Advait entered the room with full determination, his footsteps firm. Usually, after dropping Drishti off at home, he’d leave, but not today.

As soon as he stepped inside, his eyes widened in shock. The room looked like a tornado had swept through it. Things were scattered everywhere, pillows tossed aside, and drawers left half-open. He stood frozen for a second, his hand instinctively moving to his chest. "Yahan kaunsa bhookamp aaya?" he muttered under his breath, sliding a bottle out of his way with his foot as he made his way through the chaos.

Navigating the mess, he reached the doorway of the changing room and found her there, standing in the middle of it all, completely unbothered. Drishti was staring at the wardrobe, eyes fixed, as if trying to solve some great mystery. From top to bottom, bottom to top, her gaze moved in a concentrated loop.

Advait cleared his throat, his voice rising a bit in disbelief, "Kya haal bana rakha hai kamre ka?"

Drishti jumped, startled, spinning around to face him. She scrunched her nose, annoyance flickering in her eyes .

Seeing her expression, Advait smirked. His initial mission of confronting her quickly shifted. He knew exactly what was going on, and rather than adding fuel to the fire, he decided to play it safe. In a much softer, overly sarcastic tone, he slowly said, "Main toh keh raha tha, bahut accha decorate kiya hai room. Wah, kya taste hai!" He gestured dramatically at the mess around him.

Drishti crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. She knew he was mocking her, and she wasn’t amused.

Advait took a step closer, his eyes playful but cautious. "Toh… decoration ka mood hai, huh?" he asked, walking toward her, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Drishti immediately started backing up, step by step, trying to put some distance between them.

Advait's grin widened as he continued closing in, moving with exaggerated slowness like a predator. "Toh kya, yahaan bhi kuch aur decor karna chahogi?

She took another step back, but her back hit the wardrobe . She was cornered. Her eyes widened, darting around, but there was no escape.

"Shayad tumhe thoda aur gussa aana chahiye. Aur creative ideas milenge," he said with a cheeky smile.

"You look less scary when you smile," she had said unconsciously, enchanted by the rare warmth in his expression. But now, those words seemed like a noose tightening around her neck.

"What?" His voice broke through her trance, dragging her back to the present. Her stomach churned as she blinked rapidly, looking everywhere but at him. Desperately, she searched for an escape, but his presence seemed to fill every corner of the room.

Advait’s eyebrow arched, his lips twitching in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Biwi ji, samjhane ki koshish karein. Kya matlab hai in sabdon ka?"

Her throat constricted, and the air around her suddenly thickened and suffocated. The floor beneath her feet felt unstable, as if she might sink into it at any moment. She wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She opened her mouth, only to close it again, her fingers fidgeting anxiously.

Before she could muster the courage to respond, Advait moved closer. His hand rested against the wardrobe, his towering frame leaning in, "Do I look scary to you?" he asked, his voice lower, demanding an answer.

Drishti’s fingers twisted together, her nails digging into her palms. Her heartbeat quickened, and her nerves frayed. She tried to focus on her breathing, but even that seemed impossible under the weight of his stare. Her fear was evident, and she hated how vulnerable it made her feel in front of him.

He straightened up, his expression softening slightly, but his voice carried an edge of disappointment. "So you will not speak," he said, his tone almost pleading now. For a moment, there was a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes—a silent request.

Her fear was too overwhelming, and before she could find the words, he turned and left, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.

She stared at the door for a long moment, feeling the weight of his absence. Slowly, her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, leaning against the wardrobe for support. Her palm pressed against her eyes, her elbow braced on her knee, as she tried to steady herself. Her chest tightened, and she took a deep, shaky breath, the emotions swirling within her.

There was a storm inside her—a whirlwind of fear, guilt, and something else she couldn’t quite name. And all she could do was sit there, alone, drowning in the weight of her own silence.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Advait stormed down the stairs, his footsteps quick and deliberate, the weight of his emotions evident in every step. His jaw was clenched, and there was a fire in his eyes that spoke volumes of the storm brewing inside him.

"Advait, Advait!" Anjali called out to him, her voice trembling slightly. He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn immediately. She hurried toward him, unsure of how to approach what she needed to say. When he finally faced her, his eyes were sharp, guarded.

"Yes, Ma?" His tone was formal, devoid of the usual warmth a son would show his mother, yet respectful enough for her not to worry.

Anjali hesitated, her hands wringing together as she struggled with the question that had been gnawing at her. She knew this could ignite the anger lurking beneath the surface, but she had to ask. "Your father didn’t come home... Do you know where he is?"

The change in Advait’s demeanor was immediate. His eyes darkened with a rage that flared like wildfire. "Father?" He spat the word out like it left a bitter taste in his mouth, his tone laced with contempt.

Anjali instantly regretted the question, but before she could say anything more, she stammered, "I... I mean... I just wanted to know. Your grandmother asked me to check if you knew where he was."

Advait’s posture straightened as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression hardening even more. "Why don’t they know where he is? Isn’t that something they should figure out themselves?"

Before Anjali could respond, Urmilla, his grandmother, emerged from the other room, her voice tight with frustration. "If I knew, would your mother have asked? ."

Advait’s lips curled into a cynical smile, his eyes narrowing as he spoke, his voice dripping with disdain. "Huh... Well, I’d prefer it if he never came back."

The words were like venom, spilling out without restraint. They cut through the room, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Anjali’s face paled, and Urmilla’s eyes widened with fury. Both women shouted in unison, "Advait!"

But the reaction didn’t faze him. Their shock, their anger, it meant nothing to him in that moment. He didn’t care. He was too consumed by the deep-seated hatred that had been festering inside him for years.

To him, his father was a ghost of a man—someone who had long since lost any right to be called a father. Every memory of Tej Singh Rathore brought nothing but bitterness and resentment. Advait had watched, helpless, as his mother endured cruelty after cruelty, while his father’s actions shredded what little love and respect Advait once held for him.

He had tried, once, to bridge the gap, to feel something other than disgust. But each attempt had only deepened the chasm between them. His father had been nothing but a source of pain—pain for his mother, for him, and for their family. And now, all Advait felt was a hatred so strong it consumed him.

Without another word, he turned on his heel, the weight of his emotions pushing him out the door. His exit was final, leaving Anjali and Urmilla behind in the wake of his raw, unfiltered anger.

To them, it might have been an outburst. But to Advait, it was a declaration. He didn’t want his father back. Not in the house, not in his life, not ever.

Urmilla turned toward Anjali , and her eyes were filled with the rage she had not been able to unleash on Advait. "Dekh rahi ho, tumhare bete ki nafrat kis had tak pahuch gayi hai."

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