A young girl stood trembling in the center of a raging fire, sweat dripping from her forehead. Every inch of her body screamed in terror, her mind echoing a single sentence over and over, like poison pouring into her ears: "This was your place. You were meant to die that day. You took your parents’ lives. You ruined your brother’s life. You took your parents’ souls. You are the reason they are dead. You were meant to die." Tears streamed down her face, but the words kept pounding inside her head, relentless, merciless, like venom she had no escape from.

Drishti gasped, her heart pounding as if she had just been pulled from the flames. She sat up abruptly, eyes darting around the room, desperate to find the fire she had seen in her dream. Her hand throbbed, as if it had been burned, and her skin was damp with sweat despite the air conditioning. Her eyes burned from the heat she felt deep inside.

Her gaze landed on Advait, sleeping peacefully in bed , unaware of the storm raging in her heart. She carefully pulled the blanket off and slipped out of the sofa, her legs weak and unsteady as she made her way to the bathroom. Her whole body was shaking.

Standing in front of the mirror, she looked at herself, but what stared back was not the woman she had grown to be—it was the terrified face of the 13-year-old she once was, trapped in the fire. She had cried for help and then prayed for someone to rescue her. But in her prayers, she never wished for her parents to lose their lives in the process. They had become her saviors, but they had also become her greatest loss.

Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water on her face, desperately trying to soothe the burning that had overtaken her body—the fire that wasn’t real but felt like it was consuming her from the inside.

"Why? Why?" Her voice trembled as it echoed in the empty bathroom. The cold water did nothing to extinguish the flames inside her. They only grew stronger, fueled by the memories that haunted her, pulling her back into that fateful day and making her relive it over and over.

She stumbled toward the shower, turning it on full force, letting the water cascade over her. She slid down to the floor, knees tucked to her chest, her body trembling as the weight of her past bore down on her. She pressed a hand to her face, trying to stifle the sobs that rose within her.

What if I lose someone again? Her thoughts raced uncontrollably. Every time someone has loved me, something terrible has happened to them. What if it happens again?

Her breath came in short, heavy bursts as her eyes, red and raw, filled with more tears. The fire she felt inside wasn’t just from the nightmare—it was the fire that had taken everything from her. Her parents, her peace, her sense of self. Even now, despite everything, despite knowing Advait didn’t hate her, she feared losing him. He was someone who cared for her, someone who might prioritize her, but that only deepened her terror. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him too.

Bhai was right... Her thoughts spiraled out of control, slipping deeper into the abyss. I ruin everyone’s life. He did the right thing by leaving me. If he had stayed, I would have destroyed his life too.

The water pounded against her skin, but she was too lost in her pain to feel it. Her body was drenched, but it felt like nothing could wash away the guilt, the shame, or the unbearable weight of the past.

She had been sitting under the shower for half an hour, trying to lose herself in the sensation, trying to escape the fire that lived within her. But no matter how much time passed, no matter how much water cascaded over her, the fire remained. She wanted to drown it, forget it, and erase it, but she couldn’t escape it. That nightmare, that terrible reality, was forever burned into her soul.

As the steady sound of the shower drummed in the background, Advait’s sleep was disturbed. He slowly opened his eyes, his body still heavy with sleep. Although the lights were off, he noticed the sofa was empty. His mind, still foggy, registered the oddness of it as he sat up on the bed and turned on the room lights. His eyes glanced at the clock.

4:20 AM? A frown settled on his face. What is she doing in the bathroom at this hour?

His feet touched the cold floor as he stood, making his way toward the bathroom door, a growing unease settling in his chest.

He knew something was off but didn’t have an answer. "Drishti?" he called, his voice uncertain, but no response came.

"Drishti!" This time, his voice was louder, more urgent.

Inside, Drishti heard him. His voice peered through the fog in her mind, pulling her back to the present moment. The cold water falling over her skin suddenly felt sharp and biting, and she became aware of her state—sitting under the shower for nearly an hour, lost in her thoughts, her body trembling from a mix of fear and the cold.

She tried to answer him, attempting to sound normal, but her voice came out shaky, betraying her. The combination of fear and the long time spent under the cold water had weakened her.

On the other side of the door, Advait exhaled, his chest loosening as a wave of relief washed over him upon hearing her voice, even though it didn't sound quite right. At least she was there. But the unease lingered—he could sense something was still wrong.

Turn off the shower and come out,” he commanded, his tone firm, before returning to the sofa, his legs dangling casually.

Drishti stood up, turning off the shower, and as she stepped out, her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror. Her disheveled hair, red-rimmed eyes, and dull face stared back at her. A shiver ran down her spine, not just from the cold but from something deeper—fear. What if Advait hadn't called her? Would she have stayed there, lost in her thoughts, trying to wash away her fear?

She moved toward the wardrobe, which opened from the bathroom, and got dressed. The warmth of the dry clothes helped, but the fear still clung to her, a constant shadow. What if he asks me anything? she thought. I can’t tell him. Not now. Something good has started between us, and I can’t risk losing it again. What if he also thinks of me as ‘abhagan’ like everyone else does? No, no, I can't.

She adjusted her saree, trying to mask her inner turmoil with a forced smile. As she opened the door, Advait looked up, his eyes scanning her from head to toe but stopping at her face.

He didn’t get up. “What were you doing?”

Drishti avoided his gaze, walking to the dressing table silently and applying sindoor. His eyes narrowed.

“I asked you something.”

“Kyun? Ab naha bhi nahi sakti? Tax lag raha hai kya?” she replied, placing a bindi between her eyebrows, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

“I’m not saying that. You were in there for almost an hour.”

“Girls take time. Why does it bother you so much? If your sleep is disturbed, say so. Why are you always after me?” She retorted, focusing on her reflection, though her red eyes betrayed something else.

Advait stood up, walking toward the wardrobe to grab his gym clothes. Now that I’m awake, might as well work out, he thought, changing quickly before looking around the room.

“Where has she gone now, early in the morning?” He muttered, irritated. “It’s not even six yet!”

Drishti was in the kitchen, making tea. Who would believe that the same vulnerable woman from a while ago was now smiling, enjoying the aroma of fresh tea? What am I? she wondered.

Taking a deep breath of the steam, she whispered to herself, “Waah, kya chai banati hoon main!”

She poured herself a cup, pleased with how her eyes no longer looked as sensitive. After a breakdown, chai is a must. There’s nothing I’ll ever let go of, she thought, laughing softly as she turned around.

She nearly bumped into Advait and gasped, "Wh—what are you doing here? The tea almost spilled!”

He smirked, “That’s what I want to know. What are you doing here?”

She brushed past him, unfazed. “I didn’t make coffee, and I’m not giving you my tea,” she teased, setting her cup down and walking toward the bed.

Advait followed, sitting on the sofa. Noticing her cup on the table, he picked it up, teasingly holding it out of her reach.

“I asked you something earlier. You still haven’t answered.”

Drishti, fixing the bed, turned to see him holding her cup. Her eyes widened as she quickly approached him, but he stretched his hand farther away.

She straightened, placing her hands on her hips. Her puffed cheeks and irritated expression made her look adorably frustrated. “Kya kar rahe ho? Rakho usse idhar. Gir gaya to aap hi jalenge,” she warned.

He pulled the cup back but held onto it, his gaze still questioning. “First, answer me.”

“Kya jawab chahiye aapko? Pehle chai de do! Subah-subah kya ho gaya hai aapko?” She shot back, growing more impatient.

“I just want an answer. I won’t drink your tea,” he said, smiling, still holding the cup.

“Kya insaan apni marzi se naha aur chai nahi bana sakta kya? Koi rule hai iss ghar mein jo mujhe nahi pata? Agar aapko koi dikkat hai to bata dijiye! Pehle yeh karo, phir wo karo, ab tum chai banogi, ab tum college jaogi…” Her rant continued, but was cut short by Advait’s serious tone.

“Idhar aao. What happened to your eyes?” He asked, leaning forward, the playful air suddenly disappearing.

Drishti froze. She had completely forgotten about her eyes. Stuttering, she tried to dismiss it, “K-kuch nahi,” reaching for her cup again.

But he didn’t let it go. “I asked something. First, answer me.” His voice was calm but insistent.

Her puffed face returned, but instead of answering, she turned away. “I don’t want the tea anymore. You can keep it. I’ll make another one,” she said, walking toward the door.

Advait’s voice followed her, dangerously low, “Ignoring my questions will cost you. I don’t like being left without an answer.”

“Aapko to kuch bhi pasand nahi hai,” she muttered under her breath, though fear gnawed at her. She never answered him when he asked about her pain, always choosing to walk away from his questions.

As she opened the door, it abruptly closed again with a loud thud, making her heart skip a beat. She slowly turned towards him, finding his hand pressed firmly against the door. His intense and predatory gaze bore into her, sending a chill down her spine. That look—it reminded her of the rage she’d seen in his eyes that day in the hall when he faced his father.

Her gaze dropped, unable to meet his eyes. But he lifted her chin with a gentle but firm touch, forcing her to look at him again. “Eyes here,” he demanded, his voice soft yet insistent. She couldn’t hold his gaze and felt her lashes lower again. “Did you hear me?” His voice was sharper now, making her flinch and bringing tears to her eyes.

Seeing her teary expression, he realized he had gone too far. She turned, retreating toward the bed, and he followed, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She tried to pull away, but his grip didn’t loosen. His hand went to her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

She finally comprehended his concern, noticing the worry etched on his face. "Please just don’t talk to me or yell at me,” she murmured. Then, grabbing her teacup, she made her way to the door, mumbling under her breath, “Because of him, my tea went cold.” She threw him an irritated glance as she left, while he stood there, speechless.

He went to the closet, grabbed his clothes, and headed to the bathroom, sinking into his thoughts. She says she’s afraid, yet she keeps ignoring my questions, leaving me with no answers. How can I help her if I don’t know what’s troubling her?

Fresh out of the shower, he dressed in a tailored three-piece suit that emphasized his commanding aura.

Meanwhile, she finally sat with her tea in peace, though her irritation hadn’t faded. How dare he? Just last night he promised he wouldn’t shout at me, and here he is, back to his old ways. Some people never A dog’s tail can never straighten."

“Who’s being called a dog this early in the morning?” Anjali and Riddhima’s voices floated in as they approached with playful smiles.

Lost in her thoughts, she replied without thinking, “Your son.”

“What?” The shock in their voices jolted her from her musings, and she quickly cleared her throat, feigning innocence. “Sorry, what did you ask, Ma? I didn’t hear.”

Anjali took a seat beside her. “I asked who you were calling names first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, I was talking to... to this—” she widened her eyes, scrambling for an answer, “my brain!”

“Your brain?” Riddhima arched a brow, confused.

“Yes, Chachi. It made me forget my tea, and it went cold, so I had to make it all over again.”

“Ohhh,” they echoed, understanding, as she sipped her tea with a smile that hinted at her lingering frustration.

They were all deeply engaged in conversation, sharing a bond so strong and genuine that it almost deserved a touch of envy.

Vihaan and Amaira soon joined the group, helping themselves to some morning snacks. Riddhima returned, noticing Advait walking in. “Oh, look, Advait’s here. You sit; I’ll bring your coffee,” she offered, leaving to get his drink. Drishti’s gaze followed him, her expression narrowing slightly as he took a seat across from her. Her eyes darted around, landing everywhere but on him.

Advait glanced at her before turning to thank Riddhima as she placed his coffee on the table. “Thank you,” he said, flashing a rare smile that momentarily softened his usually intense demeanor.

He then cleared his throat, looking at Drishti briefly before addressing Anjali. “Ma, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Yes, my son, tell me,” Anjali replied warmly, her smile ever-present despite everything she had endured and continued to endure. Her resilience, her quiet strength—it was why she was more than a mother; she was almost divine.

Meanwhile, Drishti mumbled under her breath, “Oh, here he goes again, filling Ma’s ears with complaints about me.” The words were low, but almost everyone heard. Heads turned, eyes widening, some shocked, others simply curious about what had gotten into her.

Advait looked at her, mildly taken aback. “When I ask you anything, you never answer. But now, all of a sudden, you have something to say?”

Drishti looked up at him defiantly, her gaze unwavering. “I wasn’t talking to you; I was talking to myself.” Her voice was defensive as she looked around the table, realizing everyone had heard her. “Did I really say it that loudly?” she asked, noticing their nods.

“If it was just to yourself, why could we all hear you?” he countered,

“That’s your problem, not mine. You just need an excuse to yell, and here’s your chance!” she replied sharply.

“Enough—” His words trailed off, unable to find more, and he looked to Anjali as if to steady himself.

Drishti glanced pleadingly at Anjali. “Ma…”

Anjali stepped in with a gentle but firm tone. “Advait.” Her gaze was calm, yet it held a subtle warning.

The entire family watched them, still in shock. It was hard to believe what they were seeing. Advait and Drishti, usually so distant and reserved around each other, were locked in a childish quarrel. They could hardly recall a time when Advait and Drishti had exchanged this many words, let alone argued. What had gotten into them?

After a pause, Drishti stood up abruptly and left from there. She moved to the kitchen, preparing herself another cup of tea, taking her time to calm down. While waiting, she stood by the doorway, watching Advait from a distance. He was speaking with Anjali, but his voice was low, and she couldn’t make out his words. She squinted, narrowing her eyes as she tried to catch his expression or the direction of his gaze, but it was only making her feel more exasperated.

What’s he saying now? she thought, her fingers tapping on the cup as she stared intently, caught somewhere between annoyance and curiosity.

Advait’s eyes fell on his “detective” wife standing at the kitchen door, squinting at him in concentration. Unable to hold back, he let out a laugh—a full, deep laugh that shook his shoulders. He quickly covered his eyes with one hand, his elbow propped on the table, trying in vain to control his amusement.

The sudden sound drew everyone’s attention to Drishti, who immediately straightened, her face flushing. She took a few slow steps toward the group, trying to regain her composure. But all eyes quickly turned back to Advait, who was still laughing freely, his laughter filling the room.

For a moment, everyone was speechless. It had been so long since they’d seen Advait laugh like this—so openly, with such genuine joy. Even Drishti was taken aback, watching him in surprise. She had never seen this side of him before, and the warmth of his laughter left her standing there, caught between embarrassment and wonder.

Anjali’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she watched her son laugh, his laughter filling the space like sunlight after a long storm. It had been so long since she’d seen him smile for himself, not just for the sake of others. For a mother whose son had almost forgotten what it meant to truly feel joy, this moment meant everything. His smile, perhaps small to others, felt to her like a priceless gift, as if life had returned something precious she thought she’d lost forever.