Kumkum Bhagya: Rishton Ki Ankahi Kahani - Chapter 116 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.

Chapter 113 (Shifts That No One Noticed)

Earning Trust Without Asking

The name refused to leave her. Kiara. It didn’t echo anymore—it lingered, quiet and persistent, like something waiting to be understood. Rakhi sat near the window, her fingers lightly gripping her dupatta, her thoughts circling the same realization again and again. It wasn’t just the name—it was Disha. The way her voice had cracked, the way fear—not anger—had taken over her expression. “That name… and Ma…” Rakhi whispered to herself slowly. “There is something there. Something from before I came into this house.” Her gaze lowered, thoughtful. “I won’t ask,” she decided quietly. “She won’t tell me.” Because Disha wasn’t someone who revealed truths—she guarded them. And if Rakhi wanted answers, she would have to earn them.

The opportunity came unexpectedly that afternoon. As Rakhi passed by Aryan’s room, she noticed the door slightly open. Inside, papers were scattered everywhere—on the bed, the floor, even the chair. Sketches. Half-finished, messy, incomplete. Aryan sat in the middle of it all, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “This is useless,” he muttered. “Nothing looks right.” Shahana sat beside him, trying to adjust one of the sheets. “It’s not useless, Aryan. You’re just overthinking.” “I’m failing, Shahana,” he said, his frustration slipping through before he softened slightly. “I just… don’t get it.” Rakhi didn’t step inside. She stayed at the doorway, observing, understanding. Aryan wasn’t careless—he was struggling. And suddenly, a thought formed clearly in her mind. Sunny.

Later that evening, Rakhi found Sunny in his room, surrounded by fabric samples and design sheets, completely absorbed in his work. She watched him for a moment—the ease in his movements, the confidence in his hands. This was his world. “Sunny,” she said softly. He looked up immediately. “Rakhi? Is everything okay?” She nodded. “Can I ask you something?” “Always,” he replied. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Aryan is struggling with his sketches.” Sunny’s expression shifted slightly. “He didn’t tell me.” “He wouldn’t,” Rakhi said gently. “He doesn’t want to look weak.” Sunny leaned back, thinking. “And you want me to help him?” Rakhi met his gaze. “You’re the best person for it.” He exhaled slowly. “Aryan doesn’t like being taught.” Rakhi smiled faintly. “Then don’t teach him. Work with him. Like you’re equals.” Sunny studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

Rakhi didn’t stop there. She found Shahana next, her voice calm but purposeful. “Can you ask Aryan to show his designs tonight? Just casually.” Shahana looked at her, understanding instantly. “You’re planning something.” Rakhi didn’t deny it. “I’m trying.” Shahana smiled softly. “I’ll handle Aryan.”

That night, the living room carried a different kind of quiet. Aryan sat with his sketches, flipping through them reluctantly. “I told you, they’re not good,” he muttered. Shahana nudged him. “Just show them once.” Sunny walked in just then, as if by coincidence. “What are we hiding?” he asked casually. “Nothing,” Aryan replied quickly. Sunny raised an eyebrow. “Then why does it look like a disaster zone?” Shahana smirked. “Fashion disaster.” Aryan rolled his eyes. Sunny stepped closer and picked up one of the sketches. He didn’t comment immediately—he studied it carefully. Rakhi stood at a distance, silent, watching. After a moment, Sunny said, “This isn’t bad.” Aryan frowned. “It is.” “No,” Sunny replied calmly. “It’s incomplete.” Aryan hesitated. “I didn’t know how to continue.” Sunny pulled a chair and sat beside him. “Then continue it now. I’ll sit.” For a moment, Aryan just looked at him. Then slowly, he picked up his pencil.

Time passed quietly. Shahana leaned back, watching with a soft smile, while Rakhi remained near the doorway, her hands clasped, her eyes fixed on the scene. Sunny didn’t take over. He didn’t correct harshly. He guided—subtly. “Extend this line.” “Don’t rush the shape.” “Think of movement.” Aryan followed, slowly, carefully. And gradually, the sketch began to take form.

From the hallway, unseen, Disha stood watching. Her gaze moved between her sons—Aryan, focused and trying; Sunny, patient and present. No arguments. No distance. Just… connection. “Disha Ma, come here once,” Aryan called suddenly. Disha paused, then stepped forward. “What is it?” Aryan turned the sketch toward her. “What do you think?” Disha looked at it, then at him, and briefly at Sunny. “It’s good,” she said simply. But her voice was softer than before.

Rakhi lowered her eyes. She didn’t step forward, didn’t take credit, didn’t interrupt. This wasn’t about being seen—it was about making something else visible.

Later that night, Rakhi stood alone again, her hand resting lightly over her stomach. “I don’t know the truth yet,” she whispered. “But I’m closer.” Her gaze lifted slightly. “I won’t break her walls.” A pause. “I’ll give her a reason to lower them.”

Inside her room, Disha sat in silence, her mind replaying the evening—both her sons together, not forced, not distant. And somewhere deep within, something shifted. Not gone. But shaken.

Sometimes, the way to someone’s past is through what they cannot bear to lose in the present.

Bonds That Strengthen, Bonds That Slip

The change didn’t happen all at once. It began quietly. The next morning, Sunny stood near the car, keys in hand, checking his phone when Aryan walked out, his bag slung over his shoulder, still looking half-asleep. Shahana followed, adjusting her dupatta as she caught up with him. “You’re late,” Sunny said casually, glancing at Aryan. Aryan frowned. “Since when do you care about my attendance?” Sunny shrugged lightly. “Since I realized you’re actually trying.” Shahana noticed the undertone and smiled faintly. Aryan rolled his eyes. “We’ll take an auto. You go.” Sunny shook his head and opened the car door. “Sit. I’m going that way.” Aryan raised an eyebrow. “You work at Fusion Beats, not my college.” Sunny replied simply, “And today, I feel like changing my route.” Aryan paused, looked at him, then at Shahana, who silently signaled him not to overthink. Finally, he got in. “Fine. But if I fail, I’m blaming you.” Sunny smirked. “If you fail, I’ll make you redraw everything.” “Threat noted,” Aryan muttered.

The drive wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t awkward either. It settled into something easy. Shahana sat quietly in the back, observing as the two brothers slipped into a rhythm—discussing fabrics, designs, assignments. At a red light, Sunny asked, “Show me that sketch again.” Aryan handed it over without hesitation. Sunny studied it. “Better. You fixed the proportion.” Aryan tried to hide his satisfaction. “Obviously.” Sunny pointed at a detail. “Still weak here.” Aryan leaned forward. “No, that’s intentional.” Sunny glanced at him. “Then make it look intentional.” Shahana laughed softly. “You both sound the same.” Neither of them denied it.

What started as a one-time gesture slowly became routine. Morning drops. Late evening discussions. Sketches turning into conversations, and conversations turning into something more—something that had never quite existed between them before.

At college, the change did not go unnoticed. Ranbir stood near the parking area, leaning against his bike, scrolling through his phone when he saw Sunny’s car pull in. Aryan stepped out first, continuing a conversation mid-sentence. Sunny responded immediately, and Shahana followed, laughing lightly. Ranbir’s expression shifted—barely visible, but enough. Sanju noticed. He always noticed. Standing beside him, he nudged lightly. “Interesting.” Ranbir didn’t look at him. “What?” Sanju smirked. “Your replacement.” Ranbir’s jaw tightened. “Shut up.” Sanju shrugged. “I’m just saying. Earlier, Aryan used to wait for you like this.” Ranbir finally looked at him. “And now?” Sanju tilted his head toward Sunny. “Now he doesn’t have to.”

Prachi stood at a distance, watching everything unfold. She noticed Ranbir’s expression—the way his posture stiffened, the way his gaze lingered longer than it should have. For a brief moment, instinct pushed her forward. She wanted to walk up to him, say something, ease that quiet discomfort she could clearly see. But then the memory of their last conversation returned sharply. You said everything that day. Her steps stopped. Her fingers tightened around her bag. No. Not anymore.

Meanwhile, Aryan walked past Ranbir without noticing him, still mid-conversation with Sunny. “If I submit this, my professor will tear it apart,” Aryan said. Sunny replied calmly, “Then submit something he can’t tear apart.” Aryan muttered, “Very helpful.” Sunny smirked. “You asked.” Shahana shook her head lightly. “You both are impossible.” They walked ahead, unaware of the shift behind them.

Ranbir watched them leave, something unfamiliar settling inside him. It wasn’t anger—not exactly. It was quieter than that. Heavier. Sanju leaned closer again, lowering his voice slightly. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Ranbir didn’t respond. Sanju continued anyway, “Seeing someone else take your place.” That made Ranbir look at him sharply. “No one took my place.” Sanju raised his hands lightly. “Relax. I didn’t say they did.” A pause. Then, softer, with just enough edge, “I just said it looks like it.”

Prachi turned away because staying would make it harder. She had already decided she wouldn’t cross that line again—not until something changed. Ranbir stood there for a moment longer before pushing himself off the bike and walking away without a word. But his steps carried a weight that hadn’t been there before.

Across the campus, Aryan didn’t notice. Sunny didn’t realize. Shahana didn’t question. But something had shifted. One bond had grown stronger—while another had quietly begun to loosen.

Sometimes, gaining something new means unknowingly letting something old slip away.

A Moment of Grace in Unexpected Places

The shift in relationships didn’t remain confined to the college corridors. Elsewhere in the city, life unfolded in quieter, more unexpected ways.

Mishti stepped into a mall, adjusting the strap of her handbag as she walked past the brightly lit storefronts. The place was crowded, buzzing with movement and noise, but she moved through it with a sense of calm distraction. She had come out just to clear her head, to step away from the constant reminders of what could have been and what had changed.

She stopped near a clothing store, her eyes drifting over a display, when she felt it—a slight tug, almost unnoticeable at first. She ignored it, taking a step forward, but the fabric at the side of her kurta caught against a sharp edge of a display stand.

The sound was soft.

But unmistakable.

Mishti froze.

Her breath hitched as she glanced down.

A tear.

Not large—but enough.

Her fingers immediately moved to hold the fabric together, her heart beginning to race as awareness set in. The crowd around her suddenly felt too close, too loud, too observing.

She stepped back instinctively, trying to shield herself, her eyes scanning quickly for a way out, for something—anything—to cover it.

But the more she tried to move, the more conscious she became of it.

For a brief moment—

she didn’t know what to do.

“Mishti.”

The voice cut through the noise.

Familiar.

Steady.

She looked up.

Rishi.

Relief hit before she could stop it.

“I—” she started, then stopped, unsure how to even explain.

Rishi’s eyes flickered briefly to the situation, understanding instantly—but he didn’t react loudly, didn’t draw attention.

Instead, he stepped closer, calm, composed.

“Wait,” he said quietly.

Without hesitation, he removed his jacket and held it out. “Take this.”

Mishti blinked. “But—”

“Just take it,” he said gently, not forcing, but leaving no room for hesitation.

She did.

Quickly wrapping it around herself, her grip tightening as the immediate panic eased just slightly.

Rishi shifted his stance subtly, positioning himself just enough to block the line of sight from the crowd without making it obvious.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Mishti nodded, though her voice came out softer than she intended. “Yeah… I just didn’t notice.”

“It happens,” he said simply.

No judgment.

No awkwardness.

Just… normal.

That made it easier.

A store assistant approached hesitantly. “Ma’am, we can help you inside if you need—”

Rishi nodded before Mishti could respond. “Yes, please.”

Inside the store, away from the crowd, the tension finally loosened.

Mishti exhaled slowly, adjusting the jacket around her. “Thank you,” she said, this time more steadily.

Rishi gave a small nod. “You would’ve done the same.”

She looked at him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

A pause followed—but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Just quiet.

Real.

“I guess… I still need to learn how to handle situations like this,” she added lightly.

Rishi shrugged. “Or just carry a backup plan.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He smiled slightly. “Like not walking alone into chaos.”

Mishti laughed softly.

For the first time since everything had changed—

it didn’t feel heavy.

Outside, the world continued as it always did.

But inside that small moment—

something had shifted again.

Not love.

Not yet.

But a space had opened.

And this time—

it didn’t hurt.

Few Days Later

A few days had passed since the pehli rasoi, but some moments refused to fade. They didn’t stay as memories—they stayed as feelings.

Pragya stood near the window, the evening light falling softly across her face as she held her phone close to her ear. There was a quiet restlessness within her, something she hadn’t been able to name for days.

“Abhi?” she said softly.

His voice came instantly, familiar as ever. “So you finally remembered me. I was beginning to think my wife has replaced me with her responsibilities.”

Pragya smiled faintly. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” he replied playfully. “Tell me honestly, how many times did you think about me today?”

Pragya shook her head slightly. “Abhi…”

“That means zero,” he said dramatically. “Very disappointing.”

Her smile lingered, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes this time.

Abhi noticed.

His tone shifted. “What happened?”

There was a pause.

Then Pragya spoke, quieter now. “I was thinking about Rhea.”

Abhi exhaled lightly. “You’re still worried?”

“No,” she said slowly. “That’s the thing. I’m not.”

She continued, her voice steadier. “After that day… after her pehli rasoi… I’ve been watching her. Watching Sanju.”

“And?” Abhi asked.

“I don’t regret it anymore,” Pragya said softly. “I don’t regret that she married him.”

Abhi didn’t interrupt.

“He may not have been right before,” she added, “but with her… he is trying. And sometimes, trying is enough to begin with.”

A small silence followed.

Then Abhi said, gently teasing, “See? I told you. You take time, but you always see the good in people.”

Pragya exhaled softly. “Maybe.”

But something in her voice still held weight.

Abhi caught it immediately. “That’s not everything.”

She hesitated.

Then, slowly, “Abhi… something feels strange.”

His tone sharpened just slightly—not alarmed, but attentive. “What do you mean?”

Pragya looked out the window, her fingers tightening slightly around the phone. “For the past few days… I don’t know why, but I feel… restless. Like something is close. Very close.”

“Close?” he repeated.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she said, her voice almost a whisper now. “It’s not fear. It’s not pain either. It’s… a pull.”

A pause.

Then she said the name.

“Kiara.”

Silence fell on the other end.

Pragya closed her eyes briefly. “I know it sounds strange. Maybe it is. But every time I think of her now… it doesn’t feel like she’s gone.”

Her voice trembled slightly, but she didn’t stop.

“It feels like… she’s somewhere. Near. Like if I just look in the right place, I might find her.”

Abhi didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t dismiss it either.

He knew her.

“You’ve been thinking about this constantly, haven’t you?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she admitted. “And it’s getting stronger. Every day.”

Her hand moved unconsciously to her heart.

“I used to feel emptiness when I thought of her,” she whispered. “Now… I feel something else.”

“What?” Abhi asked gently.

“Hope,” she said.

The word stayed between them.

Fragile.

Powerful.

Dangerous.

Abhi inhaled slowly. “Pragya…”

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said quickly. “That I shouldn’t get carried away. That I shouldn’t hold on to something that might not be real.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Abhi replied quietly.

She stilled.

“I was going to say,” he continued, his voice softer now, “that if you feel something this strongly… then it means something.”

Pragya’s breath caught slightly.

“You’ve never been wrong about your feelings,” he added. “Not when it comes to people you love.”

A silence followed—

but this time, it wasn’t uncertain.

It was grounding.

“Abhi…” she said after a moment, her voice softer now.

“Hm?”

“I miss you.”

This time, she didn’t take it back.

On the other end, Abhi smiled—a smile she could hear in his voice. “I miss you too.”

A pause.

Then, slipping back into his usual tone, “Actually, no. I miss you more.”

Pragya let out a small laugh. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” he replied. “And also because I am the more romantic one.”

“That is not true.”

“It is,” he insisted. “If I were there right now, I would have already convinced you to stop overthinking and just… come closer.”

Pragya shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You and your dialogues.”

“And you and your habit of pretending they don’t work,” he teased.

She didn’t argue.

Because this time—

they did.

-------

To be continued.

Chapter 114 (Love Beyond Bonds)

The Distance That Still Remains

At Fusion Beats, work moved with its usual rhythm—music echoing through the halls, fabrics shifting across tables, designs being corrected and refined. Deadlines didn't wait for emotions, but people carried them anyway. Purab stood near the design floor, adjusting the fall of a costume, his expression focused yet distant. "The structure is strong, but the fall doesn't support it," he said. Across from him, Sunny—known here as Sunil—observed silently before stepping forward to make a slight adjustment. "Like this?" he asked. Purab studied it carefully and then nodded. "Better." His gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary. There was something about this boy—the instinct, the restraint, the way he worked without trying to prove himself. It felt familiar, but Purab pushed the thought aside. He already knew who he was—Disha and Ritik's son, a life Purab had chosen to stay away from. And yet, the familiarity refused to leave.

Later that afternoon, as the workspace quieted, Purab stood alone, flipping through an old file. His fingers slowed when he reached a set of rough sketches—unfinished, imperfect, but alive. Aryan. His jaw tightened slightly. "He made his choice. He walked away," Purab muttered, but the words didn't sit right. Somewhere, he knew he had forced that choice. Sunny's voice pulled him back. "Sir?" He stood there with revised sketches. "Can you take a look?" Purab nodded and went through them carefully, one by one. "These are different," he said after a moment. Sunny remained silent. "They're improved," Purab added. After a brief pause, he asked almost unconsciously, "You spend time with Aryan, don't you?" Sunny's gaze flickered briefly. "We live in the same house." Purab nodded faintly. "Disha told me." His tone softened slightly. "He's stubborn. Doesn't listen easily." Sunny allowed a faint smile. "He listens. Just not immediately." Purab almost smiled back, but stopped himself.

He placed the sketches down and looked at Sunny more directly. "You've picked up his patterns, but you've corrected them," he said. Sunny met his gaze calmly. "Or maybe I've just seen where he struggles." The answer was simple, but it carried weight. A silence followed before Purab spoke again, more quietly. "He had potential. Still does. But he lets emotions interfere." Sunny's expression didn't change, but inside, something tightened. For him, emotions weren't interference—they were everything. For a brief second, his mind drifted to a past he never spoke about—an orphanage, a name that never felt like his, and a truth he had grown up believing: that his parents had left him, that whatever they had was never enough to keep him. His jaw clenched slightly. That pain had always needed somewhere to go, and it had found its direction in a father he had never known—a man he had already judged.

"He's trying," Sunny said finally. Purab looked at him. "You defend him a lot," he observed. Sunny didn't look away. "Maybe he needs someone to." The words settled between them—soft, but direct. Purab didn't respond immediately, because something about that answer felt too close, too personal. He exhaled slowly and stepped back. "Finish the remaining work." Sunny nodded. "I will."

As Purab walked away, his steps slowed slightly, his thoughts lingering. Disha's son—that's what he was, that's what Purab knew. And yet, the way he spoke, the way he understood Aryan, the way he carried something unspoken—it didn't feel distant. It felt familiar. Behind him, Sunny stood still for a moment before quietly returning to his work, composed and controlled. But somewhere inside, a quiet resentment remained—deeply rooted, not loud or visible, but present. Directed at a father he believed had failed him, a man he had never met... a man he was standing beside every day.

In one part of the city, Aryan was learning to stand stronger. In another, his father was learning to miss him. And in between stood Sunny—carrying a past shaped by half-truths, working beside the man he blamed for it, without knowing he was already closer to the truth than he had ever been.

"Thank you"

Later that evening, the distance between past and present narrowed—if only slightly. Purab stood outside Disha's house for a moment before ringing the bell, his hand pausing briefly as if reconsidering. Some doors weren't difficult to reach, but they were difficult to enter. The door opened, and Disha stood there. For a second, neither of them spoke. Years of history, misunderstandings, and choices lingered silently between them. "You?" Disha said finally, her tone controlled, neither warm nor cold. Purab gave a small nod. "I was nearby. I thought I should meet Aryan." There was a pause before Disha stepped aside. "Come in."

Inside, the house carried its usual quiet warmth, but the air between them remained measured. Aryan wasn't there—only them. Purab looked around briefly, as if confirming something unspoken, before turning back to her. "He's not home?" he asked. "He'll be late," Disha replied simply. Purab nodded, then hesitated. "I actually came to say something else." Disha didn't respond, but her gaze remained steady. Purab exhaled slowly. "Thank you." The word landed softly, but its weight was unmistakable. "For taking care of him. For giving him a place when he didn't have one." Disha's expression didn't change immediately. Then she said calmly but firmly, "Don't be formal, Purab." He looked at her. "I didn't do it for you, and I didn't do it out of obligation." A pause followed. "I did it because he is mine." The words were simple, but clear. "I love Aryan just as much as I love Sunny," she added quietly. Something in her tone shifted—not defensive, not emotional, just certain. Purab absorbed that slowly and nodded faintly. "I know you would," he said, because if there was one thing he had never doubted, it was Disha's capacity to love.

A silence followed, not uncomfortable but layered. Purab's gaze drifted briefly before he spoke again. "Sunny... how is he?" Disha's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked away. "Why?" she asked instead. Purab frowned slightly. "Just asking." Another pause followed, but this time, Disha didn't respond. And that silence said more than words could have. Purab noticed it but didn't press further.

At that exact moment, the door opened again, and Aliyah stepped in. Her eyes immediately fell on them—together, in the same space. Something in her expression hardened instantly. "What is he doing here?" she asked sharply. Disha turned slightly, her face composed again. "He came to meet Aryan." Aliyah let out a short, bitter laugh. "Now he remembers he has a son?" Purab's jaw tightened, but he didn't react immediately. Aliyah stepped closer, her gaze fixed on him. "Or is this just another one of your sudden appearances before you disappear again?" "Aliyah," Disha said quietly, a warning in her tone, but Aliyah didn't stop. "You don't get to walk in like nothing happened. You don't get to act like you care now." Purab finally spoke, his voice low but steady. "I didn't come here to argue." Aliyah scoffed. "You never do. You just make decisions and expect everyone else to live with them." The words hit, because they weren't entirely wrong.

Disha stepped in then, her voice calm but firm. "This is not the time." Aliyah looked at her. "Then when is the time?" Disha didn't answer. Instead, she said quietly, "Aryan will be back soon." That was enough—for now. Aliyah stepped back slightly, but her anger didn't fade. It settled, stayed. Her eyes moved between them once more before she turned away, but the tension remained in the room—unresolved, unfinished.

Purab stood there for a moment longer before saying quietly, "I'll come another time." Disha didn't stop him, didn't ask him to stay, but she didn't push him away either. And sometimes, that was all that existed between people who shared a past too complicated to name. As Purab stepped out, the evening felt heavier than before. Behind him was a house that held his past, and ahead of him, a truth he still didn't know.

Some relationships don't end. They simply remain—waiting for a moment strong enough to face what was left unsaid.

The Moment That Defined a Son

The tension in the house didn't fade after Purab left. It settled quietly, but not harmlessly. Aliyah stood near the window, her gaze fixed outside, her thoughts sharp and restless. Seeing Purab and Disha together had stirred something deeper than anger—something colder. "He walks in like nothing happened," she muttered. "Like he still has a place here." Her fingers tightened around her phone. "Not anymore." The decision came quickly. She dialed a number. "Listen carefully," she said in a low, controlled voice. "I don't want anything dramatic. Just send a message. Make sure she understands it." A pause. "And don't fail." She ended the call without another word.

That night, the streets were quieter than usual. Disha walked alone, her steps steady, unaware of the shadows beginning to gather around her. The streetlights flickered faintly, casting uneven patches of light. For a moment, everything seemed normal—until it didn't. A man stepped forward. Then another. Disha slowed, her gaze sharpening instantly. "Who are you?" she asked firmly. No answer. Just movement. They began circling her, deliberate and slow. Disha took a step back, her posture straight, her mind alert. "This is not the way you want to do this," she said calmly. But they moved closer.

Just then, from the end of the street, voices broke through the tension.

"Aryan, wait!" Shahana's voice came first.

Aryan and Shahana had just gotten down from an auto, with Sanju following behind, still arguing about something trivial—until Aryan's eyes caught the scene ahead.

Everything stopped.

"Disha Ma!" Aryan shouted, already running forward.

Disha turned, relief flashing across her face—but only for a second.

Sanju froze mid-step. "Wtf...is happening here?" he muttered, his voice dropping as he took in the situation. Instinct told him to step back. To stay out of it. But then his eyes fell on Disha. "Mataji..." he whispered, and something inside him shifted. Fear didn't leave—but it moved aside.

Aryan didn't wait. He rushed forward and stood in front of Disha, positioning himself between her and the men. "Stay behind me," he said firmly. Disha didn't argue.

The first push came without warning. Aryan staggered slightly but steadied himself almost instantly and pushed back. What followed wasn't trained or polished—it was raw. Instinctive. Driven. Aryan fought with everything he had, not with technique, but with sheer determination. Every move came from urgency, from the need to protect.

Sanju stood frozen for a second longer before forcing himself forward. "Please stop!" he shouted, grabbing one of the men from behind. His grip wasn't strong, his stance unsure, but it was enough to distract. The man shoved him away. Sanju stumbled, nearly falling—but he got back up. "Don't touch her!" he shouted again, louder this time, even as his voice trembled.

Shahana quickly pulled Disha slightly back, trying to create distance, her eyes wide with fear. "Aryan!" she called out, panic slipping through.

Aryan didn't respond. He couldn't. One of the men swung hard. Aryan blocked it—but the impact landed directly on his wrist. Pain shot through instantly, sharp and blinding. His grip faltered for just a second—but it was enough. Another blow followed, and this time he dropped to one knee.

"Aryan!" Shahana screamed.

Disha stepped forward instinctively, but stopped herself.

Aryan clenched his jaw and pushed himself back up. His wrist trembled, already swelling, but he tightened his fist and fought back again. He didn't step back. He couldn't.

Sanju, still shaken, picked up a stick lying nearby and waved it more in warning than attack. "Enough!" he shouted, his fear now mixed with desperation. The noise, the resistance, the unexpected fight—it was enough. The men hesitated, then slowly backed off, retreating into the darkness.

Silence followed.

Heavy. Uneven.

Shahana rushed to Aryan immediately. "Are you okay?" Aryan didn't answer right away. His wrist was visibly injured now. Disha stepped closer, her composure finally breaking. "You're hurt," she said. Aryan shook his head slightly. "I'm fine." But his voice didn't support the words.

Sanju stood a little distance away, still catching his breath. He looked at Disha, then at Aryan. "Mataji... are you okay?" he asked softly. Disha nodded faintly, but her gaze remained fixed on Aryan.

And for the first time—

she didn't just see her son.

She saw what he had just done for her.

What he had risked.

Without hesitation.

Some bonds are not spoken.

They are proven—in moments where fear exists, but love stands stronger.

--------

To be continued.

Chapter 115 (Brotherly Bond)

The Night Fear Brought Everyone Together

The night refused to settle after the attack. Everything moved too fast after that—too many voices, too much panic, too much blood rushing through moments that no one had time to process. Aryan’s injured wrist had swollen badly, and the pain he had tried to hide on the street finally showed the moment his body stopped running on instinct. By the time they reached the hospital, Shahana’s hands were trembling. She stayed close to Aryan the entire way, one hand supporting him while the other held his uninjured arm as if letting go would make the fear worse. Disha walked beside them, her face pale but controlled, the shock of what had almost happened still sitting heavily in her chest. Sanju stumbled in with them too, still visibly shaken, breathing harder than everyone else as if he had fought ten men himself. “I swear,” he muttered under his breath while clutching his chest dramatically, “my soul left my body at least three times on the way here.”

The emergency ward lights felt harsher than usual. Doctors took Aryan inside almost immediately. “Possible ligament damage,” one of them said after a quick examination. “We need to do an X-ray and assess the wrist properly.” The words made Shahana’s breath hitch. Disha placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “He will be fine,” she said, though the certainty in her voice was something she was forcing for Shahana’s sake as much as her own. Still, neither of them left. Sanju, too, stayed rooted near the treatment room door, though he kept glancing nervously down the corridor as if expecting the goons to somehow appear in the hospital as well. “If they come here too,” he whispered dramatically, “I’m hiding behind Mataji this time.”

The hospital corridor doors opened again nearly twenty minutes later. Sunny rushed in first, Rakhi right behind him. The moment Sunny saw Disha standing there, his expression changed. His eyes moved quickly—her face, her hands, any visible sign of injury. “Ma, are you okay?” he asked immediately, his voice low but urgent. Disha nodded faintly. “I’m fine.” That answer wasn’t enough for him. His gaze shifted to the treatment room. “Aryan?” he asked. Before Shahana could answer, Sanju jumped in first, speaking fast as if reporting from a battlefield. “Hero mode activated. He fought like a one-man army. I was there too, obviously, but mostly for sound effects.” Even in her fear, Shahana gave him the briefest exasperated look before saying, “They’re checking his wrist.”

Something in Sunny’s face tightened—not just concern, but anger, sharp and immediate. He looked at Disha again. “Who did this?” Disha didn’t answer right away because the truth was—she didn’t know. Or perhaps she knew enough to fear the answer. Sunny took a step back, running a hand through his hair, his breathing visibly heavier now. “They attacked you on the road?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. Disha nodded. “And Aryan fought them?” This time it was Shahana who answered, her voice trembling with pride and fear both. “He didn’t think for a second. He just stood in front of Ma.” Sanju immediately added, “And I also shouted very loudly. Very effective strategy, by the way.” Rakhi almost smiled despite the tension.

Sunny closed his eyes briefly. For the past few days, Aryan had gone from being just someone in the same house to something else—a brother. Not just by blood through Purab, but by bond, by routine, by trust, by shared mornings and unfinished sketches and late-night conversations. The thought of him getting hurt—for Disha, for their home—made something inside Sunny harden.

Rakhi stepped closer, her own concern evident. “How bad is it?” “The doctor said it might be ligament damage,” Disha replied softly. Rakhi’s hand instinctively moved to Sunny’s arm, sensing the storm building within him. But his eyes remained fixed on the treatment room. “Whoever did this,” he said quietly, his voice colder now, “wasn’t just trying to scare Ma.” No one spoke, because they all knew he was right. Sunny’s jaw tightened. “They knew she would be alone. They waited.” Sanju, now less dramatic and more serious, nodded slowly. “It didn’t feel random,” he admitted. “They knew exactly when to corner Mataji.” The realization only deepened Sunny’s anger. His mind was already moving ahead—patterns, possibilities, motives. Who would dare touch Disha? Who would target Aryan? Who had been watching?

The treatment room door finally opened. The doctor stepped out. “There’s no fracture,” he said first, easing the first layer of fear. “But the wrist has taken a strong impact. It’s a bad sprain with ligament strain. He’ll need support and complete rest.” Shahana visibly exhaled, tears of relief filling her eyes. Disha closed her eyes for a second, silently thanking every power she believed in. Beside them, Sanju dramatically wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead. “Good. Because I already mentally gave his exam tomorrow on his behalf.” Even Sunny’s tense face softened for a split second.

Then he asked quietly, “Can I see him?”

The doctor nodded.

The doctor’s words had brought relief, but only for a moment. Inside the room, Aryan lay against the hospital bed, his wrist strapped firmly, the swelling still visible beneath the support. The pain medication had dulled the sharpness, but it hadn’t erased the heaviness settling in his chest.

Sunny stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the injured wrist. For a strange moment, memories overlapped—the Aryan he had once kept at a distance, the half-brother he had resented simply because they shared the same father, the boy whose presence once reminded him of everything he believed he had lost. And now, the same brother had risked himself for Disha, for the woman who had become Sunny’s entire world. Something inside him shifted again. The old grudge didn’t disappear in one moment, but it lost its meaning.

Sunny let out a slow breath. “You really had to play hero, didn’t you?” Aryan managed a faint smile despite the pain. “Someone had to.” Before Sunny could respond, Sanju—who had been standing near the foot of the bed trying to look brave despite still being visibly shaken—immediately jumped in. “Exactly! And if he hadn’t, then who would have saved Mataji? Me?” He placed a hand dramatically on his chest. “Please, I was already fighting for my own life there.” The room went silent for a beat before Shahana let out the smallest laugh through her tears. Even Disha’s tense face softened. Aryan looked at Sanju weakly and muttered, “At least you still shouted.” Sanju looked offended. “Still shouted? I practically scared them away with my voice.” Sunny raised an eyebrow. “With your shaking voice?” Sanju pointed at him instantly. “Fear also requires talent, okay? Not everyone can be scared and still look heroic.” For the first time since the attack, the heaviness in the room cracked just a little.

But then Aryan’s expression changed abruptly. His eyes moved to his bandaged hand, and panic replaced the faint humor. “My exam,” he said suddenly. Sunny frowned. “What?” Aryan’s breathing grew uneven. “Tomorrow. My sketch exam.” The room fell silent again. Shahana stepped closer immediately. “Aryan…” But he cut in, frustration taking over. “I worked for this.” His voice broke slightly. For the past few days, every early morning drop, every corrected line, every late-night discussion with Sunny had been leading to this. He had worked harder than ever—not just for marks, but to prove to himself that he could do it. And now his drawing hand was injured.

Sanju, still standing nearby, looked at Aryan’s wrist and then blurted out, “Can’t you just tell the professor you fought goons last night? I mean, if that doesn’t deserve extra marks, what does?” Aryan stared at him. Even in his panic, the absurdity of the suggestion almost pulled a laugh out of him. “This is not funny,” he muttered. Sanju immediately raised both hands. “I know, I know. I’m just saying if bravery had marks, you’d top the university.” This time even Rakhi smiled faintly from the doorway.

Disha watched Aryan’s face closely. This wasn’t just pain—it was helplessness. “I don’t know what to do,” Aryan admitted quietly, staring at his wrist. “How am I supposed to draw like this?”

Sunny’s expression changed then. The concern and anger slowly settled into something steadier. Resolve. “You’ll still give the exam,” he said firmly. Aryan looked up. “How?” Sunny pulled a chair closer and sat beside him. “Your wrist is injured, not your mind.” Aryan frowned, confused. Sunny continued calmly, “You already know the concepts. Movement, proportion, structure—we worked on that. If your lines are weak tomorrow, compensate with structure.” Shahana listened carefully, hope slowly replacing fear.

Before Aryan could respond, Sanju leaned in again with full seriousness that somehow still sounded comic. “And if the lines still go wrong, make it abstract art. These professors love confusing things.” Sunny looked at him flatly. “Please stop helping.” Sanju straightened dramatically. “Fine. I’ll just provide moral support. That is my specialty.” Even Aryan managed the faintest smile.

Slowly, the panic in Aryan’s eyes eased. “You really think I can do it?” he asked Sunny quietly. Sunny didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” The certainty in his voice left no room for doubt.

Rakhi, standing near the door, watched the scene quietly. A few days ago, Sunny helping Aryan had been a conscious effort. Now it was instinct. And that made all the difference. Disha’s eyes lingered on both boys—Sunny already discussing alternate grips and ways to reduce pressure on the wrist, Aryan listening with complete trust, and Sanju standing beside them like an overenthusiastic commentator who somehow kept everyone breathing easier.

In that moment, Disha didn’t just see boys in a hospital room. She saw her sons—two halves of the same broken history finally standing on the same side. Aryan looked at Sunny again, his voice quieter now. “Why are you helping me this much?” Sunny was silent for a second before replying simply, “Because brothers don’t let each other lose after coming this far.”

Sanju immediately placed a hand over his heart again. “Wow. Such emotional lines. Even I’m feeling like hugging someone.” Shahana rolled her eyes through her tears, and for the first time that night, the room didn’t feel like fear alone.

Sometimes, the bond we once resisted the most becomes the one we rely on when everything else begins to fall apart.

The Bond That Stayed Awake All Night

The hospital discharge happened late into the night, and by the time they finally returned home, exhaustion had settled into every corner of the house. But sleep refused to come easily to Aryan.

His wrist was strapped firmly, the pain dull but constant, and the reality of the next morning’s sketch exam hung over him heavier than the injury itself. Every time he looked at his bandaged hand, the same frustration returned.

“What if I can’t do it?” he asked quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed with his notes and sketch references spread out before him.

Sunny, who had pulled a chair close, didn’t let even a second of doubt linger. “Then we prepare for everything you still can do.”

Aryan looked at him helplessly. “The whole exam is about sketching.”

Sunny shook his head. “No. The exam is about what you understand through sketching. The drawing is just the medium.”

He picked up one of Aryan’s earlier sheets and placed it in front of him. “Tell me the structure.”

Aryan frowned, then slowly began explaining the movement, the line flow, the garment fall, the silhouette. Sunny listened carefully, occasionally correcting a concept, sometimes asking him to visualize instead of physically draw.

Hour after hour, the room stayed lit.

Shahana had long been forced by Rakhi to sleep for at least a few hours, and even Sanju, after giving a dramatic speech about staying awake “for moral support,” had disappeared into the guest room and promptly started snoring.

But Sunny stayed.

He didn’t let Aryan spiral.

Whenever frustration returned, Sunny broke the task down further—angles, posture memory, pressure control, alternate grips that would use less strain on the wrist.

“At worst,” Sunny said calmly, adjusting the pencil in Aryan’s hand, “use your fingers more than the wrist. Short controlled lines. No dramatic strokes.”

Aryan let out a tired laugh. “That sounds like advice for life too.”

Sunny smirked faintly. “Take it however you want.”

As the night deepened, their conversations shifted from exam prep to the kind of easy silences that only came after trust had fully settled in.

At one point, Aryan leaned back against the headboard, exhausted. “I really thought I was going to lose everything tonight.”

Sunny looked at him for a moment before replying quietly, “You’re not alone anymore. Remember that.”

The words stayed.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

But deeply real.

Slowly, somewhere between one more concept explanation and one last practice visualization, exhaustion finally won.

Aryan’s head tipped sideways first.

Toward Sunny.

Sunny, who had been sitting beside him, shifted instinctively so Aryan could rest more comfortably. At some point, the distance between them disappeared entirely.

One arm around the other.

Half-brothers who had once carried resentment.

Now asleep in the kind of tight, unconscious hug that only came from complete emotional safety.

Few hours later

Morning sunlight slipped softly into the room.

Disha stepped in quietly, intending to check if Aryan was awake for his exam.

But the sight before her stopped her at the door.

Aryan and Sunny were fast asleep, still sitting against the bed, both leaning into each other, Sunny’s arm protectively wrapped around Aryan while Aryan rested against his chest like the fear of the night had finally found somewhere safe to leave him.

For a moment, Disha simply stood there.

Watching.

Her eyes softened.

All the distance.

All the bitterness.

All the years that had made their bond difficult—

seemed smaller in that one silent moment.

A mother’s heart recognized what words no longer needed to explain.

They had found each other.

Finally.

Disha stepped closer, a tender smile touching her lips. She gently brushed a strand of hair away from Aryan’s forehead, then looked at Sunny with the same softness.

“My boys,” she whispered under her breath.

Then, with the instinct only a mother carries, she lightly circled her fingers near them and warded off the evil eye, silently protecting the bond she had prayed to see for so long.

No words.

No interruptions.

Just a blessing.

A silent prayer that whatever had grown between them in one night—

would never break again.

-------

To be continued.

Chapter 116 (Hurt to Hope)

Three Minds, Three Battles

The exam hall had settled into the kind of silence that only long hours of concentration could create. The ticking wall clock now felt louder than the scratching of pens. Aryan’s wrist had started throbbing badly by the final stretch, every movement heavier than the last, but he refused to let the pain win.

Sunny’s voice still echoed in his mind.

Concept first. Structure before style. Don’t panic.

And it had worked.

The form was strong.

The movement was right.

The silhouette carried the confidence Sunny had drilled into him through the night.

But the detailing—the final finishing touches—were taking longer than expected.

His injured wrist simply couldn’t keep up with the speed his mind wanted.

A few rows away, Ranbir noticed it instantly. Aryan was still working at a pace that had become visibly slower. Sanju noticed too and internally groaned for an entirely different reason. Even in crisis, this man is still more dedicated than me.

The final bell rang.

The sound sliced through the room.

“Time’s up,” the invigilator announced firmly. “Put your pens down.”

Around the hall, students reluctantly lowered their pens as the examiner began moving row by row, collecting sheets.

Aryan’s heart dropped.

His sketch wasn’t finished.

Not fully.

Just a few more lines.

A little more refinement.

Two minutes at most.

His fingers tightened around the pencil.

No.

He couldn’t let the whole night, the pain, Sunny’s effort, and his own fight go unfinished like this.

As the examiner reached his desk, Aryan looked up quickly. “Sir, please… just two more minutes.”

The man barely glanced at him. “Time is over.”

“Sir, please,” Aryan said again, panic slipping into his voice now. “My wrist is injured. I just need two minutes to finish the detailing.”

But the examiner’s expression remained unmoved.

“Rules are rules,” he said curtly, reaching for the sheet.

Aryan instinctively pulled it back slightly. “Please, sir—”

This time the examiner’s tone hardened. “Give me the paper.”

A few rows away, Sanju visibly winced. Even he felt bad now.

“That’s just cruel,” he muttered under his breath.

Ranbir’s jaw tightened. He had seen the injury, the pain, the way Aryan had fought through every minute.

And now it was about to be taken away in the final second.

Something in him reacted before thought could stop it.

Just as the examiner leaned forward to snatch Aryan’s sheet—

Ranbir suddenly collapsed sideways from his chair.

The loud crash of metal against the floor shattered the silence of the hall.

Everyone jolted.

The examiner immediately turned. “What happened?”

Students gasped.

Sanju nearly jumped out of his seat. “Ranbir!”

The examiner rushed toward him along with the nearby staff.

For one second, the entire room’s attention shifted.

Aryan turned sharply in shock.

Ranbir, still half on the floor, opened one eye just enough to glance toward Aryan.

Then—

he winked.

Just once.

Small.

Quick.

Deliberate.

Aryan froze.

And in that single moment—

he understood.

He’s pretending.

A fake collapse.

A distraction.

For him.

For those last precious seconds.

Without wasting another second, Aryan turned back to his sketch.

His fingers moved quickly despite the pain.

Short strokes.

Controlled lines.

Final detailing.

Just enough to complete what mattered.

Sunny’s techniques.

His own effort.

Now finally whole.

Sanju, realizing what Ranbir had done, bit back the urge to laugh at the absurd brilliance of it and instead loudly added to the chaos, “Sir, I think he needs water! Maybe sugar! Maybe his ex-girlfriend!”

The examiner turned sharply toward Sanju. “Forget water. Give him CPR!”

For one full second—

Sanju froze.

The entire class froze.

Even Ranbir, still “unconscious,” almost forgot to continue acting.

“What?!” Sanju whispered-shouted, staring at the examiner in horror.

“CPR!” the examiner repeated urgently. “Quickly!”

Sanju looked scandalized. “Sir, how can I do that? We are both married men!”

A few students almost choked trying not to laugh.

The examiner snapped, “This is an emergency!”

Sanju backed away dramatically, hands in the air. “No, sir, this is a misunderstanding. My wife is very possessive and his wife is also very dangerous. If they find out, both of us will need real CPR!”

The entire class was now fully distracted.

Students had turned around.

Some stood halfway from their seats.

Even the strict invigilator lost focus for a moment trying to process Sanju’s nonsense.

“Just do chest compressions then!” the examiner ordered.

Sanju looked horrified. “Sir, even that feels emotionally intimate.”

At this point, even a few students nearby had to bite their lips to stop themselves from laughing. Ranbir, still on the floor, wanted to kill him and thank him at the same time.

But the chaos worked.

Beautifully.

Because every second Sanju kept the room occupied—

Aryan kept sketching.

Final line.

Final shadow.

Final fold.

Done.

The Silence After the Chaos

By the time the examiner finally gave up on Sanju’s CPR crisis and turned back, Aryan quietly placed the finished sheet forward. This time, he let it go without resistance, because now it was complete. The examiner took it without noticing the difference, still visibly distracted by the scene Sanju had created around Ranbir.

Ranbir slowly sat back up, pretending to recover while the examiner fussed over him. “I’m okay,” he said weakly, adding just enough strain to keep the act believable. Sanju stared at him in disbelief before muttering under his breath, “Good. Because I was absolutely not about to perform husband-to-husband CPR in front of the whole university.”

Even in the tension of the moment, Aryan had to bite back the urge to laugh.

A few minutes later, the hall finally emptied. Students spilled into the corridor carrying the usual mixture of relief, panic, and post-exam analysis. Outside, Shahana waited anxiously, the momentary fear from the morning replaced by curiosity over how Aryan had managed with his wrist.

But before stepping out to her, Aryan slowed.

Ranbir was collecting his things quietly, avoiding eye contact, his expression already back to its usual unreadable calm.

Aryan hesitated for a moment, then walked toward him.

“Ranbir…”

Ranbir didn’t look up immediately.

Aryan’s voice softened. “Thank you.”

That finally made Ranbir pause.

Aryan continued, sincerity clear in every word. “I know what you did in there. If you hadn’t created that distraction…” He glanced briefly at the completed sheet still in his hand. “I wouldn’t have finished.”

For a moment, silence stood between them.

Ranbir finally looked at him.

But the warmth Aryan had expected—

wasn’t there.

His expression remained cold.

Controlled.

Almost detached.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Ranbir said flatly.

Aryan’s face fell slightly.

Ranbir zipped his file shut and continued, his voice sharp but quiet enough that only Aryan could hear, “I helped because it was the humane thing to do.”

The words landed harder than Aryan expected.

Before he could respond, Ranbir added, “Don’t misunderstand it.”

A pause.

Then the real wound surfaced.

His jaw tightened slightly as he said, “I still haven’t forgotten what happened to my sister.”

Aryan froze.

Mishti.

The day of the marriage.

The heartbreak.

The public humiliation of broken expectations when Aryan and Shahana’s love had changed everything.

Ranbir’s gaze remained fixed on him now, colder than before.

“What happened that day didn’t just hurt her,” he said. “It changed things for all of us.”

Aryan lowered his eyes.

Because there was no defense.

No explanation.

Only truth.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Ranbir let out a short breath that almost sounded bitter. “Do you?”

The corridor noise faded into the background.

For a moment, the exam hall chaos, the fake collapse, the CPR nonsense—all of it disappeared under the weight of something older.

Something unresolved.

Aryan finally looked back at him. “I never wanted to hurt Mishti.”

Ranbir’s expression didn’t soften.

“But you did.”

The words were simple.

Final.

And far more painful because of how calmly they were spoken.

Aryan nodded slowly, accepting the blow because somewhere, he knew Ranbir had every right to hold on to it.

Still, beneath the coldness, Aryan had seen what happened in that hall.

Ranbir had cared enough to help.

Even if he refused to admit why.

Even if he buried it under old wounds.

That truth remained.

Ranbir picked up his bag and walked past him without another word.

But as he crossed the corridor, Sanju immediately fell into step beside him with perfect timing.

“So,” Sanju said with a grin, “from fake heart attack to emotional heart attack. Productive exam day.”

Ranbir shot him a glare. “Don’t start.”

Sanju smirked wider. “I’m just saying, for someone who ‘helped out of humanity,’ you gave a very performance-based humanity.”

Ranbir kept walking.

Faster.

Sanju followed effortlessly.

Outside, Aryan stepped toward Shahana, quieter than before, carrying both relief and the sting of what remained unfinished.

Because sometimes—

a person can save you in one moment

and still keep their heart closed in the next.

A Wound, A Secret, and a Shock Wrapped in Joy

After the emotional heaviness of the exam hall, the day still wasn’t over for Aryan. The strain on his wrist had worsened after forcing himself to complete the sketch, and by the time he stepped out of college with Shahana, the swelling had increased again. “You’re not going home first,” Shahana said firmly, supporting his bag with one hand while carefully holding his uninjured arm with the other. “We’re going straight to the doctor.” Aryan looked like he wanted to argue, but the pain in his wrist made the decision for him.

By the time they reached the clinic, the waiting room felt calmer than the chaos of the day, but the exhaustion on both their faces was impossible to hide. The doctor examined Aryan’s wrist carefully, pressing lightly near the strained ligament. Aryan winced immediately. “You’ve overused it,” the doctor said, giving him a pointed look. “I told you complete rest.” Aryan muttered weakly, “I had an exam.” The doctor sighed, half-annoyed and half-understanding. “And now the healing will take longer.”

As the doctor began writing a few medicines and another support wrap recommendation, his eyes briefly shifted toward Shahana, who had been standing quietly beside Aryan the entire time. He paused, then looked at her more carefully. “You look pale,” he said. Shahana blinked, slightly caught off guard. “I’m fine.” The doctor frowned gently. “Are you sure?” She nodded, but even she could feel the strange heaviness in her body now that someone had pointed it out. The doctor continued matter-of-factly, “Have you missed your periods?”

The question landed so suddenly that for a moment Shahana simply stared at him. Then something clicked. Her expression changed. This month. The dates. The stress. The exam tension. Aryan’s injury. Everything had pushed it so far to the back of her mind that she hadn’t even realized it until now. Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her dupatta. “Yes…” she said slowly, almost to herself. “I think… I have.” The doctor gave her a knowing look. “Then don’t ignore it. Go to the lab next door and get these tests done.” He quickly scribbled down a few routine blood and pregnancy-related tests and handed the slip to her.

Shahana looked at the paper, her heartbeat suddenly louder than the room around her. A strange mix of nervousness and something softer—something almost hopeful—rose inside her. “I’ll just go get these done,” she said quietly. Aryan looked at her, confused. “What happened?” Shahana forced a small smile. “Just routine tests. I’ll be back.” She stepped aside toward the adjoining diagnostic section, her mind racing now in a completely different direction.

Just as she disappeared from sight, two familiar figures entered the clinic—Purab and Aliyah. The moment Purab’s eyes landed on Aryan’s bandaged wrist, his expression changed instantly. “Aryan,” he said, stepping closer. “How bad is it?” Aryan looked up, mildly surprised to see him there. “Just the ligament strain.” Purab’s jaw tightened, the father in him immediately surfacing despite everything unresolved between them. “I heard what happened.”

Before Aryan could respond, Aliyah stepped in too—but unlike Purab, there was something visibly shaken in her expression. Too shaken. Too pale. Her eyes went straight to Aryan’s wrist and then briefly to the fading marks near his arm from the scuffle. For a second, panic flashed across her face. Because this wasn’t what she had wanted. She had wanted Disha frightened, warned, pushed away from Purab. Not this. Not Aryan. Not her son.

A sharp guilt twisted inside her. Her own plan had circled back and hurt the one person she had never meant to touch. She had sent danger toward Disha—and it had landed on Aryan instead. The realization left her breath uneven. “Are you okay?” she asked too quickly, her voice trembling in a way Aryan didn’t fully notice. Aryan nodded faintly. “I’m fine.”

But the concern from both parents only deepened. Purab pulled a chair closer without even asking and sat beside him, his eyes still fixed on the bandaged wrist as though looking away would somehow make the injury worse. “You should not be moving around this much,” he said firmly. “A ligament strain is not something to take lightly.” Aryan tried to respond, but Aliyah immediately stepped in from the other side. “Exactly. And after everything that happened last night, why are you even outside? You should be at home resting.”

“I’m fine,” Aryan said for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

But no one was listening.

Purab continued as if Aryan hadn’t spoken at all. “Who is helping you at home? Is Disha managing everything? Is Sunny taking care of the medicines?” Aryan blinked helplessly. “Actually—” “And your diet?” Aliyah cut in immediately, her panic now disguising itself as over-concern. “These injuries need proper food. Calcium, warm milk, fruits, less strain. Don’t tell me you skipped lunch because of the exam.” Purab frowned. “You need a proper follow-up dressing every two days.” Aliyah added, “And don’t even think of using that hand unnecessarily.”

Aryan looked between them, visibly overwhelmed. “I’m really alright.”

But the parental barrage continued. Purab was already mentally planning his recovery schedule. “You shouldn’t travel alone for a few days.” Aliyah nodded quickly. “Exactly. Someone should stay with him.”

For the first time in years, both his parents—however complicated their presence—stood on either side of him, fussing over everything from medicines to sleep schedule to what he should eat. And ironically, the patient himself had no space to speak.

Just then, footsteps approached from the adjoining corridor.

Shahana returned.

But she wasn’t alone.

A nurse walked beside her, holding a file and smiling in the way medical staff do when they already know they are carrying life-changing news.

Shahana’s own expression was unreadable—shock, nervousness, disbelief, all folded into one.

Aryan immediately straightened. “What happened? Are the reports okay?”

Before Shahana could even form words, the nurse stepped forward brightly.

“Congratulations, sir.”

Aryan frowned, confused.

The nurse smiled wider.

“Your wife is pregnant.”

For one full second, the world stopped.

Silence.

Complete and absolute.

Aryan stared.

Purab froze.

Aliyah’s lips parted in stunned disbelief.

Even the sounds of the clinic waiting room seemed to disappear around them.

Shahana lowered her eyes, her hand instinctively moving toward her stomach as the truth finally settled into the room.

Pregnant.

The word echoed differently now that it had been spoken aloud.

Real.

Undeniable.

Aryan’s eyes slowly moved from the nurse to Shahana. Then to her hand. Then back to her face.

The shock in him softened into something deeper.

Wonder.

Joy.

A trembling kind of disbelief.

“Shahana…” he whispered.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, already shining.

A small, emotional smile touched her lips.

Neither of them needed more words.

The answer was already there.

--------

To be continued.