Yuvaan's fingers trembled as he held Kiara's photograph.
The afternoon light washed over the image, touching her smile, her eyes—so alive, so certain. His breath hitched. He stared at her for a long time, as if staring hard enough might pull her back into the world.
"I should have died," he whispered.
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
"I should have been the one," he said again, voice cracking, hollow with truth he never allowed himself to speak. "Not you."
His chest tightened painfully. He pressed the photograph to his forehead, his shoulders slowly folding inward as if the weight of the years had finally found him.
"You would have known what to do," he sobbed. "You would have known how to calm him… how to hold him… how to love him without breaking him."
Tears spilled freely now, unchecked.
"Please," he begged the empty air, the cliffs, the sky. "Just come back. Just once. Fix this. Fix us."
His cry dissolved into the wind, unanswered.
---
Meanwhile, at the villa…
Bhoomi stood before Kiara's garlanded photograph, her hands clasped tightly at her chest. The marigolds had begun to dry slightly, their fragrance lingering—familiar, comforting, painful.
Her eyes were swollen. Her lips trembled as she spoke, every word slow, stretched, soaked in longing.
"Look at your son, Kiara," she said softly. "He is growing… but without you, everything feels wrong. The house feels wrong."
Her fingers brushed the edge of the frame with reverence.
"You were our Jishwa," she whispered. "God's gift. Sent to us with light in your hands and peace in your heart."
Her voice broke.
"If you can hear me… if miracles still listen to mothers…" she paused, swallowing her grief. "Bring the father and the son together. Before they lose each other completely."
The room felt heavy. Still.
Then—
The wind rose suddenly.
Curtains fluttered. Bells chimed faintly. The air shifted, alive.
At the entrance, Khushi stood frozen, her curious eyes taking in the unfamiliar space. The breeze tugged gently at her dupatta, as if urging her forward.
She hesitated.
Then stepped in.
The door closed softly behind her—on its own.
Susheela looked up, startled, then squinted slightly before recognition dawned. "The music teacher," she murmured. "Kiaan's music teacher."
Khushi's gaze drifted forward—and stopped.
The garlanded photograph.
Something inside her tightened. She stepped closer instinctively, just as the frame tilted dangerously, the hook giving way.
"No—" Bhoomi gasped.
Khushi reached out without thinking.
Her hands met Bhoomi's at the same moment.
Together, they steadied the frame, saving it from crashing to the floor.
As they did—
One marigold flower slipped loose.
It fell gently.
And landed on Khushi's head.
The wind stilled.
The bells went quiet.
Bhoomi stared at Khushi, her breath caught somewhere between fear and wonder.
Khushi lifted her hand slowly, fingers brushing the flower, confusion flickering across her face… along with something else. Something unnamed. Familiar. Deep.
The house seemed to breathe.
As if it had been waiting for her.
Meanwhile, in their room…
Meera paced the length of the floor, her bangles clinking softly with every restless step. Aakash sat on the edge of the bed, silent, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on a point far away.
"Did you see the way Kiaan behaved today?" Meera said at last, her voice tight with worry. "That anger… that defiance. It's not normal, Aakash."
She stopped, turning toward him. "And Rani…" her tone softened, laced with concern. "How will she manage after marrying Yuvaan? Living under the same roof as a child like that—so volatile, so uncontrollable. I'm scared for her."
Aakash's jaw clenched.
"She only wanted to wish him on his birthday," Meera continued, unaware she was pushing him closer to the edge. "And look what happened. Blood, chaos… if this is how things are now, what will happen later?"
Silence stretched.
Then Aakash stood up slowly.
"So that's all you can think about?" he asked quietly.
Meera frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, turning to face her, his eyes sharp now, wounded, "your sister. Her comfort. Her future."
Meera opened her mouth, but he didn't let her speak.
"Not once," he went on, voice rising, "did you think about Bhoomi Bua or maa. About my brother Yuvaan. About a ten-year-old boy who has already lost his mother and is drowning in pain."
"That boy attacked Rani," Meera shot back weakly.
"And you attacked my family with your words," Aakash snapped. "Every single day."
Meera froze.
"We've been married for five years, Meera," he said, the hurt finally breaking through his anger. "Five years. And still you don't see their pain as ours. You don't feel it. You only judge it."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Aakash shook his head, a bitter smile flickering across his face. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever truly became a part of this family."
The words landed like a blow.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality.
Meera remained standing in the middle of the room, stunned, her thoughts scattered, her heart heavy with everything she hadn't realized she was losing.
To be continued…