Veena's eyes widened as she watched her reflection sobbing within the fiery circle. Her breath quickened, and panic gripped her. "No… no… what is happening to me?" she whispered, trembling. She turned, fumbling for the door, but instead of unbolting it, her shaking hands slammed the bolt back into place.
Something inside her forced her steps back toward the mirror.
Her reflection suddenly stopped crying. Its lips curved into a sinister smile, and then, with a cruel chuckle, it began to laugh. The laugh was not hers—it was heavier, deeper, mocking.
Veena's heart pounded as the reflection tilted its head, eyes gleaming with malice. "Did you really think you could escape me, Veena?" the reflection hissed. "I am not you. I am Kamini in your form."
Veena staggered back, shaking her head violently. "No… no… this can't be true…"
But the reflection—Kamini—pressed a palm against the inside of the glass, the flames flaring higher around her. "You're helpless. Just like always. You won't be able to protect Vihaan." Her laughter rang sharp, cold, echoing across the room.
Veena fell to her knees, clutching her ears, but Kamini's voice cut through mercilessly:
"I will take Vihaan… but not yet. First, I want him to kill Gauri with his own hands. Only then will he truly belong to me."
The mirror flared with black fire, swallowing the reflection in shadows, leaving Veena trembling and broken before it.
The room was dark when Gauri stepped inside, her stomach growling softly—she hadn't eaten all morning, having kept her fast. She reached for the switch, and the sudden glow of light filled the room.
Her eyes widened. On the wall before her, delicate strings of lights shimmered, shaping the words:
"I am sorry."
For a moment she just stood there, her throat tightening.
Behind her, the door clicked shut. She turned and saw Vihaan. His eyes were moist, his head slightly bowed. Slowly, he lifted his hands and held his ears like a guilty child, his voice trembling.
"I'm sorry, Gauri," he said, each word heavy with shame. "For insulting you again and again… for hurting you when all you ever did was stand by me. I'm sorry for deceiving you—pretending I kidnapped Charvi just to force you into marrying me. I'm sorry for threatening you with your mother's arrest, for every cruel word, every—"
Before he could finish, Gauri rushed forward and pressed her palm against his mouth, stopping his confession. Her eyes glistened, though her lips curved in a faint, trembling smile.
"If you keep apologizing like this," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "then morning will come before you're done. You have such a long list of mistakes."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Then Vihaan slowly lifted his hand and gently held hers, removing it from his lips—but he didn't let go. His touch lingered, soft yet desperate.
"Then at least," he murmured, his gaze locking with hers, "let me apologize for the one thing that hurt you the most… not standing by your side when you needed me to. Not choosing you, when I should have."
Gauri's chest tightened. She looked into his eyes and thought, I know why you didn't. You feared your family would see you as a traitor. You wanted to protect them. You didn't want them to remind you that you carry not just their blood… but the blood of a dancer too.
Her eyes softened as tears welled, but she said nothing—because her heart already knew his.
Gauri's lips trembled into a faint smile, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She stepped closer, her voice low but steady.
"Vihaan…" she whispered, pausing as if steadying her heart. Then she spoke, her tone soft yet firm.
"When you risked your life in the shadow realm to save me… when you stood between me and death, without hesitation… in that moment, my anger broke. Whatever wrongs were between us, that act of courage washed them away. How could I hold on to bitterness when you gave me back my life?"
She closed her eyes briefly, then recited gently, her words like flowing verses:
'I carried the weight of wounds untold,
Of words too sharp, of hearts turned cold.
But when your hands pulled me from despair,
The burden lifted—I found breath there.
Forgiveness is not weakness, it is my way,
For strength is choosing peace each day.'
Her voice wavered at the end, but she met his eyes, her expression calm.
Vihaan stood frozen, her words piercing deeper than any reproach. His throat tightened, and though his lips parted, no words came out. All he could do was look at her, silently thanking the heavens that she had given him more than he deserved—her forgiveness.
Gauri lowered her gaze after the poem, still holding onto the quiet that followed, when Vihaan suddenly whispered, "Wait here."
Before she could ask, he stepped out. A moment later, the door creaked open again, and he returned—this time carrying a tray. A soft glow shimmered from the small holy lamp set upon it, beside the sacred items of the ritual and a plate of food.
Gauri blinked, her throat tightening. "Vihaan…"
He set the tray down carefully and met her eyes, his voice unsteady but tender. "I know you've been fasting all day. You shouldn't stay hungry any longer. Let me… let me do this for you."
Her heart swelled as she stepped forward. Together, they performed the ritual, their hands brushing as they held the thali. Gauri whispered her prayer, her eyes flickering to his face more than the flame. When the moment came, Vihaan gently picked up a morsel of food and held it to her lips.
Her eyes glistened as she ate, and then she lifted her hand toward him with a piece of food. He blinked, startled. "What are you doing?"
"I know you fasted too," she said softly.
He froze, his mask slipping into shock. "How… how did you know that?"
A tiny smile curved her lips. "Yug told me."
For a heartbeat, Vihaan just stared at her, overwhelmed. Then, silently, he let her feed him. Their fingers lingered, trembling but unwilling to let go. They fed each other slowly, reverently, as if each bite carried an unspoken promise neither of them dared to name yet.
The room was quiet except for their breaths, but the silence was no longer heavy—it was full, alive, brimming with a bond both fragile and unbreakable.