, broken, yet extraordinarily selfless.

However, for Pritam, it was too late.

With Rahul gone, he had lost his reason to stay, his zindagi. He threw himself back into work, resuming dangerous missions, perhaps to numb the pain or to punish himself. Then, one morning, he announced his decision to move out of the Sakhuja home.

The news struck the family like a thunderclap.

Angad, Kabir, Soni—even Dadaji and Beeji—were heartbroken. Over time, they had come to see Pritam as one of their own: a silent protector, an unexpected brother, a pillar in moments of crisis. But it was Amrita who took it the hardest. She couldn't shake off the guilt of having misunderstood him, judged him too quickly, or unknowingly contributed to his pain.

She had to stop him. Somehow.

The Unexpected Journey

On the day Pritam was set to leave, Amrita carefully orchestrated the house's emptiness. She sent Kabir and Angad off to work early, Soni to her college, Nimmo and Guneet to their shop, Dadaji and Beeji to a nearby photo studio, and Kamli on a market errand.

With the house finally quiet, Amrita began ascending the stairs to Pritam's room, determined to speak from the heart. But as she reached halfway, she suddenly winced in pain—labour pains had begun. A sharp cry escaped her lips.

Pritam, halfway through packing, heard her and rushed out. So did a few concerned neighbours.

He spotted her clutching the railing in distress. Alarmed, he shouted, "Where is everyone?!"

"They're not home," Amrita grimaced. "But instead of yelling, how about getting me to the hospital, Mr. IPS?"

The neighbours chuckled and urged Pritam to hurry.

With no choice, Pritam grabbed the car keys from a helpful neighbour, helped Amrita downstairs, and drove off.

Of Traffic, Tears, and Tiffs

Delhi traffic, of course, had other plans.

Stuck in an endless jam, the atmosphere inside the car turned into a familiar battlefield of words. Much like the unforgettable omelette episode, Pritam and Amrita found themselves bickering non-stop.

"If you'd told someone earlier, this wouldn't have happened!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, should I have sent a notice to you and the traffic police?"
"You're impossible."
"And you're late—as always!"

Their witty banter continued even as they reached the hospital in haste. The reception desk, witnessing their rapid-fire arguments, mistook them for a typical squabbling couple.

"She's in labour?" a nurse asked.
"Yes, but—" Pritam tried to explain.

"Perfect! Sir, we need you inside with her," she said, pushing a hospital gown into his hands.

"Wait, what?! I'm not her—"
"Sir, there's no time!"

Labour Room Chaos

In the labour room, things only escalated.

Pritam, visibly flustered, muttered, "Great. Now I'm officially your forced husband too!"

"Shut up!" Amrita yelled, sweat beading on her forehead. "If you're done with your drama, help me!"

Pritam groaned. "Just hurry up, please—I have things to do."

That was the last straw.

With all her might, Amrita delivered a tight slap across his face.

The room froze.

"Do you think I'm some express train you can just speed up?!" she shouted.

Pritam clutched his cheek, muttering under his breath, "Madam Jasoos always wanted to slap me—was just waiting for the right moment..."

Then, a miracle happened.

A baby's cry pierced the room.

Both froze—eyes wide, hearts full.

The doctor, smiling, wrapped the baby and placed him gently into Pritam's arms.

As Pritam looked into the newborn's eyes, his own welled up. Memories of Rahul flooded his mind. But instead of sorrow, he felt something else—a strange, healing warmth.

An unexpected bond.

An invisible thread tying him to this little life.

The Turning Point

Soon, the Sakhuja family stormed into the hospital, teary-eyed, joyous, and relieved. It was a moment of celebration, a moment that united everyone.

Still overwhelmed, Pritam gently handed the baby to the family and turned to leave. But before stepping out, he paused.

From across the room, he turned back to glance at the baby once more.

Something shifted in him.

He wasn't ready to say goodbye—not to this family, not to this child, not again.

Rahul may have left him, but this little champ had unknowingly brought him back to life.

Home Is Where the Zindagi Is

That evening, Pritam returned to the Sakhuja house—not as a tenant, not as a protector, but as someone who had found his zindagi once again.

And though Amrita had never said a word to stop him from leaving, she didn't have to.

Because sometimes, life doesn't stop people with words. It sends a new life to hold on to.

And that little champ did just that.

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To be continued.

Chapter 11

Vishaka's Redemption Track

Back in the psychiatric facility after Rahul's tragic death, Vishaka was no longer the aggressive, volatile woman she once had been. Her hostility had ebbed away, replaced by a haunting stillness. Day after day, she sat quietly on her bed, her eyes fixed on the wall, unmoving—lost in the ruins of her past.

The hospital staff brought her meals at regular intervals, but she barely acknowledged them. Some days, she nibbled a few bites; on others, she refused to eat altogether. Her silence was not that of peace—it was the silence of deep, unspoken torment.

As she stared into the void, memories began to resurface. Her mind traveled back to her childhood—a time when life was filled with warmth and unconditional love. As the only child in the family, she was the apple of her parents' eyes. Laughter echoed through their home... until the day it all changed.

One evening, a group of armed men stormed into their house. They were drug traffickers on the run, savage addicts whose desperation made them dangerous. They threatened the family to remain silent or face the consequences. Terrified, the family obeyed.

During their brief yet horrifying stay, the goons laced some food with narcotics meant for their own use. But fate had other plans. Just as the police closed in and arrested them, Vishaka's unsuspecting parents, shaken but relieved, consumed the contaminated food. By the time help arrived, it was too late. Her parents died from the drugs they had unknowingly ingested.

From that moment, Vishaka was alone in the world.

She was placed in the care of distant relatives who provided the bare necessities but never the affection a grieving child needed. As she grew older, a fierce determination took root in her—she would not be helpless again. At 18, she chose to become a journalist, a voice for justice, a crusader against crime—especially the drug trade that had stolen her childhood.

To support herself, Vishaka took part-time jobs, often assisting criminal lawyers and high-ranking police officers. It was during one such stint that she met Mansoor Uncle... and eventually, Pritam.

Now, alone in her sterile hospital room, those memories rushed back—moments with Pritam, their shared dreams, their shattered reality. Her heart ached as Rahul's face appeared in her mind. Tears welled up.

"I'm sorry, my child," she whispered to the empty room. "I did love you... but I didn't know how to show it. I used you as a pawn to punish your father, blinded by hatred, because I never truly learned how to love after losing my own parents. And now... I have neither of you."

Her voice trembled with guilt.

"I let anger consume me. I forgot what was right or wrong. I made Pritam suffer... used you to torment him... and in doing so, I lost the only two people I ever had—the only family I could call mine."

As she sat trembling, the horrifying image of Rahul's death flashed vividly in her mind—the chaos, the deal, the gunshot, the blood on his chest. The echoes of that shot now rang endlessly in her ears. Vishaka clutched her head, the sound unbearable, her breathing ragged. She began to scream.

The hospital staff rushed in. Her condition had deteriorated rapidly—her body wracked with sobs, her mind spiraling into violent despair. The doctor quickly administered a sedative.

As the medicine took effect, her limbs slowly loosened, and her sobs faded into faint gasps. Her eyes fluttered, brimming with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry... Rahul... I'm sorry, Pritam..." she whispered with a trembling voice, her final words before she slipped into unconsciousness, a single tear tracing down her cheek.

Pritam's Empathy Towards Vishaka

In the quiet of the Sakhujas' home, Pritam sat alone on the floor of his room, surrounded by Rahul's toys and crumpled drawings. His trembling hands reached for a paper boat they had once made together, and a soft smile briefly flickered on his lips—only to vanish as a wave of pain surged through him. He clutched the toys tightly, as if holding on to the last fragments of his son's presence.

Moments later, the echo of a gunshot rang sharply in his ears.

Startled, Pritam dropped everything from his hands. Breathing heavily, he realized it was only a memory. Just a nightmare from a past that had now bled into his present. The truth hit him with full force: Rahul was truly gone.

He collapsed to the floor, letting the grief consume him, his body wracked with sobs. "What did you do, Vishaka?!" he screamed into the emptiness. "Your hatred was meant for me... but it was our son who paid the price!"

Tears poured down his cheeks as he buried his face in his arms, guilt and heartbreak overwhelming every fiber of his being. He struck the floor in frustration, cursing himself for not being able to protect the one life that mattered most.

Just then, his phone rang.

Reluctantly, Pritam answered. It was Nitin and Monty.

"Pritam," Nitin asked gently, "are you really sure you want to take full responsibility for Vishaka's treatment?"

Pritam's voice was low, but firm. "We've already discussed this."

Monty interjected, hesitantly. "But she's dangerous, Pritam. What if she hurts you again?"

Pritam stared blankly ahead. "What is left for her to take now? What's left of me to destroy?" His voice was hollow, empty.

There was silence on the other end.

"I know you both care for me," Pritam added, softening. "But I can't deny that I hold myself partially responsible for what Vishaka became."

"But you did everything you could," Nitin protested. "You stood by her, supported her—even when she accused you unfairly."

"And she never once tried to understand your side of the story," Monty added.

Pritam sighed deeply. "That's true... but Rahul wasn't her decision. He was mine. I thought he would be our second chance... our hope to rebuild. I believed he would be the happiness that stitched us back together. But I was wrong. Instead, he was caught in the mess of our broken lives."

The line fell silent again. Nitin and Monty could find no words that could console him.

With a cracked voice, Pritam continued, "Rahul loved his mother. No matter what happened between us, he loved her. And I know he wouldn't want her to suffer. Taking care of her now... is the only way I can honor him. It's all I have left."

Moved by his words, Nitin and Monty quietly agreed to proceed with arranging Vishaka's continued treatment. After the call ended, Pritam lay back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, whispering to himself:

"There's nothing left between us, Vishaka... but you'll always be Rahul's mother. And I'll never forget that."

Slowly, sleep took over his exhausted body. His hand still rested over one of Rahul's sketches—a smiling sun over a small house—his last image before slipping into a restless slumber.

Reflections: The Sad Reality of Parental Conflict

This chapter is not just about grief—it's about the wreckage left behind when love turns into a battlefield. The tragedy of Rahul's death wasn't only in the moment of his passing, but in the years of emotional turmoil that preceded it.

He was only seven.

Too young to understand the bitterness between his parents, yet old enough to witness every fight, every tear, every raised voice. He never truly grasped why they argued, but he stood in the middle—an unwilling spectator to a war he never asked for.

Like many children caught between combative parents, Rahul became collateral damage. He yearned for peace, for love, for the normalcy every child deserves. But his childhood was overshadowed by misunderstanding, ego, and unresolved hurt.

Ironically, it was only after his death that Pritam and Vishaka truly understood the depth of their mistakes. They realized they were so consumed by their personal vendettas that they forgot to protect the one who mattered most.

Rahul's death forced them to stop fighting—because there was nothing left to fight for. Only guilt. Only regret.

Yet through that loss, something subtle began to shift. Hatred gave way to empathy. Bitterness was replaced by remorse. In losing Rahul, Pritam and Vishaka didn't just lose their son—they lost their pride, their delusions, their false battles.

And in those quiet, broken moments, they found something they had never shared before: understanding.

Chapter 12

The previous chapter marked the closing of Pritam and Vishaka's tumultuous journey. Now, the story shifts its focus to a gentler, more hopeful space—towards Meera, Angad, and Kabir, and the quiet unfolding of a love story that had long been paused in time.

A New Beginning: Meera, Angad, and Kabir

It was a grey, melancholic day. Meera was buried deep in her work, eyes fixed on an important assignment assigned to her by Mr. Sethi. Despite the pressure, her mind kept drifting—as if something unspoken hung in the air.

Elsewhere, Angad received a call from his office. A critical document, left behind at home, was urgently needed the next morning. Without delay, he walked into his room, opened his cupboard, and began rummaging through old files. Finally, his fingers brushed against the needed document. But as he pulled it out, something small and metallic tumbled out along with it, clattering loudly against the wooden floor before rolling to a halt.

At that very moment, in another part of the city, Meera opened the drawer of her dressing table, searching for a hair clip. Instead, her eyes caught a glint of silver. As her fingers reached in, she slowly pulled out Angad's engagement ring.

Back in Angad's room, he turned around and crouched to pick up the object that had fallen. His breath hitched as he recognized it—it was Meera's engagement ring.

A strange stillness took over both of them, miles apart yet connected by the same memory. Their hands tightened instinctively around the rings. A wave of nostalgia surged through them, bringing back the moment when they had slid those very rings onto each other's fingers—filled with hesitant smiles, unspoken promises, and a sense of beginnings.

Flashback: December 2019

Neither Angad nor Meera had imagined being anything more than friends when their families proposed the idea of a relationship. Their fathers had been childhood friends, and so had they. They shared comfort, laughter, and camaraderie—but never romantic thoughts. At least, not yet.

When the families formally spoke to them about the possibility of marriage, Angad was stunned into silence. Meera, on the other hand, didn't hesitate—her "yes" came with surprising ease, almost like her heart had already known.

But Angad wasn't one to decide so quickly.

That night, long after the families had celebrated their agreement, Angad lay awake on his bed, unable to sleep. His thoughts raced.

"Meera's such a kind person... I like her, yes... but marriage? I've never thought of her like that. I always imagined I'd fall madly in love before tying the knot. But Dadaji and Papaji are so happy about this alliance. What do I say now? What do I do?"

Frustrated, he sat up suddenly.

"Should I just go talk to Meera now?"

He glanced at Kabir, fast asleep beside him. He leaned closer and whispered to himself, cautious not to wake his younger brother.

He checked the time—2:00 a.m.

"It's too late... I can't just show up at a girl's house at this hour... but she's going to be my fiancée... well, not yet, but still..." His thoughts spiraled.

Finally, something in him clicked. The hesitance melted into resolve.

"I'm going."

Quietly, he got up, glanced at the mirror, and smoothed his hair. He checked his breath, then reached for Kabir's perfume, dabbing it all over to make sure he smelled good. He inspected his reflection one last time, smiled nervously, and then—like a teenager on his first dare—he tiptoed toward the window.

Moments later, Angad disappeared into the stillness of the night, having climbed out of the window of his and Kabir's shared bedroom, his heart racing, unaware that this impromptu visit would be the beginning of something far more meaningful than he had imagined.

Silent Goodbyes: Kabir's Heartbreak

As Angad disappeared into the stillness of the night, unaware of the eyes that followed his every move, Kabir slowly opened his own.

He sat up quietly, waiting for a few moments to ensure Angad had truly left the vicinity. When the silence confirmed it, Kabir let out a sigh and gave a small, melancholic smile—one that held far more emotion than words ever could. His thoughts drifted back, carried by the bittersweet current of childhood memories.

Karan, the eldest of the Sakhujas, had always been the studious one—his world mostly confined to books and responsibilities. As a result, the real childhood duo had always been Kabir and Angad. Being just a year apart, they shared everything—from secrets and pranks to dreams and disappointments. Soni was too young to be part of their mischief, and the two brothers found themselves almost inseparable during their early years.

Meera and her brother Navin had often joined them during those long afternoons of cricket matches, video games, and rooftop storytelling. Divya, like Soni, had been too young to join in. Kabir and Navin had shared a comic rivalry back then, constantly bickering over the silliest of things. But Meera—Meera always took Kabir's side, even when he was clearly wrong.

It was during those innocent days that Kabir's bond with Meera began to deepen. What had started as friendship quietly evolved into a silent affection—a secret only known to his two closest friends, Sunny and Rony. Over the years, that childhood crush had transformed into something tender and real. Kabir had often lingered around Meera, finding excuses to spend time with her, waiting for the perfect moment to confess what his heart had been holding onto for so long.

But that moment never came.

Flashback: The Living Room Confession

Just days ago, Kabir had been crouched in the living room, fixing Dadaji's ring light. It was a quiet afternoon—Karan and Angad had gone to the office, Soni was at college, and Kamli was out hanging clothes on the terrace.

That was when Krishnakant Sehgal, Meera's father, had arrived unexpectedly.

"KK Uncle!" Kabir had greeted him warmly. "Dad and Dadaji are inside, I'll call them."

Soon, Guneet, Dadaji, and other members of the Sakhuja family assembled in the room to welcome KK. They exchanged pleasantries and sat down, oblivious to the storm that would quietly break Kabir's heart.

Guneet, ever curious, asked, "So, Krishnakant, what brings you here all of a sudden?"

KK gave a small, nervous smile. "Guneet, I've come with a proposal. A rishta... for my daughter Meera."

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Kabir's heart began to pound.

Guneet, trying to mask his surprise, asked carefully, "You mean...?"

"Yes," KK interrupted gently. "I want to talk about Meera's alliance with your son Angad."

Kabir froze.

Guneet shifted in his seat, unsure. "But KK, we're such close family friends. Are you sure we should blur that line? Things could become complicated."

"I understand," KK replied, "which is exactly why I want Meera to become a part of your family. I've seen how well you've raised your sons. Angad is stable, mature, and responsible—just like our beloved Karan. He takes care of your family with such sincerity. I truly believe Meera won't find a better partner."

Amrita, sitting beside Guneet, smiled gently at the praise for Karan.

KK turned to Dadaji and held his hands with quiet desperation. "Bauji, I know I'm your friend, but right now I speak not as a friend—but as a father. A father who wants nothing but the best for his daughter. Please say yes."

Dadaji held KK's hands firmly. "If Angad and Meera are both happy with this alliance, I have no objection."

KK beamed with joy. "Meera will surely say yes. Please talk to Angad, and if he agrees, then let's make it official."

Kabir's eyes had welled up with tears then. Silent. Invisible. Undetected by all.

Present Day: A Farewell in Silence

The memory faded, and Kabir was pulled back to the present, sitting alone in the quiet of his room. Tears continued to stream down his face as he stared into the darkness.

He slowly pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Inside was a slightly worn family photograph—one that held all their smiling faces. Gently, he lifted the edge of the photo to reveal a hidden picture underneath.

It was Meera.

He looked at her picture for a long moment, then smiled—a soft, broken smile.

"I had planned to tell you, Meera," he whispered, voice trembling. "I thought maybe... just maybe... our friendship would grow into something more. I thought I'd finally find the courage to tell you what you mean to me."

He paused, wiping away a tear.

"But it seems fate had other plans. You were never meant for me... you were meant for Angad. And if that's the truth, then I won't stand in the way."

He exhaled deeply, steadying his voice.

"You'll always be my best friend, Meera. That will never change."

He closed the wallet, pressed it to his heart, and sat there in silence—mourning a love that had never begun, yet had lived quietly in his heart for years.

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To be continued.

Chapter 13

A Midnight Visit

At that time, Meera's house was far from the image of a posh two-storey mansion—it stood quiet and modest, a warm middle-class home tucked beneath a sky of scattered stars.

Angad tiptoed through the side alley and approached Meera's room, feeling oddly relieved as he glanced up.

"Thank God," he muttered to himself, eyeing the accessible window. "No pipe climbing today. That's Kabir's department, not mine."

He was just about to knock when the window creaked open—revealing Meera standing right in front of him.

Startled, he blinked. "How did you know I was here?"

"I heard you muttering like a burglar," she replied with a smirk.

"So... you weren't asleep?"

Meera gave him a knowing look. "If I were asleep, would I be standing here talking to you? Now stop lurking outside. Someone might see you. Come in."

She extended her hand. Angad hesitated for a second but then reached out, letting her pull him in.

She tugged with all her might—but in the process, her balance gave way. Meera stumbled backward, letting out a soft yelp as Angad tumbled in after her. The next second, he was sprawled on top of her, both lying in a tangled, breathless heap on the floor.

Their eyes met—wide, stunned, and a little too close for comfort.

Realizing the awkwardness, Angad quickly scrambled to his feet, brushing off invisible dust. He offered her his hand, and she took it, letting him gently help her up.

Once upright, they stood quietly—an odd stillness hanging between them, unsure glances being exchanged under the soft moonlight slipping through the window.

Angad tried to speak, but words failed him.

It was Meera who finally broke the silence, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in mock suspicion. "So... what brings Mr. Angad Sakhuja to a girl's room at 2 a.m.?"

Angad frowned, pretending to be offended. "Excuse me—this is not just any girl's room. This is the room of my..."

He trailed off, catching her amused expression.

Meera tilted her head playfully. "Of your...?"

Angad cleared his throat. "I mean... I came here to talk."

"To talk?" she echoed, pretending to be intrigued. "Talk about what?"

Angad turned slightly, avoiding her gaze. "About... us."

A sly smile danced across Meera's face as she leaned against her dressing table. "Us, huh? And what about us?"

He turned back to her, confused. "Wait—don't tell me... KK Uncle didn't say anything?"

Meera blinked innocently. "Say what?"

Angad narrowed his eyes. "About our... alliance?"

She folded her arms, suppressing a grin. "What alliance?"

He stared at her, slowly catching on. "Are you... are you messing with me?"

Meera laughed softly. "Yes. And why shouldn't I tease my would-be husband?"

At those words, Angad's expression changed. His eyes widened, and a deep blush crept onto his face. He looked down, ears turning crimson, caught somewhere between embarrassment and something far softer—something that felt a lot like the beginning of love.

A Crush Confessed

Meera folded her arms with mock exasperation. "Uff... Angad, why are you acting like the shy would-be bride here? What's gotten into you? Don't tell me you're not happy with this alliance?"

Angad looked slightly flustered. "It's not that, Meera. It's just... you've always been my good friend. I've never looked at you that way before."

She arched an eyebrow, playful and curious. "So what's stopping you from seeing me that way now?"

Angad blushed again and glanced away. "It's not like I don't want to... it's just... I've always imagined I'd fall madly in love before committing to someone. You know, that kind of filmy love—where everything changes in a blink before marriage even happens."

Meera stepped a little closer, a glint in her eye. "Then start counting the days."

He blinked. "Count the days? For what?"

Without answering, Meera began closing the distance between them. Angad, now visibly nervous, instinctively backed away until his back hit the wall. There was nowhere left to retreat. His heart thumped violently in his chest as she came within inches of him.

Meera, now close enough to feel his unease, leaned in and whispered with a mischievous smirk, "Meera Sehgal loves challenges. And the newest challenge in her life is to win over Mr. Angad Sakhuja's heart. And trust me, Mr. Sakhuja... she never loses."

Angad's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, hold on—why would you even want to take up such a challenge?"

With a soft laugh, Meera draped her hands gently around his neck, her gaze never breaking from his. Angad stiffened in place—cornered, confused, and increasingly affected. He tried looking away, but she gently cupped his chin and turned him back to face her.

"There are two reasons, Mr. Sakhuja," she said with quiet sincerity. "First—and most important—just like Papa, I always dreamt of marrying into a loving, warm, and grounded family. Your family, Angad, is exactly that. I've seen the way Amrita Bhabhi is loved, respected, and included. I've always wished for something similar."

Angad, caught off guard, nodded slowly. "Fair... but that still doesn't explain why me. I mean... Kabir's there too, right? I know he's a little careless and impulsive, but he's your best friend. If you'd asked him to settle down, I'm sure he would. And KK Uncle wouldn't oppose your choice... so, why not Kabir? Why me?"

A silence passed. Then Meera leaned close to his ear and whispered softly, "Because... I've always had a small crush on you."

That one sentence made Angad's heart skip a beat.

For the first time since entering her room, his nervous flutter turned into something else—something warmer, something more thrilling. His gaze softened.

Meera looked at him, her eyes sincere. "Yes, Kabir's my best friend. I've spent years laughing and fighting with him. But I've never felt anything for him. Not the way I feel when I'm around you."

She chuckled. "To be honest, you're way more boring than Kabir..."

Angad's jaw dropped. "Wow. Thanks."

"But," she continued with a teasing smile, "there's something charming about your seriousness. Your quiet strength. I don't know why, but it always pulled me in. I used to think—if I ever get married, I hope it's to someone like him. So when Papa brought up your name, it felt like destiny doing its thing."

Angad stood frozen, completely taken by her words. His gaze locked with hers, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. There was only Meera—smiling, teasing, and looking at him like he was the only boy in the world.

They might've stood like that forever—had KK not coughed loudly in the kitchen while pouring himself a glass of water.

Startled, Angad jumped slightly, as if reality had snapped him back.

"Uh... it's getting late," he said hurriedly, stepping back and straightening his clothes. "I should leave now. I won't be able to wake up on time for work otherwise."

But just as he was about to reach the window, Meera grabbed his wrist gently.

"You still haven't answered my question," she said softly. "Do you want this relationship or not? Just tell me—yes or no?"

Angad looked at her hand holding his, then at her hopeful eyes.

He slowly pulled his hand away. "Let's meet tomorrow. There's still a lot we need to talk about."

Meera frowned. "Talk about what?"

With a playful glint in his eye for the first time that night, Angad turned at the window and replied, "About all the things we'll do before and after our engagement."

And with that, he slipped out the window and vanished into the night.

Back in her room, Meera stood frozen for a second, then broke into a radiant blush. Her cheeks turned pink, her eyes sparkled, and she let out a soft laugh, pressing her hands beneath her chin in delight.

Outside, Angad walked a few steps before instinctively turning around to glance back at her window. The memory of her confession replayed in his mind.

His lips curled into a shy, boyish smile. With one hand behind his head and a heart full of unexpected joy, he continued walking home under the soft night sky—his feelings already beginning to shift in ways he hadn't imagined just hours ago.

---------

To be continued.

Chapter 14

Meera eventually succeeded in the challenge she had set for herself. Through regular meetings and heartfelt moments before and after their engagement, she slowly found her way into Angad's heart, and he, in turn, began to fall for her. Their relationship bloomed steadily, filled with warmth and growing affection—until the sudden and devastating arrival of the Coronavirus in India, and more personally, into their city.

The pandemic brought an unexpected storm into the Sakhuja household. In a heartbreaking blow, they lost their eldest son to the virus, leaving a gaping void in the family and placing the weight of all responsibilities on Angad's shoulders. As if that weren't enough, the private firm where Angad worked—already struggling with financial losses—began letting employees go, and Angad was among those who lost their jobs.

This marked the beginning of a slow unraveling in his relationship with Meera. Every relationship needs time, attention, and emotional presence—but Angad was caught in a spiral of grief, financial stress, and the enormous pressure of holding his family together. He also carried the unspoken burden of knowing Meera was about to become a part of his life and doubting whether he could provide her the stability and happiness she deserved.

Unable to bring himself to confess the truth, Angad began to distance himself from her, gradually pulling away. Meera, unaware of the inner turmoil he was facing, felt the growing silence between them—and their closeness began to fade.

By the time Angad finally gathered the courage to explain everything, another storm had begun to brew. KK Sehgal, now a wealthy and status-conscious businessman, started questioning the match. His growing hesitation about letting Meera marry into a family under strain further complicated things. Eventually, this led to a dramatic turn of events: Meera, heartbroken and caught between loyalty and reality, ended her relationship with Angad and distanced herself from the Sakhujas.

Back to the Present Day

Angad sat motionless, his thoughts consumed by memories he had tried so hard to bury. The image of Meera walking away from him and his family replayed in his mind like a wound that refused to heal. He remembered the day she returned his ring—without a word, without a second chance—and the way she had turned her back on him when he needed her understanding the most. As those memories flooded his mind, Angad clenched his fist tightly around the very ring she had returned. The sharp edges of the metal dug into his skin, until blood began to trickle from between his fingers.

Just then, Amrita walked into the room, calling his name. Her steps halted abruptly as her eyes fell on his bleeding hand.

"Angad!" she exclaimed in shock.

Startled, Angad snapped out of his daze and looked up at her, his eyes clouded with pain and regret. Amrita rushed toward him, concern etched across her face.

"What on earth were you thinking? You're bleeding and didn't even realise it!"

Angad tried to brush it off, shaking his head and turning away. "It's nothing, Bhabhi. I just... wasn't paying attention."

But Amrita wasn't convinced. She gently reached for his clenched hand. "Open your fist, Angad."

He hesitated, resisting her gaze, but finally gave in. Slowly, he loosened his fingers to reveal the blood-streaked ring resting in his palm—Meera's engagement ring.

Amrita's eyes softened with sadness. She quietly fetched the first aid box and began cleaning and dressing his wound. As she wrapped the bandage around his hand, she spoke softly, "You can pretend all you want, but this ring tells me you're still holding on to your feelings for Meera."

Angad gave a bitter laugh. "No, Bhabhi... There's nothing left to hold on to. If anything real had ever existed between us, we wouldn't be here. It would've been resolved. But instead of getting better, things only got worse."

Amrita looked at him, puzzled. "Then why didn't you try talking to Meera again?"

"Talk?" Angad scoffed. "She never gave me the chance. She was so blinded by her father's lies that she refused to even hear me out. I hoped things would eventually clear up, but she chose to believe him over me."

Amrita's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Angad looked at her, pain flashing in his eyes. "It was that day at the café—Sinha Sir was there. KK uncle was already feeding him lies about Meera and me, and instead of correcting him, Meera stayed silent. She stood by her father's lie."

Amrita was taken aback. "Angad... Are you sure there wasn't a misunderstanding? Meera became emotional when Papaji slapped KK uncle—I remember that—but I don't think she knew the truth behind her father's deception. Even Kabir told me you've been behaving coldly towards her lately. Is it because of this?"

Angad nodded, his voice tired. "Bhabhi, try to look at it from my side too. Everyone's asking me to understand her, but did she ever try to understand me? If she truly valued what we had, wouldn't she have tried to talk, to make things right? But she didn't. She reacted. She walked away."

He paused for a moment, then added with a touch of frustration, "In fact, you're doing the same with Pritam."

Amrita blinked, startled. "What does Pritam have to do with this?"

Angad gave her a knowing look. "Bhabhi, you often call Pritam arrogant and insensitive, but in all the time I've spent with him, I've seen how deeply he understands you. He may not express it the way you expect, but he sees your pain—more than any of us do. But you're so absorbed in your hurt, you fail to see his efforts."

Amrita fell silent, the words sinking into her mind as she absentmindedly wrapped more bandage than necessary around his hand. Angad gently stopped her.

"It's the same with Meera," he said softly. "She's so consumed by her pain that she can't see mine. A relationship doesn't work on just one person's effort, Bhabhi. It's like a clap—both hands need to come together. Otherwise, there's only silence."

Amrita's heart ached at his words. She finished the bandage and placed her hand gently on his cheek. "If Meera is truly meant to be a part of your life, Angad, then no matter what, she will find her way back to you."

She stood and invited him for dinner, but her thoughts were no longer just with Angad. As she walked away, a new storm of emotion stirred within her—echoes of what he had said about Pritam ringing louder than ever.

Left alone, Angad looked down at the ring once more. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips—one filled with longing, pain, and a flicker of hope—as he traced his thumb gently over the curve of the band. Somewhere, deep within, a small part of him still believed.

--------

To be continued.

The police will be following the drug racket. Is that Vishaka is after too?

She has the evidence Pritam wants. If he wants access, he will have to play nice.

The drug peddler was caught, but the story may not be over yet. He probabaly has backup.

She loves him back! The proposal was stiff but he got it out at least.