Continued -

The air inside the hall felt heavier with every breath Noor took.

She stood in the middle of the long room, hem of her sari brushing polished marble, eyes caught between the glow of lamps and the shadows that clung to the ceiling. Painted faces stared down at her from gilded frames-some children, some grown-ups, some strangers, one or two faintly familiar-but together, they formed a silent crowd that watched her heartbeat falter.

Across the space, Siddharth had stopped, hands loose at his sides, shoulders squared, head tilted as if he were listening to something only he could hear. The smile on his lips was new-quiet, curved, carrying neither humor nor joy.

It unsettled her more than the darkness outside.

Noor trusted him, more than herself. Yet at this unknown place where her mind was in complete chaos, one more voice made its entrance to his brain, her brother's voice clawed at the back of her mind

Katil

kotha.

Ugly words that did not belong to the man who had held her tightly every night like she's his world.

She tried to shut them out, but the echoes kept coming, scratching lines of doubt across her thoughts.

And then Siddharth moved.

One slow step. Another. Leather soles hardly made a sound, but every stride pulled the room tighter around her ribs. He stopped a breath away. Noor let her gaze climb to his eyes-deep, ocean blue but tonight darker at the center, like some current had stirred the bottom of that sea.

"Taiyar hai aap ..."

His voice slipped over her skin, low and calm.

"... mere sach ko jaanne ke liye?"

("Are you ready... to learn my truth?")

He did not rush the words. He gave her the space of one heartbeat, two, before his hand slid into hers-warm, steady, anchoring & entwining their fingers together. A soft kiss pressed against her knuckles, colder now that the wind had found its way indoors.

"Jise aaj tak pura koi nahi janta."
("A truth no one has ever known completely.")

Noor's chest tightened. She looked down at their joined hands-his fingers strong, hers trembling-and when her eyes lifted again, she searched his face for the husband she knew. But the man before her felt older, heavier, as though he had carried some secret weight for years and was only now letting it show.

He was.

Around them, the portraits flickered in lamp-light. One canvas near Siddharth's shoulder held a little girl in a birthday dress, cheeks smeared with cake, laughing at someone outside the frame. The sight sent a shiver through Noor, the happiness frozen there did not match the hush that wrapped the hall tonight.

Siddharth followed her glance. His jaw flexed, and for a breath, his eyes softened toward the child in the picture-grief, maybe, or guilt-then hardened again as he turned back to Noor. When he spoke, the words felt like a slow knife.

"Galat admī ko chuna hai ap ne, Noor."
("You chose the wrong man, Noor.")

The floor seemed to tilt. She looked up at him without saying anything, just staring into his eyes, trying to understand his words more than they actually meant.

She swallowed, but her throat stayed dry. Wrong, man? Impossible. she wanted to say. Her brother must have lied out of hate .She knows this.

She trusts this. Yet Siddharth's gaze held no trace of joke or test; only truth, stark, and waiting.

He tipped his head toward another frame-a larger photograph hanging alone. A teenage girl smiled shyly at the camera, the same straight nose Noor kissed each morning on Siddharth's face. Before she could study it, Siddharth spoke once more, voice softer but edged with iron.

"Apke bhai ne aj jo bhi kuch bola hai... sab sach hai."

("Everything your brother said today... is true.")

The sentence fell like a stone in water-no ripple, just sudden depth.

Noor's pulse stalled, then raced. All sound slipped away except the distant beat of her own heart.

And in that deep, sharp silence, the night waited to learn whether love could hold against the dark.

Noor's lungs forgot how to work.

She stared at him-at the hard line of his shoulders, at the bleak stillness in his eyes-and everything inside her went quiet.

The clamor of her brother's accusations stopped.

The frantic thrum of What if? What if? fell silent.

There was only the heavy hush between two heartbeats and the shape of one impossible sentence hanging in the air:

"Sab sach hai Noor."
("It is all true.")

Her lips parted. No sound came out-just a shallow gasp that tasted of sandalwood and dust. For a long breath, she was unable to move, as if the marble beneath her feet had turned to ice and trapped her in place. One small thought pushed through the numbness:

If this is truth... then who is the man I love?

A tremor shivered through her. She looked away from his face, desperate to anchor herself to anything that felt known. The golden lamps, the pale floor, the silent portraits-nothing helped. Her gaze darted back to Siddharth, but his expression had not changed; those deep-blue eyes waited, letting her see every shard of guilt he carried.

"N-Nahi..." The word slipped out on a broken breath.
("N-No...")

It was not disbelief, not yet-it was simple refusal, the mind flinging up its hands because the heart could not bear the weight.

Her legs felt weak. She took a small step back, her eyes darting as if searching for something familiar, something safe.

She didn't find it.

Siddharth took one step forward.

Before she could retreat, his palms cupped her cheeks-careful, trembling at the edges. The heat of his touch melted the frost in her veins, and instinct overpowered fear, Noor leaned into him. Their foreheads met, breaths mingling in the narrow space. His scent-rain-damp earth and something warm-wrapped around her like a familiar blanket.

"Katil hu main."
("I am a killer.")

The confession was a whisper against her skin, yet it thundered through her chest.

His thumbs brushed the corners of her mouth as though memorizing the curve. She felt him inhale-slow, shaky.

"Katil hu main... apni behen ka."
("I am a killer, of my own sister.")

A single tear escaped the corner of his eye. It slid down the bridge of his nose and landed on Noor's lower lip, salty and warm. Her eyes widened at the taste of his grief. Somewhere far away, a lamp hissed; here, time stood still.

Siddharth pulled back-not roughly, but as if the truth had weight and he feared crushing her beneath it. His hands fell to his sides. The distance between them was no more than a breath, yet the sudden cold sliced through Noor's thin sari.

He did not cry. The tear on her mouth was the only one he allowed. But his eyes-those fierce, proud eyes-burned red at the rims.

Noor's pulse hammered at her temples. Images she did not want-blood, sirens, a child's scream-flashed inside her mind even though she had never seen them. Could he have done such a thing? Could the same hands that smoothed her pallu, the same voice that soothed her insecurities, truly hold a past that dark?

The distance felt colder than any winter night.

He stood tall but broken, those once-glinting eyes now red with grief. But no more tears came. He wouldn't allow them.

Noor's breath hitched.

Even now... even now, she couldn't feel fear. Shock? Yes. Tremble? Yes. But not fear.

This man in front of her wasn't a stranger. He was her Siddharth. Her Aarth.

And yet... the words he had spoken could not be unsaid.

He looked away from her, and for the first time, she saw defeat in his posture.

He expected her to fear him, to take a step away. Everyone always did. But this time, something inside him refused to let go. If she turned away, he would beg, But he could not-would not-picture Noor turning away.

A frantic promise pulsed behind his ribs: If she tries, I will fall to my knees, I will hand the empire to ashes, I will beg every god and every devil-just... don't let her walk out.

That vow flashed through his mind faster than the single tear that clung to his lash.

So when he stepped back and waited, it wasn't surrender.

It was a silent gamble with fate: Show me how strong our love truly is.

His shoulders looked rigid, yet every muscle was coiled, ready to spring forward if she even swayed toward the door.

Noor's gaze flicked from the photo wall to the bed, back to him-chaos swirling in those brown eyes.

Siddharth didn't breathe.

His throat burned, his palms sweated, but his stare never wavered.

His shoulders squared like a man waiting for a blade.

The memory of eighteen years ago, whatever horror lived there, stood behind his eyes, ready to devour him once more.

He had braced for pain.She was unreadable now-and that was the scariest part. Because his Noor... his soft, trusting Noor... looked shattered.

But Noor stepped forward instead.

Her fingers rose, soft but unwavering, and framed his face and offered to carry half his pain-every dark prophecy inside him snapped.

Thumbs stroked the damp under his lashes; palms cupped the stubble along his jaw where strength had begun to tremble. He flinched-not from fear, but from the foreign gentleness of being held when he expected to be struck.

Breath rushed from his lungs in a shudder.

The tear finally dropped to her wrist, not because he was defeated, but because he was saved.

She swallowed, tasting iron and tears, and spoke not loudly, not firmly, but with all the certainty she owned.

His breath stopped. Her touch burned.

"Dard mein hissa manga hai aap se..."
("I asked for a share in your pain...")
she whispered.

Her thumbs wiped the invisible ache near his eyes.

"Jitna baatna hai, baat lijiye Aarth... aaj yahi khade hain hum."
("Give me every piece you need to share, Aarth... I am standing here now.")

She did not yet know the whole story. But she offered something fiercer: a place beside him in the darkness, a vow to walk whatever path truth demanded.

Siddharth's breath caught. A sob tried to rise; he forced it down, but his mouth trembled against her palms. The marble hall, the ghosts on the walls-all of it - faded behind the fragile miracle of Noor's acceptance.

He did not answer with words. He leaned & pressed his forehead to hers, and for one suspended heartbeat, the world remembered how to breathe.

In that instant, his obsession turned fierce and unshakeable, and he promised himself before even starting. If the past reached for her, he would tear it limb from limb.

If the future threatened her, he would burn it to build her a safer one.

Siddharth's hands slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer than before-as if the space between their heartbeats was a crime.

"I don't want to drag you in my darkness Noor. But now every fiber in my body screams to lay my pain at your feet & embrace the peace only your eyes can make me feel."

The words were possessive, raw, and terrifyingly tender - the pledge of a man who had just tasted salvation and would guard it with every drop of blood he had left.

Siddharth slowly pulled back. His breath was heavy. The silence between them wasn't empty-it was filled with the weight of everything unsaid. Noor's hands were already cupping his face, holding him as if he would disappear if she let go. And now, Siddharth's hands came up too, holding her face gently, carefully, like she was something sacred, something that had saved him more than she would ever know.

Their foreheads touched again. Eyes locked-his deep, stormy blue, and hers, warm, steady brown. Siddharth's heartbeat was wild, like it was trying to tear out from his chest. His throat was dry. He had been running away from these memories for years, locking them up, burying them deep. But now... now, she was in front of him. Noor. And he knew-if it snowed in his mind again, she would be the warmth. She would not let him break.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her again-this time, the look longer, heavier.

"Yeh sab... 35 saal pehle shuru hua tha."

(This all started 35 years ago.)

His voice was low, almost a whisper. And as he said those words, he tightened his arms around her waist,
His hold said what his voice couldn't.

And then, slowly, he let go-but not fully. His hand slid from her waist to her fingers, entwining their hands together like a silent promise, one last reassurance that she was here, that he was not alone anymore.

He started walking.

Noor followed him quietly, her eyes never leaving him. There was something different in his walk tonight. Something heavy, like each step was pulling memories out of graves.

As they passed the small hospital-like bed placed in one corner, Noor's eyes moved there for a second. The face on the bed was covered, hidden under white sheets. The sight was brief but cold. A question passed through her mind, but it stayed there, unanswered, because Siddharth had moved forward.

She looked back at him. He had stopped again. This time, in a part of the hall where the lights did not reach. The yellow bulbs behind them flickered, but here-it was darker. Still.

In front of them was a very large painting. Covered.

A red cloth hung over it, untouched. The cloth looked old, the kind that had stayed unmoved for years. Dust had started living in it. The frame behind the cloth looked massive. It almost like it had something to say.

Noor's hand was still in his. She tilted her head slowly toward her husband, trying to see his face. But Siddharth was still. Still as a statue. His face had gone blank. Emotionless.

But the way he was holding her hand-it wasn't emotionless. It was burning.

Noor didn't speak. She didn't need to. Her silence was soft, understanding. She squeezed his hand gently.

Siddharth didn't look at her. His eyes were stuck on the picture.

"35 saal pehle, ek shaadi hui thi... Ek shaadi, jo usne sirf apne dost ka business bachane ke liye ki thi."

(35 years ago, a marriage happened. A marriage which was done to save his best friend's business.)

His voice was steady. But Noor felt the slight tremble in his fingers.

"Ek aisa rishta jahan koi apni bachpan ki mohabbat se shaadi kar raha tha, aur koi sirf isliye haan keh rahi thi kyunki uske bhai ne dhamki di thi-agar na haan ki, toh woh khudko maar dega."

(A marriage where someone was marrying his childhood love, and someone was saying yes only because her brother threatened to end his life if she didn't.)

He took a deep breath then. His chest rose, his fingers clutched hers harder.

"Us ladki ke liye sirf samjhauta tha, par uske liye... uske liye toh woh ek kahaani thi. Uska fairytale."

(For her, it was just a compromise. But for him... for him, it was a fairytale.)

And Noor... Noor was not blinking. Her eyes were on Siddharth. She saw the stillness on his face, but also the storm behind those eyes. Something in her chest tightened.

He didn't let go of her hand.

Then, slowly, Siddharth raised his other hand and touched the red cloth.

And in one swift move-snap-he pulled the cloth away.

A thick cloud of dust filled the air, breaking years of silence that had settled over that frame. Siddharth raised hos hands to cover her face. But he didn't moved. He didn't flinch. His face remained as it was-cold, blank.

Noor wiped the corner of her eyes, clearing her throat. Siddharth slowly removed his hand.

She was still coughing softly, trying to see through the dust. She did not look at the picturee right away. Her eyes were still on her husband.

And Siddharth... he just stood there.

Frozen.

Still staring.

Finally, Noor turned her face toward the picture

And there it was.

A large canvas. A wedding scene. A man and a woman in traditional Indian wedding outfits. But their faces-both were hidden under garlands and veils. Covered. Unrecognizable.

Noor stepped a little closer. Her eyes narrowing.

The painting felt... familiar.

Something about the background. The way the man stood. The way the woman's hand was placed. Something... she couldn't name it. But it scratched at the back of her mind.

And still, Siddharth didn't say a word.

He just stared.

So did she.

And the air between them... thickened.

Behind those veils were faces- faces that broke him, that built the ruins he now carried inside. For eighteen long years he had never dared to look at them. Tonight he did-and the wounds came back alive.

A sharp breath rushed from his lungs. His knuckles whitened around Noor's hand. In that instant the old screams of a small boy echoed in his mind-his own cries, shut inside dark rooms, begging someone to notice. The sound was so loud he felt it shaking his ribs.

He looked away.

With slow, heavy feet he took two steps sideways, pulling Noor with him. Before them stood another huge frame, also hidden under dusty cloth. This one, he knew, carried the bare faces-no garlands, no veil-of the ones who had shattered everything.

Noor followed his eyes, confusion tightening in her chest. She could not read the story in those covered pictures, but she felt the storm inside her husband as clearly as the pulse under her fingers. So she said nothing. She stayed. She let him hold her as hard as he needed.

Siddharth spoke again, voice low, uneven, still facing the veiled canvas.

"Shaadi ke baad... kuch zyaada badla nahi."

(After their marriage, nothing much changed.)

"Woh kabhi uske paas nahi aayi... kabhi usse baat bhi nahi ki... uski taraf dekha tak nahi."

(She never came near him, never spoke to him, never even looked at him.)

He swallowed, gaze fixed on the cloth that hid his past.

"He thought she was simply uncomfortable. So he did everything-everything-to make her feel safe, happy. Every day he tried to be the best husband. But slowly... she became his need. And then more than need-his stubborn desire... his obsession."

A pause. The hall seemed to exhale with him. Noor felt his hand tremble.

He drew one shaky breath, then another, as if words were stones dragging on his tongue.

"Aur phir... jab kuch bhi nahi badla... ek din-"

(And then... when nothing changed... one day-)

The sentence broke. Siddharth's shoulders stiffened, as though an invisible weight pressed them down. Memories flooded, harsh and burning. Voices from the past rose like cold water around his chest, pulling him under. His eyes squeezed shut. His grip on Noor's hand became iron, as though he wished to fuse their fingers into one flesh.

Noor's eyes dropped to his hand. His fingers were shaking-barely, but they were.

And then... he opened his lips.

But no sound came.

The words sat there at the edge of his mouth, stuck in the back of his throat. As if they were made of stone. As if speaking them aloud would break something inside him. Something that had already cracked long ago but never dared to fall apart.

Noor turned to him fully now. Her brows were soft. She didn't say a word. She didn't need to.

Because Siddharth's silence was not empty.

It was screaming.

His shoulders, once proud, once strong, suddenly looked heavy. As if a weight had been placed on them again-an old, ancient weight that had never really gone. The kind that bends even the strongest of men.

His lips trembled, only for a second.

His tongue betrayed him.

He tried to speak again.

But it was too much.

The truth was not just a truth.

It was the thing.

The thing that started everything.

The thing that gave birth to every shadow that had ever touched his life. The thing that had pulled his soul into places even light couldn't follow.

Noor felt it.

She could feel the way his chest rose and fell-too fast now. The way his breath seemed to break at the corners. The way his silence was louder than all the noise she'd ever known.

His head tilted down, just a little. His eyes... closed.

And in that moment, Noor saw something she had never seen before.

She saw Siddharth-her Siddharth-collapse without falling.

He stood. But it felt like he was sinking inside.

And she stepped closer, gently placing her one palm over his heart, right on the spot where his pain was burning.

Siddharth's eyes flew open. And then, with the other hand, she cupped his face.Those blue depths met her gaze. In them, Noor offered only love, only warmth. No judgment. No fear. It was the only refuge he believed in.

He inhaled, shaky, then leaned ever so slightly into her palm. In that small tilt of his head was a silent plea.

Stay with me while I bleed.

Her answer was the gentle press of her thumb and a whisper so soft it was barely sound

"Dekhiye meri taraf, Siddharth."
(Look at me, Siddharth.)

He obeyed. Obsession, devotion, raw need-all flashed in his eyes. Tell me the ugliest truth, those eyes begged, and let me drown in you afterward.

Her voice was soft. So soft. Like a whisper meant to catch a broken piece of him and hold it together.

"Hum hoon yahaan. Sunne ke liye, sambhalne ke liye. Aap boliye"
(I'm here. To listen, to hold you.)

Something shifted in his breath.

A shiver ran through his hand.

Then... he opened his eyes. Slowly. Painfully. And looked at her.

And in that gaze-there was nothing. No strength. No silence.

Just rawness.

The truth, still unsaid, but standing between them like a ghost they both could feel now.

Siddharth inhaled deeply again.

The storm inside him shifted, enough to let words pass.

He braced himself, eyes locked on hers as if her brown gaze could shield him from the darkness he was about to drag into light.

"Us din... uss din they somehow got into a fight & she confessed. Confessed that she was in love with someone else & her brother forced her to marry him."

His throat closed. Tears, hot and unwanted, blurred his sight. Yet he forced the sentence out, syllable by syllable.

Noor's gaze held steady-soft earth after a storm. Siddharth opened his mouth

"And... and that night," Siddharth began, his voice barely a breath, "when he came home... after drinking..."

His words stumbled.

Noor's heart squeezed. She felt his grip falter for a second, like his entire body was trying to stop his tongue from moving. But he continued.

"H-he forced himself on his wife... and ran away the next morning. Just like that. Not knowing -" he stopped, voice shaking harder now, "not knowing she got pregnant."

A silence heavier than the earth wrapped around them.

It sat between their breaths, stretched between the shadows, and filled every corner of the room.

Siddharth looked down. For a second, he looked small-not weak but undone. His chin dropped to his chest, his breath stuck halfway in his lungs. His eyes turned red, blood collecting around the rims like a silent warning. But no tears fell. They never did.

Noor's heart broke. She could feel his pain through his skin, his heartbeat through her fingers, his grief through the air. Quietly, she rose on her toes and touched his face-thumb under his chin, fingers tracing the tension of his jaw. She tilted his face back up to hers.

And she brought her forehead to his, resting gently, giving him something still.

His hands were shaking. But her presence was not.

Siddharth closed his eyes slowly. Like he needed the courage her skin gave him. And then, with a voice that was no longer strong, no longer calm, he let the truth out.

"W-woh aadmi..."
("T-that man...")

He opened his eyes. Noor was still there.

"...aaj mera b-baap hai."

("...is my father today.")

The words didn't echo. They didn't need to. They just fell. Like a final drop that breaks the dam inside a man.

And then-his lips trembled again, almost as if they were afraid to carry the next truth.

"W-woh aurat..."
("T-that woman...")

His chest rose, froze, and sank slowly. His breath was caught in a storm, but still, not a single tear fell.

"Wahi hai... jisne mujhe janam diya, who was raped by her own husband -"
("...is the one who gave birth to me.")

He paused

The air turned colder.

Noor's fingers didn't move. But inside, she was holding her breath. The words felt like they had weight, like someone had dropped bricks into her soul.

She blinked once. Slowly.

And Siddharth-he broke.

Not with cries.

Not with tears.

But with silence.

His chest looked too wide now, like it couldn't carry the fire trapped inside. His eyes closed again. Red. Dry. Tired. And when he opened them this time, something was missing in their light. As if a part of him had stayed in that sentence. The part that still believed there was something left to protect.

Then, without a word, Siddharth took a step back.

Noor's hand slipped from his cheek. Their fingers were still locked, but his body was inching away from hers like he couldn't bear even her warmth right now. His face had changed-still beautiful, still sharp-but now unreadable. Pain had masked every emotion.

He took another step.

Noor's feet moved forward-instinct. But he turned his face slightly and shook his head once. A silent request.

Don't.

She stopped.

And then-he said it.

"Aur... woh bacha."
("And... that child.")

A pause.

"Main hu."
("It's me.")

Something exploded inside the silence.

He took two more steps back.

And then-he shouted.

"Wo bacha, mai hu Noor"

His voice hit the ceiling like thunder. The floor felt it. Noor felt it. And so did the rage inside him.

He turned sharply almost violently-and grabbed a heavy vase from the side table. With a roar, he hurled it across the hall. The porcelain shattered into pieces, shards flying like splinters of old memories. The sound of the crash echoed long after the pieces hit the ground.

Another object flew this time a frame. Its glass screamed as it broke. Siddharth didn't flinch. He looked like he didn't even see what he was doing. His eyes were open, yes-but it was like they were seeing something else.

Something from the past.

He picked up another vase and threw it.

Then another.

And another.

Shards scattered across marble, and Noor... Noor just stood there.

Her hand was over her mouth.

Her knees locked.

She couldn't move.

The truth-what Siddharth just said-had sunk into her bones.

A woman was raped.

That man is her father-in-law.

The child who was born from that horror... is her Siddharth.

The man she loved with every drop of her soul was the result of something so terrifying, so cruel-something no child ever deserved.

Her breath stopped in her throat.

Siddharth was still breaking the room. Vases. Frames. Wood. Glass. Anything his hands found. But he wasn't crying. There was no weeping, no begging. Just rage. Rage so raw it filled the space with heat.

His body looked larger, broader. His shirt stretched against his back as his muscles tensed, like every inch of him was built for battle but was forced to fight grief instead.

"You aren't born to be happy. You are born to hate. " Voice echoed in his mind

He wasn't crying.

He never cried.

Noor stood, unmoving, in the middle of that storm. Watching the man she loved fall apart, piece by piece, in front of her. But in her heart, there was no fear. No disgust. No pity.

Only... more love.

More love than she had ever felt before.

More love than she knew how to explain.

She looked at him-really looked.

And something inside her shifted.

Not as a wife. Not as a woman.

But as someone who was born to hold him.

Then, with slow, steady, and unknown steps-each one soft but certain-Noor, who began to walk toward him.

Toward the man in ruins.

Toward her storm.

Toward her Siddharth.

Siddharth's hand gripped another vase, ready to throw it, his fingers tight, his breath loud and uncontrolled. His whole body looked like it was fighting something bigger than rage-like he was fighting the screams in his chest.

But as he turned, ready to throw it across the room-

She was there.

Noor.

Standing right in front of him.

He stopped.

Not just his hand... everything inside him stopped.

The vase didn't fall, but he no longer wanted to throw it. Siddharth's arms stayed halfway in the air, frozen. His chest rose once, hard and heavy, as if reality had just splashed cold water on his face.

And then... he looked at her.

Really looked.

Noor's face was wet with tears. Her eyes swollen, her lips trembling, and her cheeks flushed from crying. Her eyes-her beautiful eyes-were not afraid of him. They were full of pain, yes. But not fear. Not disgust. Just love.

And something broke inside Siddharth again.

He looked down at his hands, at the mess he had made. He looked around him glass pieces, shattered frames, and broken pieces of silence. And then he looked at Noor again.

And in her eyes, he saw it.

He saw himself.

Not the man he had become.

But the man he had buried long ago.

The boy.

The boy who only knew how to cry in corners when no one was watching.

And now, here he was again-that Siddharth-standing in front of the only person who hadn't run away.

Siddharth lowered the vase slowly. Not in anger. Not in madness. Just... as if it no longer belonged in his hand.

He turned to the side and threw it away-not with rage this time, but like he was letting go of something heavy. Something that didn't serve him anymore.

And then he looked back at Noor.

Her eyes-God, those eyes-still looked at him like he was worth loving. Even after knowing everything. Even after hearing that truth.

In his mind, memories rushed in.

The times he had spoken a word about his truth-how people had stepped back. The way silence had followed his pain. The way eyes had turned away. Some had called him cursed. Some had looked at him like he was a reminder of sin.

But Noor...

Noor was still there.

Still looking.

Still loving.

And at that moment, something inside Siddharth whispered

You're not alone.

And with that thought, his knees gave up.

His body was so powerful, so built, so known for strength-fell.

"Aarth!" Noor cried, panic in her voice, as she rushed to him.

But he had already dropped.

Right there, in the middle of the broken pieces, Siddharth Singh Rajwardhan fell to his knees.

The same knees that had never bent in front of the world. The same legs that had walked through fire and war... were now trembling under the weight of his past.

His eyes were shut tight, his breath fast. But he wasn't speaking.

He was silent again.

Noor fell beside him in the next moment, her knees touching the cold floor, her heart breaking with every second. She cupped his face with one hand, softly, like holding a flame that could die if touched wrong.

"Look at me, Aarth," she whispered.

And slowly... he did.

His eyes opened.

So red. So tired.

And still... not a single tear had fallen.

But Noor could feel the scream in them. The scream that had stayed buried in his chest for years. The scream of a child who never got the chance to cry.

He was looking at her like he was waiting for something-something only she could give.

And then... he whispered.

Broken. Fragile. Honest.

"Rona hai, Noor..."
(I want to cry, Noor...)

His voice cracked, but he continued.

"Aaj pehli baar... kisi aankhon mein ghin ke siwa kuch dekha hai..."
(For the first time... I saw something in someone's eyes that wasn't hatred...)

He stopped. His throat tightened.

His hands balled into fists, clenching over the fabric of his pants, his shoulders trembling.

"Bahot rona hai... sab batana hai aapko... bahot kuch bolna hai..."
(I want to cry a lot... I want to tell you everything... there's so much I have to say...)

His eyes searched hers-like he was asking for permission. Like he was afraid if he said too much, she might go.

But Noor didn't speak with words.

She tilted her head, her thumb caressing the side of his cheek, and then-still on her knees-she leaned in and kissed his forehead.

Soft.

Long.

Like a quiet promise.

Then she pulled his face gently to her chest, wrapping him in her warmth, like a shelter built from her love.

Her tears dropped onto his hair, but her voice was calm. Motherly. Healing.

"To ro lijiye, Aarth... hum hai na... aapke aansu ponchne ke liye..."
(Then cry, Aarth... I am here... to wipe your tears...)

She spoke like she was speaking to a child.

And that's exactly how Siddharth looked up at her.

Not like a husband.

Not like a man.

But like the little boy inside him-the child who had never cried out loud-was finally home.

That child inside him... the one who used to dream at night that someone would come. Someone would hold him. Someone would hug him. Someone would kiss his forehead and tell him it was okay to cry.

He had waited years for it.

But he had stopped believing.

And now-here she was.

His Noor.

His home.

And like a curse broke inside his chest-

Siddharth's body dropped forward.

His head fell onto her lap. His face buried itself into her softness.

And Siddharth Singh Rajwardhan-powerful, dominant, sobbed.

Not loud.

Not wild.

But deep.

Gut-deep.

Like something locked for years had finally found a key.

And Noor sat there, holding his face in her lap, running her fingers through his hair... letting him cry.

Letting him be the child he never got to be.

Letting him feel what it meant... to be loved.

His body was trembling. Not with cold-but with that storm which had been locked for years inside him. That storm which had no shape, no colour, no voice-just pain. Just that loud, unbearable pain.

Siddharth had never allowed it to come out. Never allowed anyone to even stand near it. But tonight... it was pouring out.

He was still in Noor's lap. His head heavy on her thighs, eyes shut tight, but the tears had their own way. They were falling. One after the other. Warm. Fast. Quiet. His breath was short. Uneven. Like he had been running for too long, and now, finally, he had stopped-in her arms.

Noor didn't move. She didn't even blink. Her hand was in his hair, gently moving through his thick strands, her thumb sometimes brushing against his scalp like she was trying to tell him-you're not alone now... I'm here.

Her lap was already wet from his tears. Her heart was even heavier. But still, she said nothing. Just let him cry. Let him fall apart.

And Siddharth... he cried like a child. Not like a grown man. But like a lost, little boy who had been holding everything inside for years. Years and years. Tonight, his voice broke. His shoulders gave up. His control-vanished. And he let go.

After a few long minutes, his sobs softened, but the pain... the pain still sat inside his throat. Like it was too much to say, too much to hold, too much to let go. His face still buried in her lap, still feeling her warmth, but slowly... slowly he lifted his head.

His eyes were swollen red. Tears were everywhere-on his lashes, his cheeks, even on the skin near his mouth. His jaw was tight, his lips trembling, and when his eyes met hers, they didn't look like Siddharth Singh Rajwardhan. They looked like a small, hurt child... who had waited his whole life for someone to ask, what happened to you?

His hands slowly rose... and he held both of Noor's arms, gently but tightly, like he was afraid she would disappear. And then-like a child telling his pain to someone who matters-he spoke. His voice low. Shaky. Breaking.

And then his lips opened. His voice was low. Broken. Soft. Full of hurt.

"W-woh mujhe... hamesha bolti thi... ki main pyaar ke liye paida hi nahi hua... main paap ka phal hoon..."

("She always told me I wasn't born for love... I was a sin.")

Another tear dropped.

"Main... bacha tha, Noor..."

("I was just a child, Noor...")

"Par woh mujhe... khana nahi deti thi... kamre mein band karti thi... woh... woh... maarti thi mujhe..."

("But she didn't give me food... she used to lock me in a room... she... she used to hit me...")

Noor's hand moved to his cheek. Soft. Shaking.Noor's breath hitched. Her throat tightened. But she didn't stop him.

Siddharth looked at her. Like he had more to say. Like the words were stuck in his throat. And then he whispered,

"Main rota tha... aur woh... hasti thi, Noor... woh hasti thi..."

("I used to cry... and she... she used to laugh, Noor... she laughed...")

Silence fell. Heavy. Dense. The kind that made your chest ache.

And then the softest truth left his lips, broken like dry leaves falling off a dying tree.

"Woh... maa thi meri, Noor..."

("She was... my mother, Noor...")

He looked down again. His head dropped forward like it was too heavy to hold anymore. His body looked defeated. And his voice, barely a breath, asked the question that had lived inside his heart for decades.

"Meri kya galti thi, Noor?"

("What was my fault, Noor?")

"Sirf ek baar... gale lagna chahta tha... ek baar uski god mein sir rakhna chahta tha... ek baar... 'beta' sunna chahta tha... kya yeh gunah tha mera?"

("Just once... I wanted a hug... to rest my head in her lap... just once... I wanted her to call me her son... was that a crime?")

This time, his tears didn't come one by one. They came all together. Like rain that had waited years behind clouds. His lips trembled as he cried again. Loud, breathless, raw. And then came the words that tore through Noor like a knife.

"Chaar saal ka tha, Noor... pehli baar... din bhar bhooka rakha tha usne..."

("I was four, Noor... first time... she kept me hungry all day...")

He sobbed once. A raw, real sob.

"Bahut bhookh lagi thi... itni... ki apne khilaune chaba ke so gaya..."

("I was so hungry... I chewed my toys and fell asleep...")

Noor's face twisted. Her eyes filled all over again. She imagined that little boy-curled in a dark room, chewing plastic toys because his stomach was empty. Her heart shattered.

Noor shut her eyes. Tight. Her throat burned. Her chest twisted. She had no words. None. Just tears. Just pain. Just that aching wish to go back in time and hold that small boy in her arms and say, You are loved. You always were.

Siddharth looked like he wanted answers. But there were none.

He went on. Slower this time. Like the words were dragging themselves out of his soul.

"Teen saal ka tha... sochta tha... shayad maa gussa hai... man jaayegi... sath sulayegi... haathon se khilayegi..."

("I was three... I used to think maybe she's just angry... maybe she'll forgive me... let me sleep beside her... feed me with her hands...")

He looked somewhere far away. Like his mind was seeing a house, a room, a childhood

"Par roz sunta tha... 'mar kyu nahi jaata'... meri shakal kitni gandi hai... mujhe khana dena barbaadi hai..."

("But every day I heard... 'Why don't you die?'... my face is so ugly... feeding me is a waste...")

Noor's face was wet with tears. Her lips parted, but no sound came. She just lifted her hand and covered his cheek again, pressing his face against her palm. Letting him know, without any words-that he mattered.

At that moment, she didn't just feel love for him. She felt pain. Deep, sharp pain. She felt anger. She felt helplessness. And she felt something even bigger than love-a need to protect him. A need to hug that little boy and tell him he deserved better. He deserved everything.

And Siddharth let his face stay there. Quiet. Still. Like that boy inside him had finally found a place to rest.

Noor's eyes shut. She couldn't take it. She couldn't bear it. Her hand gently went to his face, cupping it again, trying to say everything her words couldn't.

And he... he let her.

His face leaned into her palm. Like that child had been waiting for this very hand. For this very moment. To be held like this. To be loved like this.

Then came another whisper from Noor, broken with pain:

"K-kitna saha hai aapne, Aarth... kaise..."

("You've suffered so much, Aarth... how...")

Siddharth looked at her like a child. A small child who had more to say. Who still had pain left inside.

"Papa bhi nahi aate the..."

("Papa didn't come either...")

He swallowed.

"Woh sab jaante the, par... kuch nahi bolte the..."

("He knew everything... but never said anything...")

"Main bulata tha unko... 'Papa, yahan mat chhodo mujhe'... par woh chale jaate the..."

("I used to call him... 'Papa, don't leave me here'... but he left...")

"Main akele baithta tha... poore ghar mein... koi baat nahi karta tha mujhse..."

("I used to sit alone... in the whole house... no one talked to me...")

He repeated,

"Koi baat nahi karta tha, Noor..."

("No one talked to me, Noor...")

And this time, his voice broke again. His shoulders dropped. And he leaned in.

.Noor wrapped her arms around him again. And Siddharth didn't hold back. He rested his head on her shoulder, then let himself fall further. His face buried into the curve of her neck, his hands clinging to her sides, and he cried again. Not for this moment, but for the moments he lost. For the mother he never had. For the father who never stayed. For the childhood he never lived.

Weeping for a lost childhood. Weeping for love that never came. For a name he never got to say. For a lap he never got to rest on.

And Noor... she cried too. Not because he was crying, but because she could feel every part of him. His pain. His loneliness. His silent childhood. The broken little boy inside her husband... was finally out tonight.

And she... she was there to hold him.

Because that little boy deserved to be held. Deserved to be loved.

And finally, after years of silence...

He was.

.

.

.

.

.

.

They didn't know how long they had been like that-just sitting on the floor, in silence, in grief, in something that was far deeper than pain. Time had blurred itself into the soft sounds of Siddharth's broken breath. His sobs had now slowed... not stopped, just softened. He was no longer crying like before, but his chest was still rising and falling heavily-like each breath he took had to fight its way through years of pain.

Noor held him quietly. Her arms were still around him. His head rested just near her lap, still seeking warmth, still hiding.

She looked down at him. Her husband. Her Aarth. The man who had always filled every room with his presence. Who never bowed. Who never bent. A man made of steel. A man who, once upon a time, had entered her life like a storm and never let her go since then.

But today... today he had curled in her arms like a child.

And it was breaking her.

Her hands slowly moved to his hair-the way he liked. Her fingers ran softly through the strands, again and again, slow, gentle. Like she was trying to tell his soul that he was safe now. That he was loved. That he could rest.

She was trying.

Trying to give every little bit of love she had in her. Trying to wrap him inside that love like a blanket. Like a home. Like a place where pain was allowed, where weakness wasn't judged.

Siddharth's head was still resting on her shoulder, not speaking.

But Noor's mind... it wasn't quiet.

There were too many questions dancing in her head. Too many things that didn't make sense.

If his mother was like that... why does Siddharth love her now?

How did all of this change?

Why did Dadi never tell her anything?

How could Aditi ji do something like that to a child?

She tried remembering... she had lived under the same roof. Had there ever been a moment... even one... where she felt something was wrong?

But there was none.

All she had seen was love. All she had heard was Siddharth calling her Ma with warmth.

Nothing ever looked broken. Nothing ever felt wrong.

Yet here he was-broken beyond repair.

Noor stayed quiet.

She didn't ask anything. Her lips stayed sealed. Because right now, Siddharth needed peace more than answers. He needed space to breathe. And she... she just wanted him to be okay.

Her hand kept running softly in his hair. Again. And again.

They stayed like that.

God knows how many minutes passed.

But in that time... her soul memorized the sound of his breath.

And her heart shattered a little more every time he took a shaky one.

And in that silence, Noor's eyes travelled to the man who had always looked unbreakable.

Siddharth Singh Rajwardhan.

The man who owned every room he entered. The man whose voice made people listen. The man who never showed a flicker of weakness-even when the world turned its back on him.

Siddharth-thirty-four years old. Her husband. A man people feared to disappoint. A man who spoke less but whose words were like orders. He had broken down in her arms like a lost boy.

And she... she couldn't stop looking at him.

Then, slowly, Siddharth shifted. His head moved a little from her lap. His body rose, not suddenly... but like it carried weight. Like even movement was pain. His breath was still uneven. His eyes were red, and his face... his face looked like it had just walked out of a battlefield. There were dried tears on his cheek, wet ones still clinging to his lashes. And he just looked at her.

Noor tilted her head, meeting his eyes.

And without saying anything, she gently lifted her pallu.

The same pallu that still smelled of sandalwood and jasmine.

The same one she always tucked over her shoulder with care.

She now raised it to his face.

And with a softness only she had ever shown him-she began to wipe his tears.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

Like she wasn't wiping tears... she was wiping years of suffering.

Siddharth closed his eyes the moment her pallu touched his skin.

His lashes fluttered. His face remained still.

He didn't move. He didn't say a word.

But Noor could feel the silence inside him breathing.

Breathing slowly now.

That scent around her-that soft blend of chandan and jasmine-always calmed him. Even now... it wrapped around him like an old lullaby. For a second... for a second, he felt like maybe... maybe it was okay to breathe again. Maybe the child inside him was finally allowed to rest.

Noor kept wiping him, her eyes never leaving his face. There was nothing hurried in her touch. No pity. No questions. Just love. The kind of love that holds someone even when they're shattered. The kind that doesn't ask why. That simply stays.

And then... Siddharth tilted his head slightly.

His breath caught.

In front of him... was a photo frame.

Half covered. Quiet.

Noor didn't turn to see. She was still focused on him.

But Siddharth's eyes were now locked on that photo. His gaze stiffened. Something shifted in the air. He didn't blink.

And then... in a voice that barely rose above the silence, he whispered:

"Aditi Ma... is not my real mother."

Noor froze.

Just like that-her breath stilled.

She had been thinking so many things just moments ago-about Aditi ji, about how she could've hurt Siddharth and yet still be loved by him now. She had been wondering, questioning. Not blaming-but trying to understand.

And this...

This one line stopped everything inside her.

She blinked. Her eyes met his.

He wasn't crying anymore. But his gaze was heavy.

Not real mother?

Then who was?

Noor's heart skipped a beat. Everything inside her wanted to ask, but she held herself back. Her fingers were still holding his hand.

And then... Siddharth slowly stood up.

Noor's hand, without needing words, was gently taken in his.

She rose with him. Quietly.

He walked forward, slowly, to that one particular photo.

The one still covered with a red cloth.

And he stood in front of it.

Noor followed him, her hand still in his.

He didn't speak. He just stood.

Then, for a second, he looked sideways-at her.

His eyes scanned her face.

As if asking, "Will you still stay?"

And Noor's gaze only softened.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

Took a breath.

Opened them again.

And then his voice broke the silence.

"Sab kuch waisa hi chal raha tha..."

("Everything was going the same way...")

"Phir ek din dadi aayi."

("Then one day, Dadi came.")

"Dadi was not very happy with this marriage... and decided to never meet her son."

"But after five years, she was ready to accept him. Only to get shocked... when she saw a mother beating her four-year-old for laughing. Just because he laughed... when he wasn't allowed to."

Noor's eyes widened.

Siddharth's voice was calm now. Too calm.

The kind of calm that only comes after a storm breaks everything.

"That was when Dadi decided... that woman had to go. She confronted her son. She asked him to throw that woman away from our lives."

"But..."

He paused again. Swallowed a tight breath. Noor didn't speak. She didn't even blink.

"Her son-Abhijeet Rajwardhan-was so blinded by obsession & guilt. guilty of what he had done in the past that he let that woman control his whole life. He told Dadi... he'd leave everything. Business. Family. Everything. But not her."

Noor stood still. She could feel his thumb now brushing lightly over her hand. Like it was his way of holding on to sanity.

His eyes were on the photo-but they looked dead.

Noor's fingers wrapped tighter around his hand. She could feel her nails digging into her own palm-but she didn't let go. She just kept holding him.

Siddharth's voice grew quieter.

"After a huge fight... it was decided. Abhijeet Rajwardhan would stay with his wife... even if she killed their son."

"Because that son... was an unwanted, unwelcomed reminder of the sin he committed."

Noor looked at him. Her heart breaking with every word.

His eyes didn't look at her anymore. They were now staring straight into that covered photo.

Then came the next words. Softer.

"That was when Aditi Ma came into my life."

"She was... my Maasi."
("My maternal aunt.")

"She came to take care of me... because for my parents, I was already dead."

Noor's throat tightened. Her head turned a little, her brows slowly rising. What did he just say?

Siddharth finally spoke again. His lips formed each word carefully. Slowly. Like they were soaked in something heavier than pain.

"She gave me love... the kind a five-year-old dreams about."

"But by then... the damage was already done. That woman's words had carved themselves deep inside me."

"Main paanch saal ka bacha nahi... paanch saal ka aadmi ban gaya tha."
("I wasn't a five-year-old child anymore... I had become a five-year-old man.")

Noor's eyes softened. She didn't move. She didn't interrupt. But something inside her cracked. Completely.

"But Aditi Ma... she never left my side."

Noor looked at his face. The way his eyes stayed steady. His lips trembling, but his voice trying to stay strong.

"Main unse dur bhaagta tha. Unko dhakka deta tha. Gussa karta tha."
(I would run away from her. Push her. Get angry at her.)

"But she never left. She stayed. Jab main zinda lash ban gaya tha... tab bhi unhone mera haath nahi chhoda."

(Even when I became a living corpse... she never let go of my hand.)

He looked at Noor again. And this time, she saw it. In his eyes.

Gratitude.

Pure, broken, desperate gratitude.

Then he turned. Slowly.

"There was no father. No one I could call 'Papa'. No one who called me their son." He paused.

"Log mujhse pyaar nahi... taras khaate the."
("People didn't love me... they pitied me.")

"But Aditi Ma... she wasn't like them."

Noor looked at him.

Her grip on his hand tightened around her hand.

Two steps forward. Three. Until he stood in front of another frame. This one-smaller. A picture of two small kids. A girl and a boy.

Same age.

Smiling.

Siddharth stared.

He didn't speak for a full minute.

Noor followed his gaze. She stood silently beside him. Her eyes shifting between the kids and Siddharth's face. He was... unreadable.

And then...

"Everything was fine... until one night. I was seven. Dadu had an accident. Abhijeet Rajwardhan came back."

A pause.

"Lekin is baar... wo akele nahi tha."
("But this time... he wasn't alone.")

Noor's breath got stuck.

"Uske saath uski biwi thi. Aur do naye bache."
("His wife was with him. And two new children.")

His voice cracked

Siddharth's voice trembled.

"I saw her... the woman who gave birth to me."

His voice got lower. Quieter. More broken.

"I stood in the corner. Watching her smile. Watching her love them. Watching her... press their cheeks. Wipe their tears."

He finally turned to Noor.

And Noor... froze.

Because those eyes-his eyes-looked like they were bleeding from inside.

"She was holding those babies. Loving them. I saw her... looking at them... the way I had once begged her to look at me." He took a breath.

"I saw him... HIM... holding them in his arms."

He finally turned to Noor.

His eyes-wet. Not crying. But wet. Raw. Wounded.

Aur inhe god mein bitha leti thi..."
("And she used to keep them in her lap...")

Then he turned toward Noor again.

This time his eyes weren't empty.

They were burning.

And his voice-raw.

"Wo unke saath khel raha tha Noor. Unki roti aankhein poch raha tha."
("He was playing with them, Noor. Wiping their tears.")

"Unhe sab dikha... par mere aansu nahi?"
("They saw everything... but not my tears?")

"Unka dard mehsoos hua... par mera nahi?"
("They felt their pain... but not mine?")

And those words got broken-those exact words-felt like they had stabbed straight through her chest.

Noor couldn't breathe for a second. She couldn't think. Couldn't react. Because in front of her... was not a grown man asking questions.

It was a child.

A wounded, unwanted child.

And then, Siddharth turned to the picture again.

"Uss din ke baad... they started living with us."
("After that day... they started living with us.")

His eyes now burning. Voice barely audible.

"Main roz un bachon ko dekhta tha."
("I used to see those kids every day."

Noor's heart thudded so loud she could feel it in her ears.

Siddharth turned back to the picture.

His voice fell into a whisper again.

"Sochta tha ki kyun unhe wo sab mil raha hai... jo mujhe nahi mila."
("I used to wonder why they got everything I never had.")

"Sochta tha maine kya kiya tha... ki meri maa mujhe dekhna bhi nahi chahti thi."
("I wondered what I had done... that my mother didn't even want to look at me.")

"Kya kiya maine? Kya galti thi meri?"
(What did I do? What was my mistake?)

He said slowly, breathing after every sentence. The silence that followe was louder than any scream.

And Noor... she was just standing there. Looking at the man she loved. A man who never got the love he deserved.

And she didn't move.

She just let him speak.

And she listened with her whole soul, her throat felt dried up.

"Rota tha." He stopped. Jaw tightened.
("I use to cry.")

"Us din... mujhe un bacho se nafrat hone lagi."
("That day... I started hating those kids.")

Noor felt her throat dry up.

"Kyuki mujhe laga... ki unki wajah se meri Maa ne mujhe kabhi pyaar nahi kiya. Unki wajah se Abhijeet Rajvardhan ne mujhe kabhi beta nahi kaha."
("Because I felt... that they were the reason my mother never loved me. That they were the reason Abhijeet Rajvardhan never called me his son.")

He stopped. Words dried. And yet... the silence spoke louder than anything else.

Noor didn't speak.

She just stood there.

Watching him.

Breathing with him.

And slowly... her hand reached out. Quietly. Carefully.

She held his again.

Not to calm him down.

Just to remind him-he wasn't alone.

Siddharth stopped because it was getting hard for him to share. His lips moved but no sound came out for a few seconds. His throat was dry. His chest was burning. And his mind-it felt like it was choking him.

He was remembering things he had buried deep inside. Things he never told anyone. Not because he didn't want to. But because every time he had tried... people had looked at him with disgust.

As a child, whenever Siddharth had tried to speak-whenever he had tried to say even a little of what was happening-no one had stayed. No one had listened. No one had loved.

So slowly, that child stopped talking. Slowly, Siddharth started believing that his pain had no value. That his voice had no place. That maybe... maybe he was truly unworthy of love. Unworthy of care.

That was what that woman wanted him to believe. And he did. He believed it with all his heart.

He built walls. Thick, heavy walls around himself. He taught himself not to feel, not to hope. Because every time he did, life punished him.

Even though more than 20 years had passed, the pain was fresh. The fear, the loneliness, the anger-they never left. They just found new places to hide.

Until Noor.

Noor walked into his life like light into a locked room. She didn't try to break him. She didn't try to fix him. She just stayed. She just... existed.

And for the first time, Siddharth's heart, which was sealed for years, started to beat. And now, in this moment, it was not just beating. It was aching to be held. To be heard.

He looked at Noor.

She was already looking at him. Tears filled her soft brown eyes. But those tears-they didn't make him feel weak. For the first time in his life, someone was crying for him.

And that gave him the courage to speak again.

He didn't wipe her tears.

Instead, he kept looking into her eyes.

Those eyes that had become his only truth.

His throat ached. His breath was trembling. But he didn't stop.

"I never looked at them," he said slowly, voice rough. "I never went near them."

His eyes were distant. But his voice held rage.

"She would smirk at me while playing with them. Like I was some dirt on the floor. And if I ever went near her, she would push me away with her legs."

Noor's breath hitched.

"I was scared of the sound of her anklets. I used to pray to God that she wouldn't see me today. That maybe today... she'll forget I exist."

His hands were shaking now. His body stiff.

"She started locking me in that dark room again. Knowing how scared I was. She would laugh... while I screamed inside."

Siddharth paused. His head was hurting now. His jaw was tight. His eyes... were hurting more with every memory.

Noor's tears flowed silently now. She didn't move. She didn't interrupt. Her thumb just brushed over his wrist, holding him.

And Siddharth kept going.

"Even Aditi maa stopped coming. She got married. She would only come on Sundays. And I... I would just beg her to feed me with her hands. I would sit in her lap and pretend I was a small baby. Because I wanted to feel... what those children were feeling. That warmth. That softness. Just for a little while."

Noor placed a hand softly on his back. She didn't speak. She just touched him-gently. Letting him know she was there.

"And I don't even know when it happened... but I started calling her maa. She never stopped me. She even called me beta."

He looked at Noor, pain turning into something softer for a moment.

"I was the happiest that day," he whispered. "For once... even I had a maa."

Noor was crying now. Silently. Her lips were sealed, but her soul was weeping. Because with every word he spoke, her heart broke a little more.

And just when she thought he had said the worst-he spoke again.

"This went on for two years. Nothing changed... except that I had died. I was breathing, Noor... but I wasn't alive. Even Aditi maa came less. I used to sit quietly in corners, scared to even breathe loudly.I had learned to stay invisible."."

He looked at her again. His voice low. Shaky.

"Even Aditi maa came less. She had her own family now. Her husband. Adarsh and Akirti."

He glanced at Noor.

"They're not my blood. They're her children from her first marriage."

Noor's brows furrowed & then she blinked in surprise. She never guessed that. Because Siddharth never treated them like step-siblings. Never once. Siddharth never treated them differently.

"But then," he said, his tone darkening, "after two years... something happened."

His body went still.

"Something only one person knows-Abhijeet Rajwardhan."

His tone turned dark, sharp.

"Something made her leave. Suddenly. As if she never existed. She didn't even take her kids with her. Just vanished."

Noor looked at him, her face frozen.

"She didn't even look back," Siddharth whispered. "Not once."

Noor's lips parted slightly. Her heartbeat had slowed. He took a long breath.

Siddharth's fingers moved, slowly sliding down to hold her waist. His grip tightened. His body was pressed slightly into hers. His breathing was unsteady.

"Abhijeet Rajvardhan was broken. But not because of us. Not because he lost a wife or kids. He was broken because his obsession walked away."

"And like always, he didn't care about anyone else. Not even his children. His obsession came first. His stubbornness was more important than his blood."

His voice was now cold.

"And because of that... two more children were left alone. To cry. To scream. To suffer. Veer and Vani."

Siddharth went quiet. But Noor understood. The two children from the picture were Veer & Vani.

His voice had already started to tremble, but now even his breath felt too heavy. He was remembering things he had buried deep-so deep that even time couldn't erase them. But today, here, in front of Noor, they were rising again. Like waves crashing onto a shore.

His mind wandered back.

He remembered the cries. Two small children. Veer and Vani. Left alone in that massive house. Crying in a way that made even the walls feel heavy. He could still hear it. Their sobs echoing through the empty corridors of that mansion-echoes that had once been his own.

He swallowed hard.

Noor saw his lips part, and slowly he began to speak again.

"I remember them," he said softly, eyes staring ahead, voice like broken glass. "Veer and Vani... crying alone. Dadi was busy with her NGO. Nobody was home. Nobody except me. And I... I stayed away. I didn't go near them."

His throat dried. The guilt showed in the way his eyes narrowed, the way he bit the inside of his cheek.

"I didn't even look at them when they fell. When they hurt themselves, I walked away. Because I was still scared. Terrified. Terrified that she would come out of nowhere and punish me again... for touching her kids."

Noor held her breath, eyes fixed on his face. Her heart was already breaking.

"I remember... one day... they were crying for food. Their caretaker was late. Their faces were red, soaked in tears. I couldn't take it anymore. My chest... it was hurting just hearing them cry. So I went to my room. I didn't know how to make milk... I didn't even know how to talk to anyone... So I brought water. Just a glass of water."

His voice cracked as the memory bloomed fully.

"And I remember... they held my hand. Their eyes were wide. They looked at me like... like I was their world."

There was a pause.

And then came the smile. A soft, small smile. Born not out of happiness, but from a rare moment of light in all that darkness. Noor saw that smile and unknowingly, she smiled too. A tear slipped down her cheek.

Siddharth continued.

"Their caretaker came and said, 'Aap bahut ache bade bhai ho.'"

(You are a very good big brother.)

"I wasn't... but that line... that line lit a fire in me. I decided then. I will be the best big brother anyone can have. I will protect them. I will love them. And most of all, I will never let them feel what I felt."

He looked at Noor. The pain was still there in his eyes, but so was pride.

"They became my world and 6 more years passed. I was fourteen, they were six or seven. I started going to the office too. Because I didn't have a father's hand on my head. There was no one to teach me."

He took a breath.

"That's when I met Secretary Sahab. He became the teacher I never had. His words didn't scare me like others. He taught me something that changed everything-"

Siddharth straightened slightly. Noor noticed it. There was a strange calmness in him.

"He told me... I wasn't weak. I wasn't made to fear. I was Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan. Born to command. And that day... a new Siddharth was born. Someone who is feared, not fearful. Someone who knew his own strength."

Noor looked at him-her eyes filled with tears, but her heart blooming with pride. For him. For the man he became.

"And that's when I decided. I wasn't meant to stay in the dark. I was Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan.Someone who knew his power. His truth."

Noor smiled through her tears. She felt proud. She felt overwhelmed. She felt love and admiration and pain all together.

And then...

Siddharth blinked once.

His smile dropped.

His eyes turned cold again.Siddharth's voice dropped again. His eyes slowly lost the warmth.

He stared deep into Noor's eyes and said, "Until one day... she came back. And everything changed. Forever."

Noor stopped breathing.

Siddharth's grip around her waist tightened. His jaw clenched. His chest rose with anger. The fire in his eyes could burn the world.

He raised his hand.

And pulled the red cloth away from the painting.

Noor didn't look at it yet.

She was still watching Siddharth. Watching the way his hand trembled. Watching the way his lips tightened. Watching the storm on his face.

And then slowly... Siddharth turned his head.

Noor followed.

There, in front of her, was a woman.

She was dressed in red saree. A large bindi on her forehead. Heavy gold jewelry. She sat elegantly in the photograph-smiling. Confident. Regal.

And beside her...

Abhijeet Rajvardhan.

Noor's eyes narrowed. Her stomach twisted.

Because the woman in the picture-she didn't look cruel. Her features were calm. Almost beautiful. A long face. Sharp eyes. A graceful smile.

But the more Noor looked, the more her skin crawled.

And then Siddharth said, voice full of poison:

"Par mai wo purana Siddharth nahi tha. Na hi uski nafrat purani thi. (But I wasn't the old Siddharth anymore. And neither was my hate.)"

His gaze burned into the photo.

Noor kept staring.

And then...

Siddharth said it.

His voice dropped. Heavy with hate.

"She's Zeenat. The one who gave me birth."

Noor's entire body froze.

And the world stopped moving.

____________________________________

To my readers,
I just wanted to clear a few things-calmly, and one last time.

In the last chapter, I mentioned I'll be updating once a week. Many of you guessed that it's because of Instagram goals. But honestly, it's not just about Instagram. It's also because of Wattpad, I said, those who follow me, they know. Here too-where I saw a big drop in response. That's the main reason behind the change. I just didn't say it before. But since some people are crossing limits in the comment section, I need to say this now.

Some of you have written really hurtful things-saying I want readers to beg, or that I'm playing the victim. Let's get this straight. If I wanted people to beg, I would've posted emotional stories and fake drama to get attention. But I didn't. I simply stood up for my work and set some healthy boundaries. And if that makes me a "victim" in your eyes, then maybe you need to look up the meaning of that word again.

And to those who used disrespectful or dirty words-I've blocked some and I will keep doing so. I'm not here to fight or take hate. This is a safe space, a book I've poured myself into. If you don't like it, please leave quietly. Don't throw your negativity here.

Also, advice is always welcome. But telling me what to do, how to update, or how to run my story? No. That's not your place. I'm capable of making those decisions.

Yes, I've been frustrated. Not because I want to be praised. But because I've seen the response fall on every platform with same amout of readers, But And still, people expect me to update every other day like nothing is wrong. That's not fair.

Of course, targets, votes, or comments don't pay my bills-just like updating on Wattpad doesn't give me any money either. But I still do it. I do it because this is where I started. I have people here who waited for this book, who believed in it, and I want to finish what I began. I only kept targets so I could understand your interest, not because I'm running behind numbers. It helps me see how the plot is working in your minds. I've never said I'm against criticism-never.

But there's a difference between giving opinions and throwing hurtful words. Reading till the end and then saying you've lost interest or that the book is bad-please don't force yourself to stay.

If you've lost interest in this story, I genuinely hope you find something better. But please, don't spread hate here.

I never asked anyone to beg me to write. But if setting boundaries makes you call me names, then maybe this space is not for you. Some people who never even supported the story are now showing up only to complain-and I've seen all of that quietly. This hurts deeply.

But I'll still finish this book, not because I owe it, but because I respect the story I created.

I'll update when I feel like it, (No Monday fix day) I'm not chasing votes, views, or anything anymore. I'll just finish this book here. After that, we'll see.

To those who said I'm full of myself-of course I am. What else am I supposed to be full of?

I'm not a victim. I'm just a girl who knows her worth and is learning to set boundaries. And I'll keep doing that.

Thank you to everyone who stays kind and respectful, I own you all a big hug♡

THANK YOU
ROY