Najma slept.
Machines hummed softly beside her bed, each sound a fragile promise that she was still here.
Twinkle sat closest, fingers wrapped around Najma's hand like letting go might erase her.
Rangeer stood near the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing.
"You saved her," Twinkle said suddenly.
He shook his head. "I just shared blood."
"No," she replied softly. "You gave her life."
He looked away. "I don't understand it."
"Neither do I."
Silence stretched.
But it wasn't empty.
Later that night, Saraswati stood alone in the hospital corridor, staring at the floor.
Shruti approached hesitantly. "Auntie… are you alright?"
Saraswati forced a smile. "I'm fine, dear."
But her hands were shaking.
Shruti noticed.
So did Sasha.
Twinkle couldn't sleep.
She walked quietly down the hall, memories stirring—things she'd never questioned before.
Najma had arrived suddenly.
No relatives.
No past.
No documents.
Just… her.
Twinkle stopped outside her parents' room.
She hesitated.
Then knocked.
Saraswati opened the door, eyes already red.
"Twinkle?" she whispered. "What's wrong?"
Twinkle swallowed. "Why did Rangeer's blood match Najma's?"
The question hung heavy.
Takur's face drained of color.
Saraswati's knees nearly gave out.
"Who told you?" Saraswati asked shakily.
"The doctor," Twinkle said. "And my heart."
They sat.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Then Saraswati began to cry.
"We tried," she sobbed. "We tried to find her."
Twinkle's breath caught. "Find who?"
Takur finally spoke, voice broken. "Your sister."
The word hit like lightning.
Twinkle stood abruptly. "What do you mean my sister?"
Saraswati covered her face. "Before you were born… we had another daughter."
Twinkle's ears rang.
"She was five," Saraswati continued. "She was taken. Kidnapped."
Twinkle's world tilted.
"When?" she whispered.
Takur's voice cracked. "The day we found out you were coming. We were celebrating."
Twinkle stumbled back, tears streaming.
"No," she whispered. "That's not possible."
Saraswati reached for her. "We reported it. But the people involved were powerful. The police told us—"
"That she'd never come back," Twinkle finished numbly.
Silence.
Painful.
Final.
Twinkle turned toward the ICU room.
Toward Najma.
Her sister.
She pressed her forehead to the glass.
"You came back," she whispered through tears. "Even when we stopped looking."
Inside, Najma stirred.
Her fingers twitched.
As if she heard.