Kumkum Bhagya: Rishton Ki Ankahi Kahani - Chapter 112 updt on pg 31 - Page 31

Rakhi and sunny's conversation was touching.each and every dialogue of them was lovely.rakhi thanking him for not being like other men was nice.pranbir discussing about how they did self destruction was nice.talking about sanju was nice.sanju and rhea's conversation was so interesting. Really funny and cute.sanju has become mature and understanding.

Sunny rakhi scene was nice.but sad to see disha's rude behaviour towards rakhi.loved sunny defending rakhi and saying that he is choosing the right.rakhi arhana conversation was nice.what is Tanu upto?aliya used to love kiara.i hope she recognises kiara.

The dreams are so significant.all are related to kiara.Rakhi was dreaming of herself.disha doesn't want the history to repeat.but which incident does she fear?Guess aliyah doubts whether tanu is hiding something and kiara is alive.hope aliya will find kiara.poor rakhi doesn't even know that she is kiara and she asks sunny about kiara.how will the truth come out?

Chapter 112 (Two Homes, One Day, Many Truths)

The rituals (Pehli Rasoi) of the same day unfolded differently across three homes. While in one house (Disha’s home, Rakhi’s pehli rasoi) the first steps had already been taken, in others (Prachi and Rhea’s pehli rasoi), the expectations were just beginning to settle.

Prachi’s Pehli Rasoi — Acceptance Without Ease

Morning arrived carrying expectations, rituals, and unspoken judgments. At the Kohli house, the atmosphere felt warm yet quietly tense. It was Prachi’s pehli rasoi, her first step into the household as a daughter-in-law. Pallavi stood near the kitchen entrance, her expression composed but observant, while Dida sat nearby with visible excitement. Ranbir lingered in the background, pretending to be distracted, though his eyes kept drifting toward the kitchen.

Inside, Prachi adjusted her pallu, taking a steady breath before stepping toward the stove. This wasn’t just about cooking—it was about belonging. She chose to make kheer, something simple yet meaningful. Her movements were calm and deliberate as she boiled the milk, added rice, and stirred patiently. The aroma slowly filled the house, soft and comforting, carrying a quiet warmth with it. From the doorway, Ranbir watched her, something in his expression shifting. This version of Prachi—the one who moved with grace and quiet confidence—felt different, softer, almost like home.

After some time, Prachi brought the kheer out and placed it carefully before everyone. “Prachi, serve it,” Dida said gently. Prachi nodded, her fingers trembling slightly as she filled each bowl. Pallavi took the first bite. Silence followed. Prachi’s heartbeat quickened as she waited. Then Pallavi looked up, her expression softening just enough to be noticed. “It is very good,” she said calmly. Dida immediately smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Very good? This is excellent. It tastes like home.” Ranbir picked up his bowl with a grin he didn’t bother hiding. “Of course it’s good,” he said casually. “Miss Lecturey does everything perfectly.” Prachi lowered her gaze, trying to hide her smile. In that moment, she wasn’t being tested anymore—she was being accepted.

Rhea’s Pehli Rasoi — Kindness Over Truth

Across the city, in a much simpler home, another pehli rasoi was unfolding—very differently. At Pragya’s house, Sarita Behen moved around with her usual energy, while Pragya watched quietly, her eyes thoughtful. Rhea stood in the kitchen, completely out of place, staring at the ingredients in front of her as if they belonged to another world. Cooking was something she had never learned, never needed to. “What exactly am I supposed to do?” she muttered under her breath, frustration mixing with nervousness.

Trying to manage on her own, she began putting things together randomly, relying on vague memories of what she might have seen before. The result was chaotic—too much salt, too much oil, something overcooked, something undercooked. By the time she was done, even she knew it didn’t look right. She stared at it for a moment, forcing confidence into herself. “It should be fine,” she whispered, though she didn’t believe it.

She carried the dish outside and placed it on the table. “I am done,” she said, trying to sound composed. Sarita Behen smiled encouragingly. “Very good. Now, Sanju, you taste it first.” Rhea froze, her eyes immediately shifting to him. Sanju looked at the dish, then at Rhea, and then back again. He took a bite.

For a brief second, his entire expression almost gave him away. The taste hit him all at once—overpowering, unbalanced, almost unbearable. His throat tightened as he struggled to swallow it. For a moment, it felt like he might actually throw up. But then he looked at Rhea. She wasn’t confident anymore. She was waiting, unsure, almost vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen before.

Sanju forced himself to smile. “It is very tasty,” he said, keeping his voice steady. Rhea blinked in surprise. “Really?” He nodded and took another bite immediately. “Yes, absolutely. For a first attempt, it is perfect.” Sarita Behen beamed with pride. “See? I told you, she will learn everything.” Pragya, however, remained silent. Her gaze moved between Rhea and Sanju. She could see the truth clearly—the struggle, the lie—but also the kindness behind it.

Before anyone else could reach for the dish, Sanju quickly pulled it closer to himself. “Actually, I am very hungry today,” he said casually, already serving himself another portion. “Let me finish this.” Without waiting for a response, he continued eating, forcing each bite down, his throat tightening with every spoonful. His eyes watered slightly, but he kept going, not allowing even a second of hesitation. Sarita Behen laughed lightly. “Look at him, he really liked it!” Pragya said nothing, but she understood exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t enjoying the food—he was protecting Rhea from embarrassment. And that mattered more than the truth of the taste.

Rhea watched him quietly, something shifting inside her. She knew the dish wasn’t good—she had seen it, tasted it, felt it herself. But she didn’t understand what he found so good in it that he didn’t stop. He didn’t complain. He didn’t even let anyone else try it.

Pragya’s Truth — A Husband Reframed

Later, when Sarita Behen stepped away, Pragya gently called out, “Rhea, come with me for a moment.”

Rhea followed her into the room, slightly confused. “What happened?”

Pragya turned to face her, her expression calm but serious. “You know the food wasn’t good.”

Rhea looked down, embarrassed. “I tried… I really did. I just don’t know how to cook.”

Pragya softened slightly. “That is not the point.” She paused before continuing, her voice quieter now. “Do you know why Sanju didn’t let anyone else taste it?”

Rhea frowned. “Because he liked it?”

Pragya shook her head gently. “No. Because he didn’t want anyone to realize how bad it was. He didn’t want you to feel insulted.”

Rhea went still.

Pragya continued, choosing her words carefully. “Rhea, I won’t lie to you. Sanju… has not always been a good person. He has done things in the past that were wrong. He crossed boundaries. He behaved like a rascal. He even…” she paused briefly, “he even tried to get close to Prachi in ways he should not have.”

Rhea’s eyes widened slightly.

“But today,” Pragya said softly, “I saw something different. I saw a man who chose respect over ego. A man who chose to protect your dignity instead of exposing your mistake.”

Silence filled the room.

Pragya placed a gentle hand on Rhea’s shoulder. “I am not saying he has changed completely. But I am saying this—if he continues on this path, he can become a good husband.” Her voice softened further. “And today… I am happy that he is your husband.”

Rhea didn’t respond immediately. Her mind replayed the moment—Sanju eating every bite, forcing a smile, saying nothing.

For the first time—

she didn’t feel alone.

Prachi–Ranbir — The Wall That Stayed

At the Kohli house, the atmosphere was far quieter.

The warmth of the morning had faded, replaced by a tension that hadn’t fully left since the ugly argument after Aryan and Shahana’s marriage.

Prachi stood near the window, folding clothes methodically, her expression calm but distant.

Ranbir stood a few steps away, watching her, unsure.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly restless. He had tried to talk to her before. It hadn’t gone well.

Still—he stepped forward.

“Prachi…” he called softly.

She didn’t look at him. “Yes?”

Her tone was polite.

Too polite.

“I was thinking…” he began, trying to sound casual, “we should go out for a drive. Just for a while. You’ve been stressed.”

“I am fine,” she replied immediately, her hands still moving.

Ranbir exhaled slowly. “Okay… then maybe coffee? You used to force me to drink it, remember?”

No response.

He tried again, a little more gently this time. “Prachi, can we just talk?”

This time, she stopped—but only for a second.

Then she resumed folding.

“There is nothing to talk about,” she said quietly.

Ranbir’s jaw tightened. “There is. There’s a lot.”

Prachi finally turned, but her expression remained guarded. “You said everything that day, Ranbir. Very clearly.”

The words hit harder than he expected.

“I didn’t mean—” he started.

“But you said it,” she cut in, not raising her voice, yet each word landed sharply. “And once something is said, you cannot take it back.”

Silence stretched between them.

Ranbir took a step closer. “I was angry.”

“And I was hurt,” she replied instantly.

Her eyes met his now—not emotional, not soft.

Just closed.

“I am not asking for explanations,” she continued. “And I am not ready to pretend that everything is okay.”

Ranbir looked at her, helpless for a moment. “So what do I do?”

Prachi looked away. “Nothing.”

That one word created more distance than any argument ever had.

Ranbir stood there, realizing—

this wasn’t a fight anymore.

It was a wall.

And Prachi wasn’t ready to let him in.

Aryan–Shahana — Love That Flows Naturally

Elsewhere, in Disha’s house, the atmosphere was much softer, untouched by the tensions brewing in other homes. Life there had settled into a quiet rhythm, and at the center of it were Aryan and Shahana—comfortable, affectionate, and completely at ease with each other after their marriage.

Shahana sat on the bed, trying to untangle a string of bangles, her brows furrowed in mild frustration. Aryan leaned against the headboard, watching her with an amused smile.

“You have been fighting with those bangles for the past ten minutes,” he said. “Should I be concerned?”

Shahana shot him a look. “If you are so concerned, you can help.”

Aryan raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Last time I helped, you accused me of making things worse.”

“That is because you did make it worse,” she replied, but there was no real annoyance in her voice.

Smiling, Aryan moved closer and gently took her hand. “Let me try again.”

This time, his movements were careful, slow. The bangles slipped free easily.

“There,” he said softly.

Shahana looked at him, her expression softening. “Thank you.”

The moment lingered longer than it needed to.

Aryan didn’t let go of her hand.

Instead, he drew her a little closer. “You don’t have to say thank you for everything,” he murmured.

Shahana’s heartbeat quickened slightly. “Then what should I say?”

Aryan smiled faintly. “Nothing. Just… stay.”

There was something in the way he said it—quiet, certain—that made her stop thinking.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she leaned into him, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

Aryan brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering just a second longer than usual. Shahana looked up at him, her eyes searching his face, and whatever she found there made her stay. Aryan pulled Shahana’s sleeve down her shoulder and kissed her shoulder. Shahana felt a chill down her spine.

Slowly, naturally, the distance between them disappeared.

Their closeness deepened—not rushed, not hesitant, but filled with a quiet certainty that came from knowing they already belonged to each other.

That night, their bond moved beyond words.

And somewhere, unseen—

a new beginning quietly took root.

Rishi–Mishti — What Could Have Been

In a different part of the city, Rishi walked along the narrow lane leading to Sarita Behen’s house, lost in thought. Life had changed in ways he hadn’t expected. Some wounds had healed, others had simply settled into silence.

As he turned the corner, he almost collided with someone.

“I am so sorry—” both voices said at the same time.

They stopped.

Mishti.

For a brief second, neither of them moved.

There was history between them—not love, but something that could have been.

Mishti recovered first. “I should really start watching where I am going,” she said lightly.

Rishi let out a small smile. “That makes two of us.”

An awkward pause followed, but it didn’t feel heavy.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Mishti added.

“I came to drop some things for Nani,” Rishi explained. “What about you?”

“I came to meet Rhea,” she said. “But I think I took a wrong turn.”

Rishi nodded. “This lane confuses everyone the first time.”

She smiled faintly. “Good to know it is not just me.”

Silence lingered again, but this time it was easier.

Mishti glanced at him, more carefully now. “Are you okay?”

The question was simple, but it carried meaning.

Rishi understood.

He didn’t avoid it.

“I am… better,” he said honestly. “Not completely fine, but better.”

Mishti nodded slowly. “Same.”

They shared a small, understanding smile.

“I think we both deserved something different,” she said after a moment.

Rishi looked at her and replied, “Maybe. Or maybe we were just not meant to be part of that story.”

Mishti let out a quiet laugh. “That actually makes sense.”

He extended his hand slightly. “Friends?”

She looked at it for a second before placing her hand in his.

“Friends.”

This time, it didn’t feel like loss.

It felt like closure.

The Memory That Refuses to Stay Buried

Rakhi didn’t move. Disha’s words echoed in her mind, sharp and suffocating—that name is not meant for you. And yet, the more she tried to step away from it, the deeper it settled within her. Kiara. It didn’t feel чуж. It felt… stolen.

That night, she sat alone, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her dupatta, her thoughts refusing to quiet. The fragments wouldn’t leave her—a cliff, a child, a voice calling out. Her breathing turned uneven as she shook her head weakly. “No… this is just something I heard,” she whispered to herself. But then it came—not a dream, not imagination, but a fragment. A rush of wind. Small hands slipping. A terrified scream—Mamma! Rakhi gasped, clutching her head as the word escaped her lips before she could stop it. “Mamma…” Tears filled her eyes as confusion consumed her. “I don’t even remember my childhood properly… then why does this feel like mine?”

Across the house, Sunny stood in his room, staring at the file he had just received. Medical records. Adoption gaps. Missing years. His jaw tightened as he flipped through the pages again. “This isn’t incomplete,” he muttered under his breath, “this is erased.” His phone buzzed, and a message flashed on the screen—Records before age 6 — unavailable. Sunny’s expression darkened instantly. “Unavailable… or hidden?” His mind went straight to one person—Tanu. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became that whatever truth existed had been deliberately buried.

In another part of the house, Disha stood before the small temple in her room, her hands trembling as she folded them in prayer. “She heard the name,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “She reacted.” Fear settled deep within her chest. “Why does this feel so familiar…?” She shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to push the thought away before it could take shape. “No… it can’t be the same.” Her breath grew uneven. “I’ve seen this before… that same emptiness… that same pain…” Her fingers clenched together. “Why does that girl feel so connected to something she shouldn’t even know?” The thought unsettled her more than she could explain. “If Sunny gets involved in this… if he starts digging into things that should remain buried…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t know what scared her more—the past itself, or the way it seemed to be finding its way back without anyone realizing it. She stepped back slowly, shaken by a fear she couldn’t name.

Meanwhile, Aliyah sat in her car, the engine off, her fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel. Her mind refused to settle. A child’s photograph. A dream. A name—Kiara. “Too many coincidences,” she murmured, her brows knitting together. And then suddenly, everything aligned in her mind. Pragya. The loss. The missing child. Her breath hitched sharply. “No…” she whispered, but the possibility refused to leave. What if Kiara had never died? What if the story they all believed was never the truth?

Miles away, Pragya stood near her window, unable to sleep. Her hand rested instinctively over her heart, the ache stronger tonight than it had been in years—not distant, not faded, but alive. “Where are you?” she whispered softly into the silence. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I can feel you… closer than before.” For the first time in years, hope stirred within her—but it frightened her more than grief ever had.

The next morning, Rakhi stood near the doorway, lost in thought, her mind still tangled in the fragments that refused to leave her. Sunny walked in, his gaze sharp, searching her face as if looking for answers she didn’t even know she held. “Rakhi,” he called. She looked up, slightly startled. “Hmm?” He stepped closer, his voice quieter now, but firm. “Tell me something honestly.” Her heart began to race. “Did anything happen to you… when you were a child?” The question struck too close, too suddenly. She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her dupatta. “I… I don’t remember much,” she admitted softly. Sunny didn’t look away. “Then maybe it’s time you do.”

Before she could respond, Tanu’s voice cut sharply through the moment. “That won’t be necessary.” Both of them turned. Tanu stood there, her expression calm but her eyes betraying something far more dangerous. “Some pasts,” she said slowly, “are better left buried.” Sunny’s expression hardened, his gaze locking with hers. “Or hidden?” The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating, and filled with unspoken truths. And for the first time—Tanu didn’t have an immediate answer.

Truth doesn’t arrive like a storm. It begins as a whisper—one name, spoken where it shouldn’t be.

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To be continued.