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I know it is kinda boring but the next one will be a bomb okayy!!
Author's POV
"Will I ever be able to find the same Isha I love!!?" Shivansh said with a broken voice.
Isha's voice trembled but stayed firm.
"No and Honestly, I need time, Shivansh... I just need time. Please."
For a second, he didn't move. His fists clenched, jaw locked, eyes burning with emotions he could no longer control. But he forced himself to take a step back.
"Fine," he whispered, without looking at her.
"Take all the time you want."
He turned away.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Isha pressed a hand over her heart, her breath uneven. She didn't cry this time, but her eyes stung-exhaustion, guilt, fear, everything mixing like poison inside her chest.
He walked out, shoulders stiff, tongue pressed so tightly against his teeth that he tasted blood. None of the palace staff dared to speak as he marched past them.
He went straight into the underground garage-cold, metallic, dimly lit with motion sensors.
His personal fleet stood lined up like silent soldiers-sleek black cars, matte superbikes, even a vintage Jaguar.
He didn't think.
He simply grabbed the keys of one of his blacked-out SUVs, threw himself inside, slammed the door, and the engine roared awake.
He sped out of the palace like a storm escaping a cage.
The warehouse sat away from the city-a huge industrial building surrounded by barren land. Only his most trusted guards knew this place existed.
As he arrived, guards stood straight, eyes lowered.
"Open it," he ordered.
The large metallic shutter lifted.
Inside were only guards...
and three men.
The same three men who once tried to harass Isha in a Jaipur club months ago.
Back then, she had fought them herself-bravely, fiercely-but Shivansh never let that incident go.
He had tracked them.
He had brought them here.
And today... he needed an outlet for his anger, the anger he could not release on Isha.
His eyes darkened.
"Untie them."
The guards hesitated.
"Sir... they're already-"
"I SAID UNTIE THEM!"
The chains dropped.
The three men scrambled, terrified.
"Please, sir... please-"
Shivansh punched the first one so hard that blood splattered.
"YOU TOUCHED HER!"
Another hit.
"You FOLLOWED her!"
A kick to the ribs.
"You thought I'll forget?"
He grabbed the second man by his collar and slammed him against a pillar.
"She handled herself. But I don't forgive."
He punched, kicked, slammed-
again and again.
Every blow driven by rage he wasn't allowed to show in front of Isha.
Hour passed.
The men lay nearly unconscious, guards not daring to intervene.
Breathing heavily, covered in their blood and his sweat, he finally stopped.
Just then-
his phone rang.
Maa sa.
He wiped his face and answered.
"Jii, Maa sa. "
His mother's calm yet firm voice came through the speaker.
"Isha's family is coming to take her home for Pag phera and then it will be up to her when she wants to come. ."
His breath froze.
"Did... Did she left?"
"No. They are on their way. "
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered, "I'm coming."
He dropped the phone, turned away from the broken men, and walked out.
He drove back at full speed.
Meanwhile in the palace,
The entire palace was unusually quiet that morning.
Downstairs, in the living area, everyone sat together-grandmother, grandfather, his father, his chote papa-all waiting for Isha to come down like she usually did. She always came down with a soft smile, greeting everyone properly, no matter how tired she was. But today... she didn't.
And it was the first sign that something was wrong.
Upstairs, outside their chamber, Shivansh's mother and chote maa had walked with bright smiles, ready to take Isha downstairs for some time together, hoping to bond and make her feel comfortable in the family. Both of them loved her deeply already; she was soft, respectful, well-mannered, and emotionally gentle.
But the moment the door opened... their smiles faded.
Both women froze.
Isha stood there-trying so hard to smile, trying so hard to look normal. But her eyes... God, her eyes. They were swollen, red, exhausted... the kind of red that only comes when a girl has cried silently, painfully, for hours.
Shivansh chote maa's heart cracked first.
His mother was right beside her, and she saw it too. One look at Isha's face, and she knew-something happened.
"Beta... are... you okay?"
She asked gently, even though she already knew the answer.
Isha blinked and forced a tiny smile, the kind that hurts more than tears.
"Aunty... do you need something?"
"No... no, beta," Shivansh's mother answered softly, suddenly conscious of her own voice. "Woh... hum bas neeche bulaane aaye the. Socha thoda time saath mein spend karein."
Isha looked down, her fingers trembling at her sides.
"I'm... I'm feeling a little weak. Mujhe thoda rest chahiye."
Both women nodded instantly. Not a single question. Not a single push.
"Of course," his chote maa said.
"Rest, beta. Take all the time you need."
They stepped back gently as she closed the door.
But their hearts were already down in their stomachs.
The moment the door clicked shut, the two women looked at each other-and everything made terrible sense in an instant.
That smile... wasn't a smile.
Those eyes... were screaming.
That "rest" wasn't rest.
Something had happened upstairs.
Something emotional, something heavy, something that tore Isha apart.
And both of them instantly felt guilty.
They had celebrated too loudly yesterday... welcomed her too happily... involved her in their happiness... without realizing the storm she was hiding inside her chest.
They walked downstairs silently, slowly, carrying the heaviness with them.
Everyone turned when they entered the living area.
Grandmother asked immediately,
"Isha nahi aayi? Kya hua?"
Shivansh's mother sat beside her, her voice tight with pain.
"Ma... I think... I think we forgot something very important."
The entire room grew still.
"What?" Grandfather asked.
She exhaled shakily. "We were so happy... so relieved... so excited that our son finally married the girl destined for him... we didn't stop to think about her side."
His father leaned forward. "Kya hua? Did something happen?"
Shivansh's mother's eyes softened with guilt.
"When she opened the door... her eyes were red. Not the tired kind. The... cried-for-hours kind."
Silence.
Thick and suffocating.
"She's hurting," his chote maa whispered. "We were celebrating... but she was breaking up. And we didn't see it."
Grandmother's expression fell.
"Bechari bacchi... she stayed alone in another country for years... suffered in silence... and then suddenly, marriage... suddenly our happiness... and we didn't let her breathe for even one moment."
His chote papa nodded. "Itna bada change... itna emotional burden... she needs space. She needs her family."
His father added softly,
"I think... she should go stay with her parents for a few days. Maybe that's what she needs. Time. Peace. Safety."
Grandmother agreed immediately.
"Yes. Absolutely. She needs her mother. She needs comfort. And we must support her. She is our daughter-in-law, but first... she's someone's daughter."
Shivansh's mother hesitated before admitting,
"Honestly... I think she might not be happy. She didn't want this marriage... how can I forget that shivansh force her... and we were too blinded by our joy to see her pain."
Grandfather looked at everyone, his voice firm but full of empathy.
"Then we will fix what we didn't see. We respect her. If she wants space, we give it. If she wants distance, we step back. If she wants to stay with her family... she will stay with her family."
The decision was made.
Without hesitation.
Without judgment.
Without selfishness.
She was a daughter before she was their daughter-in-law.
They loved her too much to ignore her pain.
Shivansh's mother immediately stood and picked up her phone.
"I'll call Devika jii."
Everyone held their breath.
The call connected.
The two women greeted each other warmly, respectfully.
Then Shivansh's mother gently said,
"I called you to ask when will you come to pick Isha for pag phera because we want to send Isha home for some days... she looks tired... drained... emotional."
Isha's mother's reply was instant.
"Hum toh already Jaipur mein hi hain. Aapko phone karne hi wale the. Hum aaj shaam ko usse Pag phera ke liye lens aa rahe the."
The entire family looked surprised.
Already here?
Already on the way?
It almost felt like fate had aligned itself with Isha's emotional need.
Shivansh's mother smiled sadly.
"Ji, thik hai. We will send cars to the airport. Please come safely."
"Don't worry Dhruv handle here everything," Isha's mother said softly. "Aur haan... agar kuch hua ho... toh humse mat chhup aaiyega."
"No," she replied truthfully. "Kuch galat nahi hua. Bas... shayad hum usse zyada expect kar baithe. She needs rest. That's all."
When the call ended, the entire family looked at each other-united in one thought:
Isha needed love, not pressure.
She needed space, not expectations.
And they would give her exactly that.
They weren't angry.
They weren't disappointed.
They were simply worried for her... protective of her... entirely on her side.
Not a single person blamed her.
Not one.
Grandmother placed a hand over her heart.
"She is our daughter now. Her pain is ours. And I want her to know... she can choose whatever path she needs. We will not force anything."
And for the first time in years, the palace-built on power, discipline, and royal pride-felt something pure.
There was no ego here.
Only love.
Only softness.
Only the desire to protect the girl who entered their family with tears hiding behind her smile.
Meanwhile shivansh also came almost that time.
The palace gates opened instantly when he arrived.
He got out of the car, muscles tense, face unreadable. His knuckles were bleeding, his shirt stained, but he didn't care.
He rushed through the hallways, heading upstairs to check on Isha-
but a palace staff member ran toward him.
"Rana sa!"
He stopped abruptly, frustration snapping in his chest.
"What now?"
"Sir... Rani saa's family is here."
His heart dropped.
"Where?"
"They just entered through the main gate."
Shivansh swallowed hard and exhaled slowly.
This was not how he wanted them to see him-- hurt, furious, broken.
But he had no choice.
He squared his shoulders and turned.
Shivansh paced near the stairs, fists clenching and unclenching unconsciously. He wasn't ready. He wasn't prepared. A part of him wanted to run upstairs and lock Isha in his arms. But he stayed still. Because today wasn't about him.
Today... was about her.
Isha's family comes to take her home for a few days
The palace staff hurried to open the massive front doors as three luxury cars stopped at the entrance. The noon light spilled across the marbled floor, and the air suddenly felt different. Tensed. Expectant.
The palace doors opened again.
And this time-
Her parents stepped in first.
Dhruv beside them.
Prisha and Ishika behind them, worried, tense, whispering among themselves.
They looked around the grand entrance, overwhelmed but anxious.
The staff announced softly:
"Ma'am... Isha's family has arrived."
Everyone turned toward the entrance.
Isha's mother stepped inside first - elegant, composed, but her eyes sharp with concern. Behind her walked Isha's father, quiet but tense, and then Dhruv, enter with a worried expression. Ishika rushed in after them, followed by Prisha, both visibly anxious.
Only Arjun wasn't there - duty came first for an IAS officer.
Arav wasn't there - meetings.
Ritvik wasn't there - meetings again.
Luka family didn't came, they stay back to welcome her.
But the ones who mattered most... were here.
Grandmother stepped forward with a soft smile.
His Grandmother: "Welcome... truly welcome. Please, come inside."
Isha's mother didn't smile back fully. She nodded politely, her eyes scanning the palace... searching.
Isha's Mother: "Thank you for calling us. Where is Isha?"
The question hit like a sudden drop in temperature.
Shivansh flinched. His mother looked down. His chote maa swallowed hard. Everyone exchanged subtle, worried glances.
His Mother: "She... she is upstairs. Resting."
Ishika's eyebrows jumped.
Prisha's hand tightened around her dupatta.
Dhruv frowned deeply.
Dhruv: "Resting? Why? Is she sick? Did she faint again?"
His Aunt (guilty): "No... she is just... exhausted."
Isha's mother stepped forward, her voice firm now.
Isha's Mother: "Exhausted from what?"
Silence.
A thick, uncomfortable silence.
Then his chote maa poke softly - very softly - because her heart felt too heavy.
His mother said slowly, "We... we celebrated too much. We thought she was happy. We thought this marriage will change her mind. But... when I saw her face this morning..."
Her voice broke.
"...her eyes were swollen red. She cried for hours. We didn't notice. We forgot... what she went through. We forgot that our daughter... was forced."
Shivansh shut his eyes.
The words sliced him open from inside.
Isha's father exhaled sharply - furious, but trying to remain respectful.
Isha's Father: "Yes. She was forced. And she stayed quiet for five years. Do you know what five years alone does to a girl?"
His Mother stepped in quickly, voice reflecting responsibility.
His father: "Yes... we know. We realise that now. And we don't want to make any mistakes. If she wishes to stay with you for a few days, to breathe, to think... we support her. Fully."
Isha's mother softened, though sadness didn't leave her eyes.
Isha's Mother: "We are not here to fight. We are here because our daughter needs us. And if she wants to stay with us for a while... we'll take her."
Prisha immediately stepped forward.
Prisha: "Aunty... can we see her once? Please?"
His chote maa nodded immediately and said "Yes. Of course."
Just then, his Grandfather spoke - calm, thoughtful, firm.
His Grandfather: "Send her home. If she wants to stay, let her stay. Her peace matters more than customs."
Shivansh's throat worked painfully.
He finally spoke - voice low, shaken, but respectful.
Shivansh: "I won't stop her. I will never stop her again. If she wants to go... she should go."
Everyone looked at him.
Dhruv glared at him - openly hostile.
Dhruv: "You better not stop her."
Shivansh nodded once. Quiet. Accepting.
Shivansh: "I won't... not this time."
Prisha and Ishika exchanged a broken glance.
Isha's father nodded firmly.
Isha's Father: "We'll take her with us today. She'll stay with us until she decides what she wants."
Uncle agreed softly.
Uncle: "We support her. Fully. No pressure from our side."
Aunt sat beside Grandmother, holding her hand.
Aunt: "Ma... we were celebrating her marriage. But maybe... she was suffering. We forgot she wasn't ready."
Grandmother wiped her eyes.
Grandmother: "Then let her go home. Let her breathe."
Shivansh closed his eyes in pain but didn't fight.
Shivansh (broken whisper): "If she needs time away from me... she should take it."
Dhruv shot him a angry look.
Dhruv: "She won't be alone this time. She has all of us. We'll protect her."
Shivansh nodded.
Shivansh: "I know."
Isha's mother stepped forward, gentle yet firm.
Isha's Mother: "We will take her today. The cars are on the way from the airport. We came early."
Grandmother nodded.
Grandmother: "Your comfort comes first. We will send more cars to receive your family."
Isha's Father: "No need, but thank you."
Mother: "It is our duty. We want you to be comfortable."
Everything was set.
Everything was decided.
Isha... was going home.
Her family... was taking her.
And everyone - including Shivansh - accepted it.
Because this time...
Her happiness mattered most.
Isha did not know.
She did not know that while she was sitting alone in that silent chamber—washing her face again and again, staring at her reflection, forcing her tears to stop—her entire world had quietly walked into the palace.
Downstairs, the living area was full.
But no one was celebrating.
No one was smiling freely.
Two families sat facing each other.
Isha's family.
Shivansh's family.
And between them… a decision that hurt everyone.
Shivansh stood near the pillar, a little away from everyone. His hands were in his pockets, jaw tight, eyes lowered. He was present—but not included. As if he had no right to speak today.
Because today… was not about him.
Isha's father leaned forward slightly, his voice controlled but firm.
Isha's Father:
"She stayed alone for five years. In another country. Broken. Silent. And suddenly… marriage, palace, people, expectations. It's too much."
Mother wiped her tears.
Mother:
"That's why we called you. We don't want to force her into anything. If she needs time… distance… peace… she should have it."
Grandfather nodded slowly.
Grandfather:
"She should go home. Let her breathe."
Shivansh's fingers curled inside his pockets.
He wanted to say something.
He wanted to beg.
He wanted to scream that he would wait, that he would fix everything.
But he said nothing.
Because he knew—
If he spoke now, it would sound selfish.
Just then, soft footsteps echoed on the stairs.
Everyone looked up.
Isha was coming down.
She had washed her face.
Her hair was tied loosely.
Her eyes were still red—but she was trying. Trying to look normal. Trying to look fine.
She stopped at the last step.
And froze.
Her parents.
Dhruv.
Ishika.
Prisha.
Her breath hitched.
Isha (soft, shocked):
"Mummy…? Papa…?"
Her mother stood up immediately.
Isha's Mother:
"Come here, beta."
Isha walked slowly toward them, confused, drained.
Isha:
"What… what are you all doing here?"
Her mother cupped her face gently, eyes scanning her daughter's tired features.
Isha's Mother:
"We came to take you home."
Isha blinked.
Isha:
"Home…?"
Isha's Father spoke gently.
Isha's Father:
"For Pagphera. And… for you."
Isha looked around. At Shivansh's family. At Shivansh—who stood behind everyone, eyes fixed on her, unreadable.
She looked away first.
Isha nodded once.
Isha:
"Okay."
No questions.
No resistance.
Just acceptance.
Her mother frowned slightly.
Isha's Mother:
"Go upstairs. Pack what you need."
Isha shook her head.
Isha:
"No. I don't need anything."
Everyone looked at her.
Isha continued quietly.
Isha:
"I just need my phone."
Prisha's heart sank.
Prisha:
"You won't even take clothes?"
Isha smiled faintly.
Isha:
"I don't know how long I'll stay. I don't want to carry things I don't understand right now."
Her mother swallowed hard.
Isha's Mother:
"Okay. If you're ready… we can leave."
Mother from Shivansh's side spoke quickly.
Mother:
"At least stay for lunch—"
Isha's Father shook his head politely.
Isha's Father:
"She's ready. We shouldn't delay."
Grandmother nodded.
Grandmother:
"Let her go."
Shivansh felt something crack inside his chest.
He took one step forward.
Stopped.
Because Isha didn't look at him.
Not once.
Outside, the cars were already waiting.
Dhruv spoke into his phone.
Dhruv:
"Yes. Inform the pilot. We're leaving soon."
Ishika walked beside Isha, whispering urgently.
Ishika:
"What happened? Why are you leaving like this?"
Prisha held her hand.
Prisha:
"Just tell us… please."
Isha shook her head gently.
Isha:
"Not now."
Her voice wasn't cold.
It was tired.
Shivansh's family followed them outside.
Shivansh walked behind everyone.
He wanted one moment.
One hug.
One sentence.
But fate didn't give him even that.
Isha stepped toward the car.
Shivansh stopped a few feet away.
He spoke—barely above a whisper.
Shivansh:
"Isha…"
She paused.
For a second, he thought she would turn.
She didn't.
She got into the car.
The door closed.
That sound felt louder than any scream.
The cars started.
Shivansh stood there, unmoving, as they drove away.
Taking her.
Taking the little peace she had found.
Taking his last chance to say—
Come back soon.
But he never said it.
Because sometimes…
Love means letting go even when it destroys you.
And as the palace gates closed behind the departing cars, Shivansh stood alone in the open space—angry, broken, silent—
Knowing one truth very clearly:
This time, he had to win her back
without force,
without control,
without entitlement.
Only with patience.
Only with remorse.
Only with love.
The palace had never felt this empty.
Not even on nights when it stood silent under moonlight, not even during winters when corridors echoed with nothing but footsteps of guards. This emptiness was different. This one sat inside his chest, heavy and unmoving, like something had been ripped out and left a hollow behind.
The sound of the gates closing still rang in Shivansh's ears.
Once.
Final.
Decisive.
He stood at the edge of the corridor, watching from a distance as the last car disappeared beyond the palace gates. He didn't wave. He didn't move. He didn't even blink.
Because if he did—
He knew he would break.
The staff slowly dispersed, sensing the weight in the air. No one spoke. No one dared to. Even the palace, as if understanding his grief, had gone unnaturally still.
Shivansh turned.
His steps were slow as he walked back toward his chamber. Every step felt heavier than the last, like the marble floor itself was pulling him down.
This was the room she had been in just hours ago.
This was the space where she had cried.
This was where she had said, I need time.
He pushed the door open.
The room welcomed him with cruel familiarity.
Her pillow still carried the faint scent of her shampoo. Her dupatta lay folded on the chair—untouched, forgotten. The bedside lamp was switched off, just as she had left it.
He stood there for a long moment.
Then his control snapped.
Shivansh shut the door behind him and leaned against it, his forehead pressing into the wood. His shoulders shook as the breath he'd been holding all day finally escaped him.
"Why…" he whispered hoarsely.
"Why does it hurt like this?"
No answer came.
He laughed—a broken, humorless sound—and slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, elbows resting on them.
"I did what you asked," he murmured, voice cracking. "I'll let you go. I didn't stop you. I didn't force you. Isn't that what you wanted?"
His hands clenched into fists.
"Then why does it feel like I've lost you again?"
Silence answered him.
He looked up at the bed, his eyes burning. "Do you know how hard it was… not to run after you?" His voice rose, trembling. "Do you know how badly I wanted to hold you and say—please, don't go?"
He shook his head, swallowing hard. "But I didn't. Because for once… for once, I wanted to do the right thing."
His chest tightened.
"I thought bringing you back was enough," he whispered. "I thought if I waited… if I stayed quiet… if I gave you space… you would see that I never stopped loving you."
He let out a shaky breath. "But love doesn't erase five years, does it?"
His eyes closed as memories flooded in—her standing alone in another country, her silence, her pain, her tears today in the bathroom.
"I failed you," he said softly. "Again."
The words tasted bitter.
"I protected you from the world," he continued, voice hollow, "but I didn't protect you from me. From my decisions. From my silence."
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration and regret mixing violently inside him.
"You think this is easy for me?" he whispered into the emptiness. "You think letting you go was easy?"
His laugh broke into a sob this time.
"I would burn this palace down if it meant you'd stay," he admitted. "But I won't cage you again. I won't be the man who steals your choices after being forced into marriage."
He pushed himself up unsteadily and walked to the window. Outside, the sky had darkened, clouds gathering slowly, threatening rain.
"Go," he murmured, almost pleading with the wind. "Go home. Heal. Be angry. Hate me if you want."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Just… don't forget me."
His phone lay on the bedside table. He stared at it for a long time, thumb hovering above her name.
He didn't call.
He turned away instead, pressing his fist against his chest as if trying to steady his heart.
"I'll wait," he said to the room, to the memory of her. "I waited five years. I can wait more."
But the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
"Just don't make this the end, Isha."
Outside, thunder rolled softly, distant but inevitable.
Shivansh sat on the edge of the bed she had left behind, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow, holding onto the only thing he had left—
Hope.
The house looked the same.
Same white gate. Same bougainvillea creeping along the wall. Same wind chimes at the door that used to sing whenever she came home late from college.
And yet… nothing felt the same.
The car stopped.
The car stopped in front of the familiar gate.
The nameplate still hung there, slightly faded.
The same bougainvillea creeper crawled over the wall.
Nothing had changed.
Except her.
Isha didn't move.
Her mother looked at her through the rearview mirror, concern tightening her features.
"Isha… beta. We're home."
Home.
The word felt foreign in her chest.
Dhruv opened the door and stepped out first, scanning the surroundings out of habit. Ishika followed, already fighting tears. Prisha stayed quiet—too quiet—watching Isha like she might disappear if someone blinked.
Isha finally stepped out of the car.
The moment her feet touched the ground, something inside her cracked again—but she didn't let it show.
She walked in.
Inside the house, familiar voices rushed toward her.
"Isha!"
She barely had time to react before Meher was already in front of her, arms wrapped tightly around her.
"Oh my God, look at you," Meher said, pulling back just enough to cup her face. "Your eyes… Isha, what happened?"
Isha blinked once. Twice.
"I'm fine."
Meher scoffed, angry tears forming.
"No, you're not. Don't lie to me. You've been crying."
Before Isha could respond, a tall figure appeared behind Meher.
Luka.
His expression softened the moment he saw her.
"Isha," he said quietly. "You're back."
She nodded. That was all she had.
Then came Alessandro, sleeves rolled up, jaw clenched in visible restraint.
"You look… exhausted," he said carefully. Too carefully.
"And you look like you're about to punch someone," Meher snapped at him.
"I am," Alessandro replied flatly. "I'm just deciding who."
Isha flinched.
That didn't go unnoticed.
Luka stepped forward immediately.
"Hey," he said gently. "No pressure. No questions right now. Just… sit."
They guided her to the couch.
She sat.
Silently.
Arav, who had been leaning against the staircase, straightened when he saw her properly. His playful grin vanished.
"Okay," he said softly. "This is bad. This is really bad."
Isha stared at her hands.
Ritvik came out of the kitchen, wiping his palms anxiously.
"I've made tea. And soup. She hasn't eaten properly," she told the others.
Isha shook her head.
"I'm not hungry."
Her father's voice came from behind her—calm, but edged with pain.
"You don't have to eat. You don't have to talk. You just have to stay."
That did it.
Her shoulders trembled—but still, no tears.
Meher sat beside her.
"Did he hurt you?"
The room went deadly still.
Isha's head snapped up.
"No."
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
"Did he force you again?"
"No," she repeated, sharper now. "He didn't."
"Are you safe?"
Her lips parted.
"Yes," she said after a pause. "I am."
Her mother exhaled in relief, but the worry didn't leave her face.
"And are you… okay?" her mother asked.
That question broke something small but important.
Isha looked down at her hands.
"I don't know," she whispered. "I wake up fine… and then suddenly I'm not. Sometimes I feel nothing. Sometimes everything hurts at once."
Prisha moved closer, sitting on the floor near her knees.
"Did he hurt you?" she asked carefully.
Isha shook her head immediately.
"No. Not now."
Dhruv's eyes narrowed.
"Not now?" he repeated. "What does that mean?"
Isha swallowed.
"It means… the damage was already done years ago. Today… it's just the aftershocks."
Silence.
Heavy. Crushing.
Her father leaned back slightly, rubbing his face.
"We sent you away to heal," he said quietly. "Not to break again."
"I didn't break again," Isha replied. "I never fully healed in the first place."
Her mother's eyes filled instantly.
"You should have told us," she whispered. "You were alone… all those years."
Isha finally looked at her mother properly.
"I tried," she said. "But every time I thought of saying it out loud, it felt like if I did… everything would collapse. So I just… kept walking."
Dhruv clenched his fists.
"And now?" he asked. "What do you want now?"
That question hung in the air.
Isha opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"I want… silence," she said finally. "Not answers. Not explanations. Just… silence."
Ishika blinked back tears.
"You're allowed to be angry," she said. "You don't have to forgive anyone."
Isha nodded.
"I know. And that's what scares me," she said softly. "Because I don't know if I ever will."
Arav frowned.
"Then why do you look like you've been hollowed out?"
Silence.
A long, suffocating silence.
Finally, Isha whispered,
"Because sometimes… no one has to touch you to hurt you."
Meher's breath caught.
Luka closed his eyes.
Ishika broke down instantly.
"She shouldn't have gone through this alone," she cried. "Five years. Five years and we didn't know how bad it was."
Isha shook her head.
"You couldn't have known. I didn't tell anyone."
Dhruv crouched in front of her, eyes level with hers.
"Why?"
Her lips trembled.
"Because if I said it out loud… it would become real."
Ritvik ran a hand through his hair.
"So what now?"
Isha swallowed.
"I don't know."
Her mother sat beside her, pulling her gently into her arms.
"You don't need to know. Not today. Not tomorrow."
Meher squeezed her hand.
"You can stay as long as you want."
Alessandro nodded.
"No one's taking you back unless you decide."
Luka spoke last, voice quiet but steady.
"And if you decide never to go back… that's okay too."
Isha finally looked at them—all of them.
Her voice was barely audible.
"I don't hate him."
That shocked them.
"I just… don't know how to forgive five years with one apology," she continued. "I don't know how to unlearn fear. Or trust happiness."
Her father kissed the top of her head.
"Then don't try."
She leaned into him.
For the first time since she left the palace…
her breathing slowed.
Not healed.
Not happy.
But safe.
The room was exactly how she'd left it.
The bookshelf.
The framed photos.
The window where she once stood, dreaming of leaving… never imagining she'd return like this.
Her mother stood at the door.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asked.
Isha shook her head gently.
"Just… sit outside," she said. "Please."
Her mother nodded, heart breaking quietly, and left the door slightly ajar.
Isha sat on the bed.
Then lay down.
Staring at the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
She didn't check.
She knew.
She turned her face to the wall.
A single tear slipped into the pillow.
"I asked for time," she whispered to no one. "Why does it still hurt like this?"
They sat together for dinner.
Isha barely ate.
Her father watched her carefully.
"You don't have to decide anything right now," he said. "Marriage, separation, forgiveness… none of it."
She nodded slowly.
"Thank you," she said. "For not asking me to be strong."
Her mother reached out, finally placing her hand over Isha's.
"You don't have to be strong here," she said firmly. "You can fall apart. We'll hold you."
Isha's eyes filled again.
But she didn't cry.
She just sat there.
Quiet. Numb.
Safe… but still hurting.
As the house slept, Isha lay awake.
The rain began outside.
Soft at first.
Then heavier.
She closed her eyes.
And for a brief, unwanted second…
She wondered if he was standing somewhere in that rain too.
Not forgiving him.
Not missing him.
Just… wondering.
Morning arrived quietly.
Too quietly.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains of Isha's childhood room, soft and pale, touching the edges of the bed where she lay awake long before anyone else. She hadn't slept much. Maybe an hour. Maybe less. Her eyes burned, but she didn't close them again.
Silence had become familiar.
She stared at the ceiling for a long time before finally sitting up. No rush. No urgency. Just slow movements, like even her body didn't want to participate today.
She washed her face. Cold water. Twice.
The mirror showed her what she already knew.
Eyes dull. Skin pale. A calm that didn't belong to peace.
She tied her hair back loosely and changed into something simple. No makeup. No effort. Just enough to exist.
Downstairs, voices drifted up.
Normal voices. Morning voices.
She paused at the staircase, hand resting on the railing, listening.
Luka laughing. Keef arguing about coffee. Meher scolding Riyan gently. Dhruv's low voice saying something she couldn't catch.
Life was moving. She wasn't.
Still, she walked down.
The dining table was full.
Too full.
Her parents sat at one end. Dhruv beside them. Ritvik leaned back in his chair, phone in hand. Meher sat close to Riyan, fixing his collar while he protested. Alessandro and luka were already mid-conversation about something work-related.
Ishika stood near the counter, sipping tea.
The moment Isha stepped in—
Everything shifted.
"Isha," her mother said softly.
She looked up.
"Good morning."
It came out flat. Polite. Practiced.
Meher noticed first.
She froze mid-motion, eyes narrowing just slightly. Luka's smile faded. Dhruv straightened. Ishika turned fully toward her.
Riyan was the only one who reacted without hesitation.
"Mama!" he shouted, jumping off his chair and running toward her.
She barely had time to bend before he wrapped his arms around her legs.
"You came yesterday and didn't tell me," he accused.
A flicker. Something close to a smile.
"I was tired," she said, resting a hand on his head.
"You're always tired now," he said bluntly.
The table went quiet.
Meher shot Riyan a warning look.
"Riyan."
"What?" he asked. "She is."
Isha gently pulled him back toward his chair.
"Eat your breakfast."
She took her seat without another word.
Plates were passed. Food was served. The routine continued.
But something was missing.
Her.
She barely touched her food.
Her mother noticed.
"You don't like this anymore?" she asked carefully.
"I'm just not hungry."
Dhruv leaned back, watching her.
"You barely ate yesterday too."
"I said I'm fine."
The words landed harder than she meant.
Ishika set her cup down.
"No, you're not," she said quietly. "But that's okay. You don't have to be."
Isha didn't respond.
Meher studied her face the way only someone who knew her too well could.
"You cried," Meher said suddenly.
It wasn't a question.
Isha froze for half a second.
Then—
"I didn't."
Luka scoffed.
"Your eyes say otherwise."
Her father cleared his throat gently.
"Enough."
Breakfast continued.
But it wasn't breakfast anymore.
It was an observation.
After a while, Ishika stood up.
"Okay," she said, clapping her hands once. "I am stealing her today."
Everyone looked up.
Isha frowned.
"What?"
"I'm taking you to your firm."
"No," Isha said immediately.
"Yes."
"I don't want to go."
"You have to."
Her mother intervened softly.
"Ishika, maybe she needs rest—"
"No," Ishika said, shaking her head. "She needs herself."
Isha looked at her.
"Ishika—"
"You built that place," Ishika continued. "You left it behind for everyone else while you broke alone. Let me show you something."
Silence.
Dhruv, who had been quiet till now, finally spoke.
"prisha's running it… really well."
Isha blinked.
"What?"
Her mother smiled faintly.
"She's handling everything. Clients. Staff. Decisions. Just like you taught her."
Isha looked away.
"That doesn't matter."
"It does," Ishika said. "To you."
Isha stood abruptly.
"I said I don't want to go."
Ishika stepped closer, voice low now.
"And I'm saying—if you stay here, you'll disappear."
The room is still.
Meher watched them carefully.
"She's right," she said gently. "Just go. One day. That's all."
Dhruv nodded once.
"You don't have to talk. Just exist."
She exhaled slowly.
"…Fine."
Ishika smiled.
"Good."
By late morning, they were ready.
No excitement. No planning chaos.
Just quiet agreement.
As Isha picked up her bag, she paused.
Her phone buzzed.
Five missed call.
She didn't check who it was.
She turned it face-down and walked out.
Because today wasn't about answers.
It was about surviving the day.
And sometimes—
That was enough.
Ishika left her, because a sudden surgery came, and she has operated that..
The glass doors of the firm slid open.
And for a second—
Isha stopped.
Not because she was nervous.
Because it felt… unreal.
Five years.
Five years since she last stood here as herself.
The reception looked the same. Clean. Calm. Professional.
But it wasn't the familiarity that hit her.
It was the respect.
The receptionist looked up—and froze.
For half a second.
Then she stood up instantly.
"Ma'am…"
Her voice trembled. Not fear. Awe.
Isha blinked.
"Yes?"
The woman smiled, wide and genuine.
"Welcome back."
Something tightened in Isha's chest.
Before she could say anything, another voice came from behind.
"Ms. Isha?"
A junior associate stood there, files clutched to his chest.
"We didn't know you were coming today."
"I didn't either," Isha said honestly.
He smiled.
"It's… good to see you."
One by one, heads lifted.
Whispers followed.
"She's back." "That's her." "The founder."
Isha walked slowly inside.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Not because of guilt.
Because of pride.
Her cabin door was open.
Inside, Prisha was standing near the desk, explaining something to two clients. Confident. Calm. Focused.
"…and that's why we recommend restructuring the compliance model," Prisha said. "It'll protect you long-term."
The clients nodded.
"Alright," one of them said. "We trust your judgment."
Prisha smiled politely.
Then she looked up.
And everything stopped.
"Isha…"
Her voice broke.
The clients turned.
"This is—" Prisha swallowed. "This is Ms. Isha. The founder."
They stood immediately.
"Oh— we didn't know."
Isha raised her hand gently.
"Please. Sit."
They smiled at her with genuine respect.
"I've heard a lot about you," one of them said. "Your firm is… impressive."
Isha looked at Prisha.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
Prisha understood.
After the clients left, the room fell silent.
Prisha stood there, suddenly unsure.
"I didn't know you were coming," she said softly.
"Ishika forced me. " Isha replied.
They stared at each other.
Then Prisha smiled—wide, emotional.
"You should see everything," she said quickly. "Come."
She walked out without waiting.
Isha followed.
Meeting rooms were occupied. Staff moved with purpose. Phones rang. Files passed. Decisions made.
Everything worked.
Perfectly.
A senior manager approached.
"Ma'am," he said respectfully. "Should I reschedule the afternoon pitch?"
Isha shook her head.
"No. Continue as planned."
He nodded immediately.
"Yes, ma'am."
The way he said it—
Not obligation.
Respect.
Isha's throat tightened.
She stopped near the corridor.
"This… didn't collapse," she said quietly.
Prisha looked at her.
"Why would it?"
"I left," Isha replied. "Without a word."
Prisha's voice softened.
"You didn't abandon it. You trusted me."
Isha closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them, they were glassy.
"You did more than handle it," she whispered. "You built it."
Prisha shook her head.
"No. I protected it. There's a difference."
Silence.
Heavy. Grateful.
Hours passed without her realizing.
Meetings. Updates. Questions.
Isha answered everything.
Instinctively.
Naturally.
Like she had never left.
For the first time in days—
She felt present.
Her phone buzzed in her bag.
Once. Twice. Again.
Green light flashing.
She didn't check.
Prisha noticed.
"You don't have to answer," she said quietly.
"I know."
And she didn't.
By late afternoon, Prisha leaned back in her chair.
"Okay," she said. "You're not allowed to work more today."
Isha frowned.
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted."
"I missed this."
Prisha smiled gently.
"Then let's celebrate it."
"How?"
"Lunch. Outside."
Isha hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
Their regular café hadn't changed.
Same corner table. Same warm lighting. Same smell of comfort.
The waiter recognized her immediately.
"Isha ma'am?" he said, shocked.
She smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"We didn't think—" He stopped himself. "Welcome back."
"Thank you."
They ordered without looking at the menu.
Because they didn't need to.
Food arrived. Laughter followed.
Real laughter.
For the first time in a long time.
Prisha teased her. Isha rolled her eyes. They argued about old clients. About late nights. About Oreo shake addictions.
"You disappeared," Prisha said suddenly. "Without saying goodbye."
Isha's smile faded.
"I couldn't breathe," she said honestly.
Prisha didn't push.
She just nodded.
"I waited," she said. "I knew you'd come back."
Isha looked away.
Her phone buzzed again.
She turned it face-down.
Not today.
Today was hers.
And for the first time—
She smiled.
Really smiled.
Meanwhile on the other side,
The phone felt heavier than usual in Shivansh's hand.
He stared at the screen.
No missed calls from her.
No replies.
No blue ticks.
Just silence.
He checked the time again.
One day.
Then half of another.
One and a half days.
He tried again.
Call failed.
Again.
He didn't throw the phone.
Didn't curse.
He just sat there, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the screen like it might suddenly come alive.
"I just need to hear her voice," he whispered to no one.
Just once.
Another call.
No answer.
His thumb hovered over her name again, then stopped.
He inhaled slowly and dialed another number.
Dhruv.
The call connected quickly.
"Where are you?" Shivansh asked, his voice controlled—but only barely.
"At office," Dhruv replied cautiously.
Shivansh shut his eyes.
"Is she… okay?"
There was a pause.
"She's quiet," Dhruv said honestly. "But she's fine. She's with everyone."
Shivansh swallowed.
"She's not picking my calls," he said quietly. "Not reading my messages. I just… I need to hear her voice, Dhruv. Just once."
Dhruv exhaled on the other end.
"She doesn't want to talk to you right now," he said. "You know that."
"I know," Shivansh replied immediately. "I won't talk. I won't say anything. I just want to hear her. That's all."
Silence.
Then—
"When I reach home tonight," Dhruv said, "I'll call you. You can listen. But don't say a word."
Shivansh nodded even though Dhruv couldn't see him.
"Okay," he said softly. "Thank you."
The call ended.
The waiting was unbearable.
Every minute dragged.
When his phone finally rang again, his heart jumped so hard it hurt.
Dhruv.
He answered instantly.
"Don't speak," Dhruv warned. "Just listen."
And then—
Her voice.
Soft.
Alive.
Real.
"…no, I'm telling you, that café hasn't changed at all," Isha said, faint laughter in her voice. "Same stupid playlist. Same burnt coffee smell."
Someone else laughed in the background.
Shivansh froze.
His fingers tightened around the phone.
"She's laughing," Meher's voice said somewhere. "I swear, I haven't heard her laugh like this in so long."
"I'm not laughing," Isha protested. "I'm just—okay maybe I am."
Her laugh followed.
Clear.
Unbroken.
Shivansh's eyes burned.
She was talking freely.
Casually.
Like nothing was crushing her chest anymore.
"…and Ishika ditched us midway," Isha continued. "Doctor life. Very dramatic."
More voices. More noise.
But Shivansh heard only one thing.
Her.
Every word.
Every breath.
Every small sound she made.
She was telling them about her day.
About the firm.
About lunch.
About nothing and everything.
And for the first time since she left—
He breathed.
A tear slipped down his cheek without permission.
He didn't wipe it away.
Because this—
This was enough.
He didn't need her forgiveness tonight.
I didn't need answers.
Just this proof.
That she was still laughing.
Still talking.
Still there.
Dhruv's voice cut in quietly.
"You heard her. She's okay."
"Yes," Shivansh whispered, voice breaking. "Thank you."
The call ended.
The silence returned.
But it wasn't empty anymore.
He pressed the phone to his chest and closed his eyes.
"Sleep peacefully," he murmured. "I won't disturb you."
And for the first time in days—
He let himself rest.
That night came quietly.
Too quietly.
The house was full—voices, movement, familiar laughter drifting from the living room—but Isha sat curled on the edge of her bed, untouched by it all. The lamp beside her cast a soft yellow glow, warm and gentle, yet her chest felt cold.
Her phone lay beside her.
Silent.
She picked it up absent-mindedly, more out of habit than intention.
And then she saw it.
Missed call. Shivansh.
One.
Then another.
Then another.
Her fingers froze.
Her breath hitched—not loud, not dramatic—just enough for her to notice it herself.
She hadn't meant to ignore him.
At least… that's what she told herself.
She stared at the screen as if it might speak to her on its own. As if his voice might spill out without her having to answer.
It didn't.
Her thumb hovered over his name.
Just one call. Just his name. Just… him.
Her chest tightened.
"Why now," she whispered to the empty room. "Why does it still feel like this?"
She locked the screen.
Put the phone face down.
Stood up.
Walked to the window.
Outside, the city lights blinked softly, unaware of the war inside her. Cars passed. Life moved. People laughed somewhere far below.
She pressed her forehead against the glass.
He just wants to hear your voice, a part of her whispered.
Another part—louder, sharper—answered back.
And then what? One call and everything disappears? Five years disappear?
Her jaw clenched.
Memories rose without permission.
His voice. His presence. His arms this morning. The way everything had almost… almost felt normal.
Her eyes burned.
"No," she said aloud, firmer this time. "I can't."
Her phone vibrated again.
Another call.
Shivansh.
Her heart betrayed her—skipping, aching, hoping.
She picked up the phone this time.
Didn't answer.
Just stared.
"I need time," she whispered, as if he could hear her through the screen. "Why can't you understand that?"
She scrolled.
Messages.
Unread. All from him.
Short ones. Careful ones.
Are you okay?
Please just text me once.
I won't disturb you.
Her throat closed.
"You think this is easy for me?" she murmured, eyes blurring. "You think I'm doing this because I don't care?"
She sat back on the bed, phone clutched in her hand like it might slip away.
She typed.
Stopped.
Deleted.
Typed again.
I'm fine.
She stared at those two words for a long moment.
Then deleted them too.
Because she wasn't fine. And lying to him—or to herself—felt worse.
Her phone rang again.
This time… Dhruv.
She hesitated. Then answered.
"Haan?" Her voice came out steadily. Too steady.
From the other end, laughter echoed faintly. Voices. Familiar ones.
"Where did you disappear?" Dhruv asked casually. "Everyone's asking for you."
"I'm… tired," she said. "I'll come later."
A pause.
Then, softer, "You okay?"
She closed her eyes.
"I will be," she replied.
Behind Dhruv's voice, she heard it.
Her own laugh.
From earlier. Recorded in memory. Alive somewhere else.
She didn't know Shivansh was listening on the other end of another call. Didn't know he was holding his breath. I didn't know he was memorising that sound like oxygen.
"Isha," Dhruv said, breaking her thoughts. "You don't have to explain anything. Just… don't shut us out."
Her grip on the phone tightened.
"I'm not," she said quietly. "I'm just… learning how to breathe again."
After the call ended, she lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed once more.
Shivansh.
She didn't turn it over this time.
But she didn't switch it off either.
Tears slipped silently into her hair.
She hugged the pillow to her chest.
Because ignoring him hurts.
Answering him would hurt more.
And somewhere between those two truths, Isha stayed awake—counting seconds, counting heartbeats—waiting for a morning that felt less heavy than this night.
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