!!Story Time!!
Radhika P.O.V
**\[Living Room – late evening. The rain had started, soft but steady, tapping against the windows like a ticking clock. I stood by the mantel, arms folded, heart racing. Bhaiya was pacing near the centre rug, his jaw clenched tight. The tension between us was thick—like glass that could shatter with one wrong word.]**
**"You don't understand,"** he snapped, turning sharply toward me.
**"That man—*Justin*—he isn't in your life by accident. He *found* you. He *planned* this. And you're too blinded to see it!"**
His voice cut through the room like thunder.
I flinched, but didn't back down. I couldn't.
**"He didn't *plan* anything, Bhaiya,"** I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. **"He didn't even know I was *your* sister until it was too late. And when he found out, he—"**
**"He *stayed*,"** Bhaiya interrupted.
**"That's the point. He stayed. Because it gave him leverage. Because loving you is the *perfect* revenge on me."**
His words struck deep—but not because I believed them.
Because *he* did.
**"No,"** I said, firm now.
**"It's not revenge. I talked to him. We've *talked* about this—about you, about the past, about everything. Do you think I'm stupid? That I'd fall for someone who was using me just to hurt you?"**
He laughed bitterly.
**"Love makes smart people foolish, Radhika. I've seen it. Lived it. And right now, you're not thinking straight."**
**"And you are?"** I snapped back.
**"You're letting your hatred for him blind you. You haven't even *spoken* to him in over a year, Bhaiya. People change."**
He shook his head.
**"Not men like him. Men like him *pretend* to change. He's charming, calculated. I've seen that look on his face—the fake remorse, the well-timed silences. It's all a setup."**
**"It's *not.*"** My voice cracked, but I kept going.
**"He told me he'd walk away if I ever felt unsafe. He was *ready to leave me* because he thought he didn't deserve happiness after what he did to you. Do you know how hard that must've been for him to say? That's not manipulation, Bhaiya. That's love. That's guilt. That's real."**
Bhaiya's eyes darkened.
**"And what happens when he decides his guilt isn't enough? When the old Justin comes back?"**
I took a step toward him.
**"Then *I'll* walk away. But I won't punish him now for the man he used to be. Not when I know the man he's trying to become."**
We stared at each other across the storm that had nothing to do with rain.
His chest rose and fell, heavy. Mine ached from holding so much in.
**"You're choosing him over me,"** he whispered, and for the first time, I heard it—*not anger. Not betrayal. Just hurt.*
**"I'm not choosing anyone *over* you,"** I said gently.
**"I'm choosing to believe in love, Bhaiya. Just like I believed in *you* when the world called you ruthless."**
He looked away then, toward the rain, toward the years neither of us could undo.
The silence stretched, but it was no longer hostile.
Just exhausted.
Absolutely. Here's your passage translated into **advanced, novel-style English**, with emotional depth and vivid imagery:
---
**"Say something, Bhaiya... please, say something."**
Darkness closed in around me, thick and suffocating, like the world itself was collapsing.
And then—
I jolted awake.
My breath came in ragged gasps. My body was drenched in sweat. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might break free from my chest.
A nightmare.
Just a nightmare.
I was in my bed.
Safe.
Alone.
But the echo of that dream clung to me like fog, refusing to lift.
Last night, I had spoken to Maa. Told her about… *him*. Not everything—but enough. Enough for the truth to begin unraveling. Her eyes hadn't held judgment, only concern… and something else I couldn't name. Maybe hope. Maybe fear.
And now… today.
Today, it would be *Bhaiya*.
I kept replaying his words from a few days ago—*"You're my sister. Always."*
But would he still say that after hearing what I had to say?
After hearing my choice?
I didn't know. And that was the part that terrified me most.
Because if he rejected me—if he looked at me the way he looked at *him*—I wouldn't survive it.
I wasn't strong enough to go against him.
Not my Bhaiya.
Not the one who once held my hand through every scraped knee and broken dream.
And yet...
The truth was waiting.
And it deserved to be spoken.
Even if it shattered everything.
- - -
Back garden. Light slanted across the marble floor like an unspoken truth. I sat there, wrapped in a shawl I hadn't really needed, a cup of untouched tea cooling in my hands. My chest felt heavy, not from regret—but from the unbearable weight of what was no longer hidden.
Last night, I had spoken my truth.
And I knew, deep down, that he knew now too.
I heard footsteps behind me—the slow, steady kind I had grown up recognizing long before I ever knew what trust meant.
I didn't need to turn around.
It was **Bhaiya.**
**"So… you're in love with him."**
His voice wasn't raised. It didn't need to be. The words landed like stones in still water.
I didn't answer right away. I couldn't. My fingers tightened slightly around the cup, as if warmth could somehow help me survive this moment.
**"Yes… maybe… I don't know. But I think… yes."**
Even admitting that felt like stepping out onto ice I wasn't sure would hold.
He came around slowly and sat across from me. Not angrily. Not tenderly. Just… deliberately. Like someone preparing for impact.
**"Did he tell you?"**
His voice was low, careful.
**"Everything? About what he did to me? What I did to him?"**
I nodded.
**"Yes. Everything. The sabotage, the boardroom betrayals, the headlines. Even… the hospital."**
His face didn't change. But I saw it. The flicker in his eyes. The hurt he'd buried deep under layers of pride and silence.
**"Then you know why this feels like betrayal."**
I did. I really did.
**"I know,"** I whispered.
**"And I'm sorry, Bhaiya. I never meant to hurt you. But this… this wasn't some plan. I didn't go looking for him. I didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late."**
I looked at him then—truly looked.
And what I saw broke me a little.
**"Radhika,"** he said finally, his voice tight,
**"that man tried to bury me."**
And still, somehow, I found the courage to hold his gaze.
**"And you tried to bury him too, Bhaiya. This wasn't one-sided. I saw what it did to you—how it broke you, even when you tried to smile in front of us. You both hurt each other in ways that went far beyond business. And maybe… maybe that's why I understand him now. Because I saw that pain in you first."**
He didn't speak. He just sat there, silent, the weight of memory pressing down between us like fog.
Then came the question I was afraid of—yet waiting for:
**"And now that same battlefield… is love?"**
**"No,"** I said, shaking my head.
**"Now… it's where healing began."**
He looked at me then, and in that moment, I wasn't his little sister. I was just a woman in love with someone he could never have imagined standing beside her.
**"He isn't the same man anymore,"** I said softly.
**"And I'm not the same girl who used to follow you around with a notebook, asking how profit margins worked. Life changed us. We grew. And somewhere along the way… I saw something in him I couldn't ignore. Not even for you."**
There was pain in that truth. I knew it. But I also knew I couldn't take it back.
Bhaiya's fingers tapped against his cup once. Then again. And then… he stopped.
**"Does he love you?"**
**"Yes,"** I answered without hesitation.
**"I see it in the way he looks at me like I'm not a chapter—but his ending."**
A silence stretched between us again—but this time, it wasn't cold. It was cautious. Curious.
Then, Bhaiya leaned forward, and when he spoke, his voice had shifted. Still guarded, but something inside it had… released.
**"I don't trust him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I trust *you.* If this is what you want—if this is real—then don't hide from it. Just be ready to fight for it… the way I once fought *against* it."**
My throat tightened. Gratitude burned behind my eyes, but I held it back. I simply nodded.
**"Thank you,"** I whispered.
He stood up slowly, brushed his hands down his sides like he was letting something go.
Then he turned halfway back to me.
**"Just promise me one thing,"** he said.
**"If he ever breaks you—don't let me find out after."**
I nodded again. This time, more certain.
Because this was real.
And I wasn't afraid anymore.
As he walked away, the air around me shifted. My tea had long gone cold.
But my heart… felt braver than it had in years.
Because I had chosen.
And somehow, Bhaiya hadn't walked away from *me*.
Not today....
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
---
Everything was finally… okay.
Evening had settled softly over the house, brushing the walls with gold and lavender. The air was calm, almost still. And for the first time in days, so was I.
I'd spoken to Bhaiya.
He *knew.*
And more importantly—he'd *accepted it.*
Not just for my sake, not with that strained smile people wear when they're sacrificing their own comfort for someone else's happiness. No, there was something genuine in his eyes. A quiet understanding. Maybe even peace.
Maa knew too.
She knew about *me*, about *Justin*, about the complicated storm that brought us here.
Now, there was only *one* thing left to do.
Tell Justin my answer.
And yet, somehow… that felt like the hardest part of all.
I kept playing it in my head—what I'd say, how I'd say it.
How do you apologise to someone who once stood in front of your silence with so much love?
How do you bridge a space filled with all the words you never said, and all the ones you said too late?
It would be awkward.
Unbelievably awkward.
After everything, after the distance, after the way we left things—what would I even say when I saw him?
"Sorry"?
"I love you"?
Both?
Neither?
Should I… *propose*?
But propose what, exactly?
Marriage felt far away, like a word that belonged to a version of us that hadn't been broken and rebuilt.
And "boyfriend and girlfriend" felt too small for what we'd already survived together.
We *were* that. We *are* that. Just… on a pause.
And now, I don't know how to press play again.
Do I take flowers?
Do I make a speech?
Or do I simply show up, look him in the eye, and tell the truth?
That I never stopped loving him.
That I chose *him*.
That this time—I'm not walking away.
Even if the words fail me,
*my heart won't.*
_____________________
---
The city wore a quiet hush as I climbed the stairs to the old rooftop where he used to take me when things got too loud below. It hadn't changed much—still scattered with mismatched chairs, wind chimes softly singing in the breeze, and the distant hum of traffic somewhere far, far away.
But *I* had changed.
I held my breath at the top step, heart knocking wildly in my chest. My palms were damp. Every sentence I'd rehearsed in front of the mirror that morning now swirled into chaos in my mind.
What if he didn't come?
What if he *did*, and looked at me like a stranger?
The sun had just begun to melt into the horizon, spilling gold and crimson across the sky, when I heard footsteps.
I turned.
And there he was.
Justin.
Hands in his pockets. That familiar crooked posture. Eyes that searched before they settled on me fully. His expression unreadable.
"Didn't think I'd see you here," he said, voice quiet. Almost careful.
I took a shaky breath. "I wasn't sure you'd come either."
A beat of silence.
The wind brushed past us like a third presence—urging, watching.
"I needed to see you," I said. "I needed to say something. Actually… a lot of things."
His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger—more like disbelief. Waiting.
I stepped forward.
"I was scared," I began. "Not just of you. Of myself. Of everything I was feeling. I thought ignoring it would make it easier, but it only made it worse. I asked for time because I needed to be sure."
"And now?" he asked, voice flat but flickering with something deeper beneath.
"Now…" I hesitated, forcing the words out before fear swallowed them again.
"Now I know that I don't want time anymore. I want *you*."
His jaw tightened. "You sure? Or just afraid of losing me now?"
I didn't blame the question. Not after how I'd left him in silence, unanswered and alone.
"I've talked to Mom. And to Bhaiya. He knows. They both do."
I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes—but I wasn't finished.
"I told them the truth. About what you mean to me. And I know they've seen you as something else, someone dangerous—but *I* see you. I've talked to you. I know your heart. I trust it—even if they never do."
I swallowed. "I still love you, Justin. I probably never stopped. But I wasn't ready to fight for it before. I am now."
He looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time that evening. His eyes shimmered, and something in them melted. Slowly.
"You still talk too much when you're nervous," he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching.
I let out a laugh, breathless and full of relief. "I was going to bring a whole speech. With cue cards."
"Oh, thank God you didn't," he said, finally stepping closer. Close enough for me to see the softness in his eyes. The weariness, yes—but beneath it, hope. "You could've just said you missed me."
I bit my lip. "I missed you."
"Good," he whispered.
We stood there, not touching, not moving—just letting the silence stitch everything that had torn. Letting the wind carry away all the things we didn't have to say out loud.
Then he reached out, his fingers gently finding mine.
"This time…" he said softly, "no running. Right?"
I nodded. "This time… I'll run only toward you."
And as the first star blinked to life above us, we stood hand in hand—no titles, no promises—just two people finally on the same page.
And for the first time in a long while, that was enough.
---
Thank you.....