Na sath hai koi na sahara hai koi
Na hum hai kisi ke na humhara hai koi
                           
Abir returned to what he once called home—not Ayaan Cottage, but a hollow echo of what it used to be. The place that once resonated with laughter and love now stood cold, as if mourning the absence of the one who had filled it with life.

Abir's Cottage was no longer the sanctuary it once was; it was now merely a shell, hollow and echoing with memories that clung to its walls like persistent ghosts.

Kunal followed closely behind, his heart heavy with the weight of his brother’s grief. As Abir’s hand rested on the stair railing, he hesitated. A powerful surge of memories threatened to overwhelm him—memories of the first day he had brought Mishti home after their wedding. He could almost feel her presence beside him, hear her soft laughter as she teased him about their new life together.

A bittersweet smile curved his lips, but the pain in his eyes betrayed the turmoil within. He could see her as vividly as if she were really there, standing beside him, her eyes filled with love and mischief. He reached out, instinctively, to touch her, to hold her close—but she disappeared, leaving him grasping at the air. It was only his imagination, a cruel trick played by his grief-stricken mind.

With a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside. The house was eerily silent, the air thick with the scent of memories long past. As he entered the living room, he was struck by the vivid image of Mishti walking toward him, her face illuminated by that same smile he had fallen in love with. “Ajeeb Rajvansh, you’re home,” she said, her voice as clear as if she were standing right there.

He nodded, his heart breaking as a tearful smile graced his lips, but just as quickly, she vanished again, leaving only the cold silence in her wake.

Abir closed his eyes, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, to push back the tears that threatened to spill over. He walked into the kitchen, needing something—anything—to ground him in reality. But the moment he entered, she was there again, this time busy cooking, her movements so familiar, so comforting.

He stood there, transfixed, watching her as if in a trance. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to feel her warmth and hear her voice telling him everything would be alright. But just as he reached out, she faded away once more, leaving him alone with nothing but the emptiness.

The pain was too much to bear, and he felt his resolve shatter. Desperation clawed at his chest, and he rushed to their bedroom, hoping against hope that she would be there. As he flung the door open, he saw her again—this time, she came to him with open arms, ready to embrace him.

He lunged forward, desperate to hold her, to never let her go, but she slipped through his arms like smoke, leaving him to collapse on the bed in despair.

He staggered back to the hall, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Mishti’s apparitions surrounded him now, each one more vivid than the last. One laughed, another wept, one smiled sweetly, another called out to him, and yet another glared at him in anger.

Frantically, he tried to reach out to any of them, to touch even a single one, but they all vanished as soon as he came close. The house, once a home, was now a prison, haunted by the ghosts of his memories. He could hear the echoes of her voice reverberating around him, taunting him, tormenting him.

“Abir, you’re such a Ajeeb Rajvansh,” Mishti’s voice mocked, each word cutting deeper into his soul.

“ Abir, I love you,” she whispered, her voice laced with the tenderness that had once brought him so much joy. But then her tone grew darker, more desperate, “Abir… Abir… Abir… You’ve destroyed me, Abir.”

The anguish in her voice was too much for him to bear. Overwhelmed, Abir clutched his head, pressing his hands to his ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound. He collapsed to the floor, his knees buckling under the weight of his grief. His tears flowed freely now, unchecked, as he sat there, broken and lost.

Kunal, who had been standing by, unable to watch his brother suffer any longer, finally stepped forward. He had been Abir’s silent shadow, bearing witness to his pain, but now he could stay silent no more. He walked over, his own heart heavy with grief, and placed a comforting hand on Abir’s shoulder. But Abir didn’t respond; he was too far gone, trapped in a world of memories and sorrow.

With a voice raw from anguish, Abir finally broke the silence, screaming into the void, “Mishti… Mishti, where are you? I want my Mishti back… Please, come back… I need my Mishti!” His cries echoed through the empty house, the sound of a man on the brink of despair.

His voice cracked and faltered, and his cries devolved into endless sobs as he dashed from room to room, searching for her, calling out her name, but all he found was emptiness. Kunal tried to stop him, to hold him back, but Abir was deaf to his pleas.

He found himself back in the kitchen, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. Where a memory struck him with the force of a storm. He recalled Mishti’s teasing words:

“One day, I’ll stop cooking and leave. Then, when every corner of this house cries out for Mishti, you’ll know how it feels.” Abir tried to respond, but once again, she disappeared, leaving him to crumble, weeping in Kunal’s arms.

The memory was too much for him. He collapsed onto the floor, his body racked with sobs, as the weight of his grief threatened to crush him. Kunal, pulled him into a tight embrace. He held Abir close, whispering words of comfort, though he knew they could do little to ease the pain.

“Bhai, please,” Kunal pleaded, his own voice thick with emotion, “Please hold yourself together… Bhabhi is gone… You need to leave this place.”

But Abir could not be comforted. With tears streaming down his face, he shook his head, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I’m not going anywhere… I want to stay with my Mishti… My Mishti is here.” He suddenly stood, wiping his tears away with a fierce determination, forcing a smile through his grief.

“See, Kunal, Mishti will come out of the room any minute now,” Abir said, his voice trembling, as if trying to convince himself.

“No, wait, she must be in the kitchen… No, maybe she’s resting… I’ll go get some tamarind from the market for her; she was craving it… Our baby… she’ll talk to me, not you. You go!” His words tumbled out, frantic and desperate, but before he could say anything else, Kunal’s hand came down hard across his cheek, snapping him back to reality. The force of the slap jolted him, and for a moment, he stood there, stunned, tears streaming down his face.

“Nahi, Bhai,” Kunal shouted, his own voice thick with tears, “She’s not coming back! She’s gone!” He pulled Abir into a tight embrace, and this time, Abir didn’t resist. He let the tears flow, his body shaking with sobs as he clung to his brother.

After what felt like an eternity, Kunal finally led him out of the house and into the car. Abir sat in the passenger seat, a shell of the man he once was, staring blankly ahead as Kunal started the car.

As they drove away from the house, Kunal’s thoughts were filled with sorrow and guilt. “Bhabhi, you’ll always be in Bhai’s heart, but if he stays here, he’ll lose his mind,” he thought, his heart heavy.

“ Forgive me, Bhabhi, for taking him away from your memories, from this city, and from you. ”

Kunal drove Abir away to Mumbai, but Abir remained lost in his sorrow. He threw himself into his work, building a successful chain of hotels across the city, each one a tribute to the woman he had loved and lost. He named them “Mishti Sparkles,” a reflection of the light she had brought into his life, now extinguished.

But no matter how much success he found, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with, Abir was always alone. The ghost of Mishti lingered in every corner of his mind, a constant reminder of what he had lost. He could never escape her, and in truth, he didn’t want to. She was his world, and without her, life held little meaning.

18 months later…

In Abir's house, he awoke lazily in his room, stretching his arms with his eyes closed. “Huh, bed tea, please, Angry Chorni… You’ve woken me up too early,” he murmured with a smile.

He opened his eyes and grinned, “Good morning, Angry Chorni. Will you just keep smiling, or will you wish me too? You stay here; I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, heading to the bathroom. After freshening up, he returned.

Adjusting his watch, Abir said, “Mishti, I have an important meeting today, so I might be late. But don’t behave like a typical wife, okay?” He chuckled and asked again, “By the way, how do I look today?”

“Absolutely first class,” a voice answered from behind. Abir turned around to find Kunal standing there, tears in his eyes.

With sudden anger, Abir snapped, “Did I ask you? I was asking my Angry Chorni,” his voice softened at the end.

Emotionally, Kunal asked, “How long, Bhai? How long?”

Abir’s face crumpled, the weight of the last eighteen months pressing down on him all at once. His eyes filled with tears as they drifted to the photographs of Mishti that adorned every wall of his room. Her face smiled back at him from every angle, but no smile could bridge the chasm her absence had left in his heart.

Kunal stepped closer, his voice trembling as he tried to reason with his brother. “These photos on the walls won’t bring Bhabhi back. It’s been eighteen months, Bhai. She’s not coming back, and she never will. You need to move on…”

Abir shook his head vehemently, the tears spilling over, his voice breaking as he responded, “My life ended the moment Mishti ended hers. And you’re asking me to move on? How can I move on when she’s in every breath I take, in every beat of my heart? She’s in every sound I hear, in every feeling I experience. She’s in my dreams, in every thought that crosses my mind.”

His voice grew softer, tinged with a profound sadness as he continued, “The only place she’s not is in my fate. I can’t see her, but I can feel her. These photographs… they’re not just pictures, Kunal. They’re the only way I can stay in Mishti’s world. These big, smiling pictures let me face my Mishti every day. Eyes open or closed, it’s only Mishti. My Mishti… Only mine.”

Kunal’s own tears fell as he listened to Abir’s heart-wrenching words. He reached out, wiping away both their tears, and gently said, “Ji, mere Brahta Shri, let’s go now. There’s a meeting waiting.” Abir wiped his face, forcing himself to calm down, and together they left the room, the weight of grief hanging heavy between them.

The day passed in a blur of meetings and work, a relentless routine that had become Abir’s only refuge. He was now a successful businessman, owning a chain of hotels in Mumbai, all named "Mishti Sparkles," a tribute to the woman who had brought light into his life. But despite his success, despite the busy days and the people around him, Abir’s heart remained a barren landscape, devoid of the one thing that had given it meaning.

As night fell, elsewhere in the city, a young woman walked briskly down a deserted road. Her thoughts were consumed by the day’s events, and she barely noticed the figure following her at a distance.

When she did, irritation flickered across her face. She halted abruptly, causing the person behind her to stop as well.

The young woman spun around, her eyes blazing with anger. “Mr. Darshan Raval, care to explain why you’re following me?” she demanded, fuming.

Darshan, with a mischievous smile playing on his lips, responded, “Dr. Kuhu, care to explain why you’re walking ahead of me?” His tone was playful, clearly enjoying the exchange.

Kuhu rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Just go home and stop irritating me!” she snapped, already turning to leave.

But Darshan wasn’t done teasing her. “Hey, hey, I just wanted to tell you that I’m releasing a new song tomorrow. Make sure to listen to it!” he called after her, grinning widely.

Kuhu paused, her annoyance melting away as she fought back a smile. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered under her breath as she walked away, but the hint of a smile on her lips betrayed her feelings.

“ He’s so cute,” she thought, shaking her head as she made her way home.

When Kuhu arrived home, she found her house shrouded in a quiet stillness. She entered and asked the maid, “Veena Didi, has dinner been served?”

Veena looked at her with sad eyes. “Yes, but she hasn’t eaten again today,” she replied softly.

Kuhu sighed, her heart heavy with worry. She didn’t respond, instead going to freshen up before taking a plate of food and heading toward a darkened room.

As she opened the door, darkness greeted her. The room was thick with the kind of silence that comes from deep, unhealed wounds. Without hesitation, she walked inside, her voice firm yet gentle, “Why this newfound love for darkness, Madam?”