Ready for it?

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The rain hadn’t slowed.

It kept falling in thin, cold lines across the silent highway, sharp against Siddharth’s skin. His shirt was already soaked, plastered to his body, but he didn’t move. His tall frame stood unmoving in the middle of the empty road, one hand loosely curled at his side, the other still half-clenched near his thigh. His eyes... they were fixed on the man lying unconscious in front of him.

Dheer.

Sprawled on the wet road. Eyes closed. Breath uneven. A mess of alcohol and something heavier.

Siddharth didn’t speak. Didn’t try helping. Didn’t touch his phone. He just stared.

The silence around him was deep, only interrupted by the steady rhythm of raindrops hitting metal and mud. But inside him, it wasn’t silent at all.

His chest wasn’t rising fast, but it was heavy. Something in the way Dheer had spoken before collapsing—those words—still echoed in the air between them.

"Even if I die..."

Why would someone like Dheer say that to someone like him?

Siddharth’s jaw moved slightly, but not to speak. His expression didn’t change, not completely. Only the slightest narrowing of his eyes, only a small shift in the way his brows creased.

But Siddharth didn’t give emotions away easily. Not even to himself.

He stood there, tall and unmoved, the rain sliding down his face like sweat. His breathing was calm. His eyes were not.

Then, slowly, with the quiet steadiness of a man used to danger, he bent down. His knees lowered to the wet ground, and he rested on the balls of his feet, one arm resting on his thigh, the other still loose at his side. His back was straight, his neck stiff, but his eyes... they didn’t leave Dheer’s face for a second.

There was something he was trying to understand. Something he was watching for.

His gaze traced over the sharp line of Dheer’s jaw, the soaked collar of his shirt, the way his fingers were curled—like he had been trying to hold something. And then, his eyes slowly moved upward, pausing.

Right above Dheer’s left brow. There it was.

A mark, faint, but not faint enough.

Siddharth’s breath stilled for a second. Not that it changed his expression. Not that it made him speak. But something shifted in the way his hand curled tighter around his knee.

He didn’t reach out to touch it. He didn’t move closer. He only looked Deeply, Unblinking.

As if that one mark was louder than the words Dheer had spoken. Louder than the rain still crashing around them.

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“Take him to his room. And change his clothes,” Siddharth said quietly, his voice flat, giving nothing away.

Two guards stood awkwardly, half-struggling to hold Dheer’s limp body as the rain still poured from above. A third man, the old watchman, simply nodded and stepped back as Siddharth turned around.

He didn’t wait to see if they followed his order. He had said what he had to. That was enough. He didn’t want to come here. Not back to this place. Not to this mansion until he was here.

But he couldn’t leave a half-conscious man lying on a wet highway either.

Especially not him.

Siddharth didn’t say anything else. He turned the steering wheel and drove off the Rajvardhan gates, his face unreadable, his posture stiff, but firm. He didn’t feel regret. Not guilt. Not sympathy either. Just something... unknown. Something sharp that pricked from somewhere inside but never reached his eyes.

As the car rolled ahead on the quiet, wet road, his gaze flicked once to the rearview mirror. It was unintentional. Almost like instinct.

He saw them lifting Dheer’s body, taking him inside.

Siddharth’s jaw clenched at the sight. His eyes stayed on it for just a second more than needed, before he dropped them and looked away. And then he pressed the accelerator.

He didn’t have time for this.

He didn’t have space for this.

Not tonight.

The road ahead was darker now. Empty. The streetlights glowed and flickered through the rain, painting faint shadows across the windshield. Siddharth drove faster.

Abhimanyu and Vikram were waiting. They had called him earlier. Said they had something important to talk about. He had a fair idea what it was. He had brought something too.

His eyes shifted to the passenger seat. A plain brown envelope sat there, slightly bent at the corner, its seal still untouched. He didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

He already knew what was inside.

The photograph.

Taken from Zeenat’s old house. Found by the police. Delivered by Noor’s father himself, right after he returned from the hospital.

Siddharth hadn’t opened it since. But it was there. Sitting beside him. Still. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t excited either.

It was something else. Something strange and quiet. A cold, heavy pause that settled in his chest every time he looked at that envelope. His mind tried to stay calm, to stay ahead of it. But his body… his heart had its own ways of reacting.

He hadn’t even touched the seal yet, and still he could feel it. That one second freeze in his heartbeat. That tiny shift in breath. Like the body knew before the mind did.

Siddharth closed his eyes for a moment. And then, without thinking too much, his hand slipped into his coat pocket.

His fingers curled around something familiar. Cold. Delicate.

Noor’s bangle.

He held it softly between his fingers—glass pressing gently against skin. And just like always that small touch steady his breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were calmer. But his grip on the wheel was firmer.

He pressed his foot down, and the car moved faster through the rain-soaked road. He didn’t know what he would find tonight.

But he was going to face it.

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"Zeenat zinda hai," Abhimanyu said.
(zeenat is alive)

His voice was steady. Low. But his eyes had already moved toward Siddharth, who stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, back straight, body unmoving.

He wasn’t looking at them.

His eyes were fixed ahead, at the television screen in front of him. The CCTV footage was playing.

A small toy shop.

Zeenat’s face.

She was holding a doll in one hand, pointing toward another. Calm. Quiet. A normal woman buying a toy. Abhimanyu’s eyes slowly moved back to Siddharth.

Nothing.

Not a blink. Not a twitch of surprise. Not even the smallest flicker on his face.

His expression was blank. His eyes were cold. That stillness... it was too silent.

Abhimanyu looked at Vikram, who was already looking at him. Something passed between them. A question. A worry. They had seen Siddharth angry. Broken. Bleeding. But never this unreadable.

They both turned to him again. Siddharth hadn’t moved an inch.

He just kept watching the screen, eyes sharp, body still, like he wasn’t watching a woman from the dead—but something far more calculated.

“Siddharth?” Abhimanyu tried again.

The camera angle changed. Zeenat was now handing money to the shopkeeper. For a moment, her eyes lifted toward the CCTV camera. Just for a second. But it was enough.

Vikram’s voice rose slightly, firm and deep. “Say something, Siddharth.”

Still no reaction.

No movement, Nothing.

But inside that silence—inside that breathless quiet—something was there. Something heavy. Siddharth’s jaw clenched slowly. Then he closed his eyes—just for a second—and took in a long breath.

But it wasn’t a breath to calm himself. Itwas a breath to hold something back.

When he opened his eyes again, they were clearer. Focused. Without looking at either of them, he stepped forward and picked up the brown envelope he had brought with him.

He opened it quietly. Pulled out a single photograph. And dropped it on the table. Both Abhimanyu and Vikram stepped closer.

It was a picture.

A grainy photo of a boy—thin, short-haired, dirty clothes. Standing beside a woman.

A woman they knew too well.

Zeenat.

But this was not Veer. Not Vani. And definitely not Siddharth.

"Who’s this kid?" Vikram muttered, frowning.

Siddharth was already watching their reactions. His eyes were unreadable. His face had not changed. And that—that—was the part that made them worry.

"Abhijeet Rajvardhan aur Zeenat ke sirf do bache nahi the," Siddharth said, his voice quiet, flat, almost like he was just stating a fact. "Teen the. Veer, Vani… aur yeh."

He gestured toward the boy in the photograph.

They both stared again. Frowning. Trying to recognize the face. The angle wasn’t clear. But it was enough to know—this child didn’t belong to the story they were told.

"And this one?" Abhimanyu asked. "Where is he now? Who has him?"

Siddharth didn’t blink.

"Kidar hai, kiske saath hai... we don’t know."
(Where, with whom..we don’t know)

He said it so simply. So calmly. That it didn’t sit right.

It was wrong.

Something about the stillness in his voice. Something about the emptiness in his eyes. They had seen him quiet before. But not like this.

There was something behind those words, and whatever it was, it was heavy.

Siddharth moved again. His boots echoed across the tiled floor. Dust lifted slightly as he stepped forward and bent to pick up the photograph.

He held it between his fingers.

And for the first time—he looked.

Really looked.

The boy’s face. Thin. Tired. Malnourished. Not just physically, but in the way he carried himself. In the way his eyes stared back at the camera. His clothes were worn out. His lips were chapped. His hair short. His body thin.

But his eyes…

His eyes were not like Zeenat's.

They were different.

Brown. Deep brown. Almost blank. But innocent. Siddharth kept staring.

Like he was reading a language only he could see.

His brows pulled together slowly. His lips pressed tight. His eyes narrowed just a little. A quiet frown growing on his face.

And then—just for a second, everything inside him stopped.

The air around him changed.

He stared harder. Closer.

There was something in the boy’s face. A line. A shadow. A curve in the jaw. A flicker in the eyes. Something…

Siddharth’s breath held in his chest. But his face remained still.

Only the tightness in his grip said something had shifted. Siddharth's eyes stayed fixed on the photograph.

The boy’s face stared back at him like it held something... something half-hidden, something unspoken. The longer Siddharth looked, the tighter his jaw became. His eyebrows were already pulled together, his lips pressed hard, but slowly… they loosened.

Not in peace. Not in relief.

But in realization.

A silent kind of understanding. The kind that doesn’t ease the chest—but makes the heart beat a little heavier.

The weight of it pressed down on him. Something clicked. Somewhere, something lined up.

And just before he could dive deeper into that thought, his phone rang.

The sound was sharp. Loud. Breaking through his thoughts like a blade through still water.

He blinked.

Once.

Then tore his eyes away from the picture. Without rush, he reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out. He looked at the screen.

It was from the doctor.

The same man Siddharth had sent the medical file to—Noor’s father’s file.

His throat didn’t move. But his heart did. It dropped. Quietly. a sudden shift in air. His thumb slid across the screen. He picked up.

The muscles in his neck stretched slightly as he brought the phone closer to his ear, his jaw tight again, the tension returning like it had only stepped out for a moment.

There was a pause. And then the voice came through.

“Sir, the reports are here,” the doctor said.

Another pause.

“You were right.”

Siddharth’s tense jaw loosened—only slightly. The sharp line between his brows faded, but it wasn’t out of peace. It was something else. A quiet, solid realization. His eyes, already dark, turned a little darker. Still, he didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He remained on the call, silent. Calm. But something inside him shifted. He was right. All along, he had been right. This poison had been running through their lives far longer than they thought. So much deeper than they had imagined.

He stared ahead for a second longer, his eyes unmoving. Then brought the phone closer and spoke, voice steady, low, and cold.

“Okay. Send me the fresh reports,” he said.

He ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket. Vikram’s voice came from the side, low and cautious. “What happened, Siddharth?”

Siddharth’s eyes were still down, but at Vikram’s question, he looked up. Just one look—and both Vikram and Abhimanyu could tell something had shifted & it was serious & that wasn’t going to fade easily. The air around him had changed. It carried the weight of truth. Heavy, quiet, and dangerous.

“I was right,” Siddharth said, slow and calm. “Noor’s father never had cancer. It was all planned. Those medicines… they were killing him slowly, pretending to be cancer"

Abhimanyu muttered under his breath, “What the fuck…”

If this was true, they weren’t just caught in a game—they had been trapped in it long before they even knew it existed.

Vikram’s voice followed, firm and thoughtful. “If this is real… then Zeenat has been playing since before she even got out. Someone’s helping her. All along.”

Siddharth didn’t respond.

But his silence was loud.

His mind was running faster than he could hold it still. He was thinking of those pills—how long had Noor’s father been taking them? Two years? More? That meant this plan wasn’t new. Zeenat had been building this carefully, like a spider. Planning. Plotting. Watching. And she wasn’t doing it alone.

Someone was helping her. Not just anyone. Someone close. Someone trustable. Someone who was deep inside, hidden in plain sight.

Siddharth’s jaw tightened again.

“Someone very close… and trustable,” he said quietly.

He turned slowly, eyes falling on the screen again.

But before he could look, something else caught his eye.

The photographs.

They were still lying there—facing up. Staring at him.

Those eyes.

That face.

Those questions.

The ones they didn’t have answers for yet.

And like a cold gust of wind, realization passed through Siddharth’s spine. His eyes sharpened. His hands slowly curled into fists.

It was the third child.

The missing one. The unknown one. The one they had no record of. No trace of.

No wonder she trusted him. No wonder this person was doing all this—so carefully, so perfectly, without slipping.

It had to be him.

Siddharth’s knuckles went pale as he pressed his hand against the side of the table. His breathing was quiet. Controlled. But inside, the storm had already begun.

He looked at Vikram and Abhimanyu.

They were already watching him—waiting.

And then Siddharth finally spoke. His voice was low.

“The third child.”

The realization hung in the air like smoke. Silent. Heavy. Unspoken, but filling every corner of the room. Vikram and Abhimanyu were still watching Siddharth, but Siddharth wasn’t watching anyone. His eyes were fixed ahead—somewhere distant, somewhere only he could see. His jaw clenched tighter, the hard lines of his face growing darker, sharper. His fingers closed into a fist—slow, firm, unforgiving—and the photograph in his hand crumpled with a soft crackle, crushed under the weight of his fury. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t messy. But it was real.

The anger rushing inside him wasn’t sudden. It had been there, Always there. But now it was rising. Cold and focused. This wasn’t just betrayal. This wasn’t just strategy. This was something else. Something deep-rooted, something that had been bleeding silently into everything—into everyone—for far too long.

Siddharth took a step forward.

And then another.

His steps were slow. Firm. Determined. He was walking like a man who had already made a decision. The kind of decision that didn’t need to be said out loud. One that could change everything. But before he could move further, a hand held his wrist.

His steps stopped.

His eyes dropped to where the hand gripped him, strong and steady. And then slowly, his head turned.

It was Vikram.

He was staring at him. With no fear, no hesitation. But with eyes just as serious. Just as burning. Just as unshaken. Vikram didn’t say anything at first. He just shook his head once. Slowly. And then, in a voice that was low but loaded with meaning, he said—

"Nahi Siddharth. Iss baar nahi."
(No, Siddharth. Not this time.)

The words weren’t just words. They were reminders. Of a time eighteen years ago. Of silence. Of helplessness. Of pain that had no name and no justice.

Siddharth’s jaw tightened again, but this time… not in anger. His eyes lowered. Not in guilt—but in weight. He didn’t blame himself for what had happened back then. His Noor told him it wasn't his mistake  & she told him to not blame himself.

But the scar still lived inside him, quietly. It still pressed on his chest in moments like this. He looked away, from Vikram’s gaze. He didn’t need to answer. Vikram already knew what he was thinking.

A second later, Abhimanyu stepped forward. He had been standing one step away, still and alert. But now he came closer, placing himself right in front of Siddharth, blocking his path. His face was unreadable. Firm. But the storm inside him was no less. His voice came, slow and deep, the way someone speaks when they want their words to cut through steel.

"Rajvardhan. Listen to us. Get this straight into your head. Not this time."

There was no emotion in his tone. Only clarity. Only fire. Siddharth didn’t reply. But his jaw remained locked.

The fire in his eyes was still there. Untouched. And yet, something flickered. Some shift. Some moment of pause. His free hand slipped into his pocket and, his fingers touched the tiny glass bangle. He just touched it softly.
His eyes remained closed. His chest rose and fell, once.

And in that silence, Vikram and Abhimanyu stood still. They didn’t say anything more. But they watched him. Watched his shoulders that had been too stiff now drop by just a little. They had known Siddharth for years. They had seen him win wars without swords. They had seen him shatter walls without ever raising his voice. They had seen him walk alone. Again and again. Not because he wanted to—but because he had to. Because no one could match the storm he carried.

And now they saw it again.

That storm.

But they also saw something else.

That this time, it wasn’t about strength.

Siddharth had every reason to lose control. To destroy everything. But if he did, the price would be unthinkable. And that’s why they were here. Not to stop him. Not to calm him. But to stand beside him. Whatever it took. Because Siddharth wasn’t just their friend. He was their brother. And this fire—this battle—belonged to all of them.

They didn’t need to say it. They already knew it. And Siddharth knew it too.

He opened his eyes but didn’t speak. But than he nodded. A single nod.

Then he let go of the crushed photo, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes still carried the danger, the weight, the cold decision—but they also carried something else. Control.

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The car had stopped outside Noor’s house, but Siddharth didn’t get down.

He just sat there.

The engine was off. The silence around him was full. His eyes stared ahead, but his mind was running—quietly, deeply. For the first time in the entire day, he was alone. No voices. No questions. No cctv playing,No pictures lying open like wounds. Nothing.

Just him.

And the weight of all the years that had been piling over his chest like stones. Weight of the things he was unawares but happening.

This silence, too, felt loud. The kind of loud that didn't scream but stayed inside you like a heartbeat—reminding you of everything that you had not said out loud. Of everything that had stayed undone, unhealed, unspoken. His jaw tightened slightly. His fingers pressed against the steering wheel like he was holding himself together.

He blinked slowly, and just as his mind began to sink deeper into that darkness, his phone screen lit up—cutting through the silence.

A call.

Her name.

Her picture.

Her smile.

Noor.

Siddharth didn’t move for a second. His eyes stayed on her photo—the softness in her cheeks, the brightness in her brown eyes. The way her smile reached her entire face. A quiet breath left his lips. And then… his lips curved—slowly, softly, helplessly—into a smile. The kind of smile he only ever gave when it was about her. The kind of smile that his face forgot how to wear when she wasn’t around.

Like she was the only one who had ever known how to bring that out in him.

He picked up the call slowly, pressing the phone to his ear. His eyes still staring at her photo, the screen was lit up thr way she lit up his life

“Kidhar hai aap?”
(Where are you?)

Her voice came through, a little worried, a little angry.

Siddharth’s smile deepened as he heard her voice. That soft familiar voice. The one that always reached the parts of him nothing else ever could. His eyes flicked to the house across the car.

“Yahi hoon. Aapke paas,” he whispered, his voice low, soft, heavy with love.
(I’m right here. Near you.)

He could hear her bangles clinking faintly over the call.

“Acha? Par hamare haath toh khaali hai. Aap toh haath mein hi nahi ho,”
(Oh really? But my hands are empty. You're not in them.)

she replied, and he could almost hear the smile blooming on her lips, see the flush that would rise on her cheeks.

His eyes closed for a second. The smile on his face now bigger, real, full of warmth. He stepped out of the car slowly, his body relaxing as he walked toward her. With each step, the weight on his chest softened, like she was slowly pulling him out of his mind.

Noor stood in the garden, phone still to her ear, heart still a little worried, still beating too fast. But when she heard the silence from his end and the slow rhythm of his breath, She could feel he was close.

And then his voice came again.

“Dhyan se dekhiye… aapki aankhon mein hi hoon.”
(Look carefully… I’m right there in your eyes.)

Noor’s heart skipped as she turned around—and saw him.

Standing just a few steps away. Tall. Still. And smiling.

Her lips curved instantly, heart softening, anger melting like sugar in warm tea. She didn’t blink. She didn’t speak. She just started walking toward him, the phone still between her ear and shoulder.

“Hu na aapki aankhon mein, Noor?”
(Am I there in your eyes, Noor?)

His voice reached again, soft like wind.

Noor kept walking, her eyes shining now.

“Aankhon ki chamak se nahi pata chal raha aapko?”
(Can’t you tell from the sparkle in my eyes?)

she whispered back, her voice light, teasing, full of love. Siddharth chuckled softly.

They both stopped when they were just one breath away from each other. Noor looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with something pure. The moonlight caught in her eyes. And he… he just stood there, quiet, still, like a man who had seen too much fire… and had finally found water.

His eyes closed once again, and when they opened, they were full.

Without saying anything, he reached out his hand and gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear—like it was a habit, a prayer, a promise. Noor’s smile broke wider, her teeth showing, her face glowing. She looked like the cutest thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

And Siddharth just stood there… looking at her.

As if the storm inside him had finally learned how to be quiet.

As if his whole world had taken the shape of her face.

“Khaana khaya aapne?”
(Did you eat?)

Siddharth whispered, his voice slow, almost sacred, as he looked into her eyes.

Noor, who was still smiling, shook her head gently, her face glowing under the moonlight. Her brown eyes twinkled, and her voice came out in the softest whisper.

“Aapke bina kabhi khaya hai humne?”
(Have I ever eaten without you?)

Siddharth’s hand, the same one that had just tucked her hair behind her ear, moved slowly across her cheek. His fingers traced her skin with such softness that it felt more like a memory than a touch. The smile on his face stayed—but Noor noticed something more. She always did.

She saw the shift in his eyes. The tenderness never left, but something had entered along with it. A shadow. A storm behind calm skies. His eyes weren’t only smiling. They were holding something else. Something that had no name yet, but it was real. It was there. And she felt it.

Her fingers softly touched his wrist.

“You should fix this habit of yours,” Siddharth said quietly, still caressing her cheek. His voice tried to sound casual, but it carried a weight.

Noor’s smile dropped just a little, her brows pulling together in a soft frown.

“Kyun?”
(Why?)

She asked, staring into his eyes, trying to understand what was behind his words.

Siddharth noticed the shift in her face—the way her smile dimmed just slightly. His heart pinched. Without answering, he leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss on her forehead. His lips stayed there longer than needed, as if trying to leave behind comfort in place of that thought.

“Mujhe late ho jaata hai kabhi kabhi… aap tab tak bhool jaaya kijiye,” he said softly.
(Sometimes I get late... you should stop waiting for me.)

Noor’s arms slowly wrapped around his torso. She pulled him close—her face resting against his chest. It wasn’t just a hug. It was her quiet way of telling him: no.

She didn’t like what he said.

Not because it sounded careless, but because it hurt the way only love can hurt. Because waiting for him was not a burden—it was her right. Her love. Her habit that didn’t need correction.

“Humme achha lagta hai,” she whispered,
(I like it.)

and her arms stayed around him tighter, like she was protecting not just him, but also this small corner of love that was hers to keep.

Siddharth’s hand came around her waist, pulling her close in return. A faint smile appeared on his lips again. He had understood. He didn’t have to be told twice.

His lips dropped to her head again, this time even softer.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

That one word was enough.

Noor smiled against his chest and raised her hand to lightly hit him with her fingers. A playful little slap on his chest.

“Aisi baatein mat kiya kijiye,”
(Don’t say things like that,)

she whispered up to him. The gentleness in her voice wasn’t weak—it was full of love. Full of meaning.

Siddharth pressed another kiss on her head and this time his arms wrapped around her tighter—as if trying to tell her without words that he knew now. That he wouldn’t repeat it again.

“Nahi karunga,” he whispered into her hair.
(I won’t.)

The moonlight above them, the soft rustle of leaves, the scent of jasmine in the air. Siddharth stood with her in his arms—his anger, his fire—all kept quietly behind a locked door… but Noor had the key. And even though he didn’t speak about it, she had already seen it in his eyes.

She didn’t ask.

Because she knew.

And he didn’t speak.

Because she already understood.

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Siddharth sat still on the wooden chair, his back straight, arms resting calmly on his thighs, and his jaw held firm. The soft ticking of the clock in the quiet room was the only sound for a moment, but even that felt loud in the kind of silence they were sitting in.

Across from him, Noor’s father sat, resting against a pillow on the low bed. His face was pale and tired, but his eyes—wise and familiar—were watching Siddharth carefully. Next to him sat Aditya, Noor’s brother, silent but tense. The weight in the air was heavy. But Siddharth—unshaken.

Noor stood right beside him, her arm almost brushing his shoulder. Siddharth turned slightly to look up at her, meeting her soft eyes for a second. Then he gave her a small nod—calm, strong—and turned his phone screen toward Noor’s father.

“This is the report,” Siddharth said, his voice low, deep, and measured. “It proves that the medicines I asked to stop were not the right ones. They were harming you more than healing.”

It was only a part of the truth. The rest—the darker truth—was not for this moment. Not yet. Not in front of everyone. Not when he needed Zeenat to still think he knew nothing. The real war hadn't started yet, and Siddharth knew it. He wanted her to believe she still had the upper hand.

As he finished, Aditya’s head snapped up. His eyes fell to the phone screen. The name of the doctor on the report was someone he had worked with. His jaw clenched. His throat dried up. His fingers curled into fists on his lap. It was shame—burning and real. Everything he had once said about Siddharth echoed back now like a punishment.

But Siddharth did not even glance at him. He kept his eyes on Noor’s father, his face calm but unreadable.

“I’ve spoken with Dr. Chaddha,” Siddharth continued, his tone steady, respectful. “He is one of the best. The only problem is… he lives in the UK. You’ll need to travel there.”

He spoke to Noor’s father alone—ignoring Aditya’s presence completely. Siddharth had not forgotten. He had not forgiven.

Noor looked at her brother quietly, her face unreadable. She knew what he must be feeling, but said nothing. Her eyes returned to her father, calm but hopeful.

Siddharth waited for a response. When none came, he slowly reached into his coat pocket. The sound of the paper sliding out felt louder in the room than it should have.

“If you’re willing,” Siddharth said, offering the papers, “these are tomorrow’s tickets. The sooner we leave, the better.”

His words were clear. Final. He didn’t ask. He simply presented the solution.

His eyes moved from the bed to Noor. She was watching the ticket, lips parted slightly, her breath held, and hope flickering behind her eyes. It was the kind of look that carried silent prayers. Siddharth saw it. He felt it.

He looked away from her again, his gaze never once moving toward Aditya.

Noor’s father, who had been resting with his back against the pillows, slowly shifted forward. His thin hands reached out. He took the ticket from Siddharth’s hand and stared at it. The paper looked too delicate in his wrinkled fingers.

For a moment, Siddharth didn’t know what he would say. The man had refused to leave this house even for stronger treatment before. He had said he wanted to spend whatever time he had left with his family, in his home.

But now… now he looked at Siddharth, and a slow smile came to his lips.

“Hume aapke faisle se kabhi aitraaz nahi hua, beta. Aaj bhi nahi hai.”
(I’ve never had a problem with your decisions, son. Not even today.)

Then he turned to look at his son. His voice held calm authority.

“Kyun Aditya?”
(Right, Aditya?)

They heard a quiet “Yes,” almost whispered. Aditya didn’t look up. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Siddharth took a slow breath.

One thing was settled.

He didn’t say it out loud, but it was there in the way he exhaled. A part of his plan had moved forward. He didn’t show what he was thinking,but it was there. A calm before a greater storm.

He looked up at Noor.

She was smiling, a full, heart-deep smile, looking at her father with a kind of joy that brought a soft calm to the room.

And then he smiled too. A small, quiet smile, just for her.

He lifted his hand and gently reached for hers. Noor, still watching her father, tilted her head slightly. Her fingers found his, and she held them—firm, warm, real.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Siddharth's eyes went back to her father.

The old man was still looking at his daughter, still smiling—maybe at the hope that was now standing tall in front of him.

Siddharth took another breath.

It was the silence before something bigger.

And only he knew— what it really meant.

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I walked into the room with a plate of food held carefully in my hands. The lights were dim, and everything inside was silent.  Only the soft sound of the fan whirring above, and the breeze curling in from the half-open balcony.

Siddharth ji hadn’t eaten anything since morning. He had only taken a little breakfast, and after that… nothing. It was past midnight now. And yet, when I entered, I didn’t find him resting on the bed or working on his files.

He was standing with his back a little leaned against the railing, his eyes staring far at the dark sky. He wasn’t moving. Just standing. As if the sky was holding answers to something.

The kind of silence that surrounded him wasn’t loud. It wasn’t heavy either. But I knew it. I had seen it before. It was the silence that came when too many thoughts started moving inside him… like waves he didn’t want to show.

And still, I didn’t ask.

There was something he wasn’t saying. Something that had made a small change in him tonight. Not around him, but inside him.

Not because he looked different… but because he felt different. In the way his fingers stayed curled near the railing. In the way his jaw was tighter than usual.

But I also knew this — he didn’t need my questions. He needed my quiet.

Because I wasn’t here to pull answers out of him. I was here to give him all the softness I had. All the warmth, all the comfort, all the space, until he chose to let me in — in his own time. It was about standing there, heart open, until he realised he was never alone.

I gently placed the plate on the side table. And then walked to the balcony — slowly, without a sound.

When I reached him, I didn’t say anything. I just slipped my fingers softly into his hand and stood beside him.

I felt his hand shift in mine.

And then… he turned.

His face slowly moved toward me. His eyes met mine. And I smiled — a small, soft smile. Not to cover anything. Just… to let him feel me.

“Bhook lagi hai hume,” I whispered gently.
(I’m feeling hungry.)

He didn’t speak for a second. I could feel his gaze on me — a little frown, a little disbelief. 

He kept looking at me. I could already feel he was about to say something. Probably say no. Probably avoid eating again. But I said Not “are you hungry” — I had said I was hungry. Because i know if it was for me, he would never say no.

He sighed, deep and quiet. And then he frowned.

“Yeh aakhri baar hoga Noor… jab aap mere karan bhookhi rahi hai,” he said, voice low and serious.
(This will be the last time, Noor… that you stay hungry because of me.)

“Khana nahi toh kam se kam kuchh kha liya kijiye,” he added, already moving.

(If not a full meal, you should at least eat something.)

He didn’t wait for me to respond. He gently took my hand in his and started walking us inside.

His touch was warm. Firm, but full of care. Like he was angry at himself more than anything else.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding my hand. And I just… looked at him.

I shook my head slightly — no, I wasn’t going to do what he asked.
And he saw that in my eyes. He saw it clearly. That same little smile came to his face again, quiet and soft, as he shook his head at me too. And that made me smile, brighter — the kind of smile that felt like home. I turned and picked up the plate from the table, and brought it back to the bed.

He was still sitting where I left him.

But just as I sat down beside him, I noticed him moving again.

He stood up — wordless — and began opening the top two buttons of his shirt. Then the sleeve buttons. He rolled up his sleeves slowly, pushed the shirt out from where it was tucked in, and then sat again.

I stared at him without blinking.

His hair was a little messy from the wind. The faint wrinkles on his shirt, the skin of his forearms now visible, the way his chest rose and fell from the tired breath… all of it made him look younger.

He looked younger. Much younger than he was.

And so heartbreakingly beautiful.

In this light, this silence, this closeness… he looked like the boy inside the man. A part of him he showed only to me.

My heart skipped. My eyes moved from his chest to his neck to his face & as my eyes fall on his face, i looked down quickly, cheeks turning warm.  I could feel his eyes on me, smiling. I was caught.

I quickly started mixing rice with curry to cover my face, my fingers slightly trembling.

And then, just a second later, I felt him move.

His palm came to rest on my waist — bare, where the saree’s drape curved above it. And then… his chin rested on my shoulder.

A breath caught in my throat.

He was sitting sideways now, half hugging me, his warmth seeping into my skin.

And I knew it — he was going to tease me. I could feel it coming. And he know I didn’t mind.

I tilted my head just a little, enough to see him from the corner of my eye — and there he was, holding me softly, comfortably.

My face turned red again, eyes lowering.

And then I heard him whisper beside my ear, voice soft and deep —”Aapka hi hu, Cherry… Aur dekh sakti hai aap.”

(I’m only yours, Cherry… you can see me  more)

A small smile broke softly on my lips when I heard him. That voice of his — quiet, deep, close to my ear — saying "Aapka hi hu, Cherry…” melted something inside me.

I tilted my head back a little, just enough to catch a glimpse of him — and there he was, smiling.

It was just a small curve of his lips… but it made my heart skip like it always did. And my cheeks — I could feel them warming even more.

My eyes quickly looked away. But I could still feel his gaze. Warm. A little teasing. Very soft.

I quietly picked up the spoon again, gently scooping a bite of rice and curry, and brought it close to him — trying to act like I wasn’t feeling all the butterflies dancing inside my stomach.

But just when I raised the spoon near his lips, he held my wrist.

I looked up, a small confused frown forming on my face, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he gently directed my hand toward my own lips and whispered—

“Aapke baad.”
(After you.)

And then, the spoon touched my lips.

I didn’t argue. I quietly took the bite. And then prepared another one for him. He took it without saying a word, his gaze still soft on me.

We kept eating like that — slowly, quietly, together. I turned to mix another bite, his voice came again. Soft. Careful. But it made something freeze inside me.

“Noor… if you want… aap bhi uncle ke sath ja sakti hai,” he said.
(If you want, you can go with uncle too.)

“Mere liye khud ko rokne ki zarurat nahi hai.”
(You don’t have to hold yourself back for me.)

The spoon stilled in my hand.

My fingers froze. My heart did too — just for a moment.

I lowered the spoon. Placed the plate gently on my lap. And turned a little toward him.

He wasn’t looking at me.

His head was bent slightly down, his eyes fixed somewhere on the bed, not on me. But I saw the clench of his jaw. I saw the way his chest moved with the breath he didn’t take properly.

He meant it.

He had thought of it. Carried it. And now, said it.

But how could he?

How could he say I should go… leave him!!

How could he ask me to leave when his own heart had so much going on — more than he ever told anyone? How could he say those words when he knew I wasn’t here just to be held — I was here to hold too?

He was mine to stay with. Always.

I tilted my head slowly. Lifted my hand. And gently cupped his jaw.

His face leaned into my palm.

That one little move — that lean — it said everything his words didn’t.

I softly lifted his chin so I could see his face. So I could look into those eyes that always spoke more than his voice ever did.

And what I saw… was enough.

His eyes were red — not just from tiredness, but from holding too much. His jaw, still tight. And those eyes — so full. Full of pain, and honesty and love. All together. All real.

I leaned forward slowly.

And pressed a kiss on his forehead.

His eyes closed  but I didn’t move back.

I stayed close. My forehead now resting gently on his. Our breaths mixing quietly in that soft silence. His hand still resting around my waist. My other hand still cupping his face.

My voice came softer than a whisper.

“Papa ke saath Maa aur Bhai honge…”
(Maa and Bhai will be with Papa...)

“Par mere Aarth ke paas to bas unki Noor hai…”
(But my Aarth only has his Noor...)

I paused. My eyes were on him, though he still hadn’t opened his.

“Woh kha jayegi? Hm?”
(What will she do without him? Hm?)

His hand around my waist tightened a little.

He didn’t reply.

He didn’t need to.

Because this was not something that needed answers. This was something that needed only to be felt.

And in that moment — in the silence between his breath and mine, in the way his forehead stayed against mine — I knew, he had felt it all. 

When Noor said "Par mere Aarth ke paas to bas unki Noor hai…"

(But my Aarth only has his Noor…)

It felt like something cold and pure was poured on the burning place in his chest. The place from where he had spoken those words — the words he didn’t want to say, but still said because he thought it was right.

He never wanted her to feel caged in his life. He never wanted her to think that his love was a rope around her.

No… his love was supposed to be wind beneath her wings. He only wanted to see her happy, free, cherished. Never trapped. Never burdened by what he carried.

But when she spoke, he felt it. That ache of being chosen… fully, deeply, with such soft truth that it hurt.

It was her.

Of course it was her.

The only person who had ever looked at him not like a prince or a sinner — but like he was just… a man. A man she loved.

Siddharth didn’t say anything.

He simply leaned forward, as if something inside him finally gave up — and gently rested his head on her shoulder.

He didn’t even realize he had done it. His body had moved on its own. As if the ache couldn’t take more and needed shelter. And she… she was always that shelter.

Her smell — that soft mix of jasmine and sandalwood — wrapped around him like comfort. Like safety.

His heart that had been beating too fast… slowed down. His breath that was held… came out slowly.

Her shoulder was small, but strong enough to carry the weight he didn’t let others see.

And just when he thought he would pull away again… Noor moved.

With that gentle hand she had kept on his jaw, she softly brought his face down. Not with force. Not with demand. Just with love.

And before he could even blink, he found his head resting on her lap.

Noor.

His Noor.

And then… her hand moved in his hair.

Slow. Patient. Quiet. Again and again, as if she was not trying to distract him from the storm inside… but helping him to breathe through it.

“Aarth…” she whispered.

His name. In her voice.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss on his head.

His eyes closed.because finally… finally he could rest. Just for a moment.

The day had been long.

The truth, the lies, the weight of decisions. The future that was coming like a shadow he couldn’t stop. The ruin that had been building silently, one piece at a time.

All of it… silenced.

And all he could feel now was her — the hand in his hair, the kiss on his head, the lap that carried the weight of his world without shaking.

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t demand explanations. But still, she said-

“Hume pata hai… kuch to hai jo aap chhupa rahe hai…” she paused.
(I know… there’s something you’re hiding…)

“Par yaad rakhiyega… aapki Noor hai… aapke saath. Aap akele nahi hai.”

(But remember… your Noor is with you. You are not alone.)

Siddharth didn’t speak.

He couldn’t.

Something in his chest tightened — painfully, beautifully.

And then… as if he couldn’t take it anymore, he moved again.

He lifted her saree’s pallu gently — the one that rested over her waist — and hid his face in it. His face now buried in the warmth of her stomach.

Her hand in his hair continued its soft movement. She said nothing. She didn’t need to.

She understood.

She always understood.

Even this — this helpless, aching need for peace — she understood more than he did.

A small, helpless smile came to his lips — hidden against her skin. She knew him better than he knew himself.

In the way he buried his face like a boy running away from a storm. In the way she gave him a lap like a home.

He knew what he had decided to do.

It would change everything.

It might even ruin what he had — this warmth, this quiet, this moment.

But it was necessary.

And yet… in this moment, he allowed himself to feel only her. Her touch, her scent, her love — wrapping him whole.

He closed his eyes.

And finally, for the first time that day…

Breathed.
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The morning air felt heavier than usual, even though the sky was clear.

They stood at the airport.

Siddharth beside her.

Noor’s fingers curled around his palm tighter than she realised. Her chest ached quietly as she looked ahead. Her father was going. The stretcher stood ready. A team of doctors and nurses surrounded him. The quiet hum of the airport filled the background, but all Noor could hear was her own heartbeat.

She hadn’t let herself cry. Not yet. Not now.

Her father was already seated, his body weak but his gaze unshaken. When the nurse stepped closer to move him inside, Noor took a small step back, letting the professional do her part — but before she could be taken in, her father raised his hand.

Noor stilled.

Siddharth, standing tall beside her, also paused.

Her father turned, eyes searching for them — and when they met Noor’s, something inside her clenched. But she didn’t move. Not until his hand lifted again.

A silent call.

She stepped forward. Siddharth followed.

They both reached him slowly, no words, no sound.

And then… her father’s old, wrinkled hands reached out. One to Siddharth. One to Noor.

And with soft strength, he brought their hands together — linking their palms into one. No force. No speech. Just a touch filled with everything a father could ever say.

Noor’s throat tightened. Her lashes trembled. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears.

Her father smiled. It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t bright. But it held everything — his faith, his peace, his goodbye.

Siddharth leaned in, his head slightly lowered in front of the man who had given him more than blood ties ever had.

"Ja rahe beta… jinda wapas aaya to… saath mein ghursawari karenge."
(I'm going, son. If I return alive, we'll go horse riding together.)

Noor blinked hard.

He raised his hand to his forehead — a soft salute, a father’s blessing.

"Khush raho… aur saath raho."
(Stay happy… and stay together.)

And then, his gaze shifted — searching her face. Noor smiled through the ache, her lips trembling at the corner.

He smiled again.

"Aur meri Noorie… Noorie ke liye aur saare tulips le aaoonga."
(And my Noorie… I'll bring back all the tulips for you.)

Noor turned her face slightly, biting harder on her cheek. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Her pain wasn’t bigger than his strength.

But she felt it. Felt everything. Until a familiar squeeze returned to her hand.

Siddharth.

Her eyes closed for just a second. And then she heard it. His voice — deep, low, and warm.

"Jaldi aaiyega, Papa. Main intezaar karunga."
(Come back soon, Papa. I’ll wait for you.)

Her breath caught.

Even her father paused.

Noor opened her eyes slowly, turning her face towards Siddharth. He was still looking at her father. Calm. Straight. Steady.

Papa.

The word rang inside her louder than anything. because he said it. because it came from a place in Siddharth that very few had touched.

Her eyes stung. One tear escaped before she could stop it. She wiped it quickly, silently, before he could see.

He hadn’t said that word to make someone happy. He had said it because something inside him had healed — not fully, but enough to let it out.

And her heart… her heart could hardly carry that weight.

Her father gave Siddharth a soft nod. And then — without words — he let the nurse take him in.

They watched.

Stood together. Hand in hand. Until the stretcher disappeared through the glass door. Until the flight was announced. Until the sky took in the plane.

Noor didn’t say a word. Neither did Siddharth. But the silence wasn’t empty. It was full. So full, it hurt.

And then — softly — Siddharth turned to her.

His eyes were gentle. Tired. But calm.

"Kahi chalengi mere saath?"
(Will you come somewhere with me?)

Noor looked up.

Looked at the man who had just broken and healed in the same breath.

And without thinking twice — without even blinking — she whispered:

"Jahan aap chale."
(Wherever you go.)

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Abhijeet Rajvardhan stood still, his gaze fixed on the old, weather-beaten house that stood quietly under the warm sun. The same house. The house where everything began. Where he had once stood—young, proud, blind in love. Where he had taken the first step toward the ruin he now lived with. Thirty-four years. It had been thirty-four years since he last came here, and yet, it felt like no time had passed at all. Every inch of this place breathed memories he had tried to bury. Memories that still burned in his chest.

His jaw clenched as he took a slow step forward. He wasn’t here for the past. Not for nostalgia. He reminded himself again as his hands curled into fists. He was here for the truth.

The heavy door creaked as he pushed it open. And the air inside hit him like dust from an untouched book—thick with silence, but loud with echoes. His eyes scanned the familiar hall. Nothing much had changed. But then, they stopped. There, on the wall, an old framed photo.

A girl, no older than sixteen, smiling. Zeenat.

His heart twisted. He looked away. Not out of anger. Not just shame. But something deeper. Something rotten. That picture still haunted him. The innocence in it. The manipulation hidden behind it. The sin he committed because of it. His throat tightened.

His eyes then drifted to another frame. Smaller. Dustier. It was her. Aditi. Standing alone in a simple saree. There was no smile on her lips. Just silence in her eyes. He didn’t deserve to look at it. But his eyes softened, and his head bowed slightly. A silent apology he knew she would never hear. An ache that never left him.

“Sahab?”

The voice startled him. He turned quickly. An old servant stood there, eyes wide. Recognition bright in them.

“Arey... damad ji,” the man said with a smile. That word hit Abhijeet like a slap. His jaw clenched tighter.

“Baithiye, baithiye... hum paani laate hain.”

He shook his head quickly. “Nahi... gari kharab ho gayi thi. Jab tak mechanic aaye... socha Aakash se mil lun.”

His voice was steady, but his lie sat heavy on his tongue.

The old man nodded, wiping his hands on his kurta. “Aakash sahab to nahi hain idhar.”

Perfect. Just what he wanted.

“Koi baat nahi. Main yahin baith jaata hoon. Kuch chahiye hoga to bula loonga,” he said politely.

The servant nodded again and shuffled away. Abhijeet waited until the footsteps faded. His shoulders dropped slightly as he took a deep breath.

Then, with the quietness of a man carrying guilt in his veins, he began walking deeper into the house. His shoes barely made a sound as he moved, his eyes alert. Every wall, every corner held ghosts. But he wasn’t here for ghosts. He was here for proof.

He reached the familiar room—Aakash's.

Just as he expected, it was unlocked. Aakash had always been overconfident. Always thought no one would dare question him. Abhijeet pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was untouched. Clean. Organized. Too organized.

His eyes scanned quickly, and then he walked to the cupboard. The drawer. Beneath it, a locked box. He pulled it out. His hands moved fast, methodical. Searching, flipping papers. Receipts. Documents. Then finally—a carton.

Abhijeet froze. His heart skipped.

A plain, old carton.

He opened it slowly.

Dozens of diaries. Lined neatly. Dated. Labeled. He swallowed hard.

This was it.

His fingers trembled a little as he pushed aside the recent ones. He wasn’t looking for yesterday. He was looking for the beginning.

Thirty-four years ago.

He dug deeper. His breath tightening with every push. And then he saw it. The spine worn. The corners bent. The year inked on it.

He pulled it out. His heartbeat thudded against his chest.

He looked at the door. For a moment, everything was still. But he knew.

Aakash must know by now that he was here. He must know what Abhijeet was after.

There was no time to waste.

He flipped the diary open.

The pages smelled of old ink and secrets. His eyes scanned the lines, and then—he stopped. The date. That day. The day Aakash came to him, proposing marriage with Zeenat.

His eyes widened.

The next line... it made his hand go cold.

His throat dried. He flipped another page. Then another. His eyes devoured the words like they were poison. Every sentence pulled another brick off the wall he had tried to build around the truth.

It wasn’t what he thought.

It was never what he thought.

And the more he read, the more the truth unfolded. Ugly. Brutal. Deliberate.

The ruin of his life—it wasn’t just fate. It was written.

And he had walked straight into it

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The old gate opened slowly with a rusty creak, and the car rolled in quietly. Noor looked out of the window, and a soft smile touched her lips even before she saw where they were. She knew this road. She had come here before. Her heart already knew where Siddharth had brought her.

Astabal

The land of wind and hooves. The place where memories stood still in the form of four-legged creatures who had seen so much of Siddharth’s life — more than most people ever could.

As the car moved through the open field, Noor leaned closer to the glass, her eyes lighting up. The warm evening sun was still hanging above the horizon, painting the sky in soft orange and pink. Her eyes sparkled with the same colours. Her smile widened as her gaze found them.

Viraj. Siraj. Gayatri. Pankti.

They were all here. She could see their heads lifting, their ears twitching, their tails swaying gently as they recognized the sound of the car. Viraj, tall and brown with sharp eyes. Siraj, the black beauty with calmness in his walk. Pankti, the playful one. And Gayatri, the gentle white one who always moved slower, as if time didn’t chase her.
The horses started following the car, walking beside them like they already knew who was inside.

Noor couldn't stop herself. She slowly rolled the window down and stuck her head slightly out, her soft hair flying in the wind, and waved toward them with both hands like a little girl seeing her friends after long. A giggle left her lips — small, bright, and pure. The sound floated in the air like a small bell.

Siddharth turned his head slightly, watching her.

She looked so soft in that light. The wind playing with her hair. Her smile full. Her cheeks flushed with excitement. The horses running toward her. And for a moment, it felt like the whole world was trying to reach his Noor.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even blink. He just watched her — the way someone watches something so precious, so delicate, that even a breath could break the moment.

He parked the car near the far end of the field where the grass was higher and the light was golden.

Before he could come around and open the door for her — like he always did — Noor had already opened it herself.

She stepped out quickly, excitement bubbling in every part of her. Her pallu danced behind her as she ran a little toward them, calling softly under her breath, “Gayatri… Pankti…”

Siddharth leaned back on the car, arms crossed, eyes never leaving her. A small smile played on his lips — the kind that didn’t just come from joy but from something deeper. Satisfaction. Peace. Love.

He had brought her here for two reasons. One was to give her a little breath of happiness — after the emotional weight of saying goodbye to her father, after all the tiredness of the past days. The second reason was his own. Silent. Still resting in his chest.

But for now, he watched.

The horses surrounded Noor gently, as if they remembered her touch, her voice, her softness. They did. Siraj — black, proud, elegant — came first. Noor laughed as he moved closer, bowing his head slightly like he wanted her to touch him.

She lifted her hand and placed it on his neck, stroking slowly. The horse responded with a low snort, shaking his mane and stepping a little closer. Noor giggled and whispered something he couldn’t hear — and didn't need to. He could hear her heart.

Gayatri came next. Her white coat shining under the soft sun. She nuzzled Noor’s arm gently, clearly wanting the same affection. Noor turned to her and gave her the same love, patting her softly, cooing softly, her laughter now spreading through the quiet field.

Pankti came running from the side, full of energy, making Noor take a quick step back with a laugh, and Viraj slowly moved behind, circling her protectively — as if they were her guardians now.

Siddharth kept watching.

No words. No movements. Just eyes full.

It was the most beautiful thing — watching his past love the woman who held his future.

And Noor? She was glowing. Laughing like a little girl. Soft, pure, untouched by the weight of the world — even after carrying so much in her small hands. The horses knew it too. That’s why they came to her. That’s why they listened.

Siddharth closed his eyes for a second, the smile still on his lips.

Today, she looked free.

And maybe for the first time in days… so did he.

Siddharth slowly pushed himself away of the car, his feet sinking slightly into the soft grass of the old astabal. The wind carried with it a strange peace that tugged quietly at his chest. For a second, he didn’t move. He just stood there, letting his eyes rest on her.

Noor.

She was only a few steps ahead. Her back toward him. Her soft pink saree moved gently with the breeze. Her hair, open and flowing, danced in the wind as she leaned closer to the horse. Siraj. She was laughing. Not loudly. Just that little giggle he loved most, the one she gave when she forgot everything else in the world. That sound reached him more deeply than anything else.

The horses, as if understanding, slowly backed away to give him space. As if they knew this moment didn’t belong to them.

He walked.

Every step felt like a heartbeat.

Every breath, a prayer.

He reached behind her, slowly, and then without a word, wrapped his arm around her bare waist. She stilled for just a second, her back meeting his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt brushing against her skin.

She didn’t move.

He brought his other hand up gently, gathering her hair from the back and shifting it over to one shoulder. Then, silently, he rested his chin there.

Her breath hitched.

She tilted her head a little, almost unconsciously, as if her body responded to his without asking for permission. Her cheek warmed. But she didn’t stop caressing Siraj. Her hands still moved, her voice still whispered something to the horse.

Noor closed her eyes for a second.

The moment touched her. The closeness, the quietness, the comfort. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned a little into him, smiling to herself. It felt too beautiful… being here… like this… surrounded by her babies… held by her Aarth.

The moment was complete.

This was her peace. And he was part of it.

A soft, beautiful silence sat between them. Until he leaned in slightly, just enough for his lips to brush her ear. He placed a kiss there, barely a kiss, but enough to make her shiver. Her hand paused for a second. Then she tilted her head, just a little more, just enough to meet his eyes from the side.

A big smile of joy stayed on her lips, but a smaller, softer smile of shyness bloomed over it too. The kind of smile she only gave him when his presence became too much and too tender at once.

Siddharth slowly pulled back. Noor looked at him, still lost somewhere between his nearness and the warmth of the horses around her. Her fingers came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to compose herself. A little distraction helped. Gayatri made a soft, eager sound, nudging Noor gently. She laughed again, turning to the white mare with full affection.

Now she was with Gayatri, her hands brushing over her neck, her soft words melting into the evening air. She looked once at Siddharth, her smile still intact, her eyes glinting in the golden light.

And Siddharth… he was still watching her.

He had moved closer to Viraj, letting his hand brush through the horse's mane, but his eyes hadn’t left her. Noor tilted her head just a little, curious.

"Noor," he said.

Her name came out softer than air, almost like it had formed on his breath before his lips.

She turned to look at him, hand still on Gayatri’s neck. "Hmm?" she answered, her voice light, still carrying the joy of the moment.

And then she saw him.

His eyes.

There was something in them. Not just love. Not just warmth. Something deeper.

They weren’t calm. But they weren’t restless either. There was a storm in them—but it was not a violent one. It was a storm that soothed. A storm that carried meanings he hadn’t spoken yet. The sunlight hit his blue eyes in just the right way, making them look like they were glowing.

His eyes weren’t at peace. Not really. But they didn’t look like they were searching for peace either. They looked like they had accepted the storm. Like they were finally ready to show it.

They were the eyes of a man who had something to say. A truth held back too long. A storm held too tightly.

And she stood still.

Because when Siddharth looked at her like that, it felt like the world slowed down.

He wasn’t smiling widely. No. Just that small smile—soft, heartbreakingly soft—the kind that looked like it was made of everything he had felt but never said. A smile that held weight. That held history.

He leaned a little against Viraj now, as if the weight of his heart had grown too much to carry without support. Noor remained exactly where she was. Close enough to reach. Close enough to feel.

And then he said it.

"Aapse bahut pyaar karta hoon."

(I love you very much.)

Siddharth pushed himself away from the horse with a slow breath, like even that small movement carried the weight of his emotions. His eyes—still fixed on her—held something deeper than love. A soft ache. A devotion that felt older than lifetimes.

And Noor… she froze.

The smile that was blooming on her lips seconds ago, the fingers that were gently stroking Gayatri’s neck, the joy in her eyes from playing with her babies—everything went still. Like someone had gently paused time.

Those words…

“Aapse bahot pyar karta hoon, Noor.”

They didn’t come as a surprise.

But still… something inside her chest cracked open.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know. She had lived inside his love—breathed it in the way he looked at her, held her, protected her, called her meri Noor. He had always shown it. In silence. In action. In the way his world turned softer around her.

But to hear it—

To finally hear the words said aloud… like a prayer whispered straight into her heart…

Noor couldn’t move.

She could only look at him.

Her breath caught. Her heartbeat scattered. Her eyes—still wet from the light wind—started to glisten with something deeper.

And then Siddharth smiled.

A small, almost painful smile.

Not wide. Not dramatic.

Just soft.

And true. Like the storm inside him had finally found a crack in the walls of his silence, and it was slowly pouring through his lips.

He took slow steps toward her.

One.

Two.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

When he reached close enough, Siddharth lifted one hand and slowly curled it around her wrist. The other hand rose to her face, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing gently across her cheek.

His eyes—those blue stormy eyes—didn’t leave hers for even a second. They were saying more than any words ever could.

And then he spoke again.

His voice came softer now.

Lower. Almost like he was whispering into her soul.

“Pyar se bhi jyada pyar karta hoon, Noor…” h paused, his throat thick. His lips trembling slightly.

“…jitna ye dharti barsaat se karti hai, jitni ye hawaye badalon se karti hai, jitna ye shareer dhadkan se karta hai…”

(“As much as this earth loves rain, as much as the winds loves clouds, as much as this body loves its own. heartbeat…”)

He paused again.

His jaw clenched slightly—like he was holding something inside that was too much to let out at once.

“…unsab se bahot jyada karta hoon. Bahot jyada.”

(I love you far more than all of that. Far more.”)

His voice cracked just a little.

Because even he knew… these words weren’t enough.

No words could hold what he was carrying inside him. That burning love. That deep, devotional kind of obsession that wasn’t loud or wild…

It was steady.

Quiet.

But powerful enough to make his knees weak in front of her.
And Noor… Noor could feel every bit of it.

She felt it in the way his voice dropped.

In the way he looked at her like his entire universe had collapsed into her eyes.

And then he spoke again—barely above a whisper.

“Itna ki mere bas mein nahi hai unhe bayan karna, Noor… itnna ki main un ehsaso mein roz jalta hoon… aur bachna bhi nahi chahta. Itna ki… iss zindagi ka matlab aap tak aa ke simat gaya hai. Bas itna hi kehna tha, Noor.”

(“So much that it is beyond my control to describe them, Noor… so much that I burn in those feelings every single day… and I don’t even wish to be saved. So much that… the meaning of this whole life has narrowed down only to you. That’s all I wanted to say, Noor.”)

That last line…

It shattered something inside her.

A small gasp left her lips. Her eyes welled up completely now. One tear, then another.

Her heart… her poor, soft, tender heart was trembling in her chest.

This wasn’t just a confession.

This was a storm made of love, longing, and surrender. This was Siddharth—her Siddharth—laying every piece of his soul in her hands.

And his lips—those trembling lips—still held that same helpless smile. The smile of a man who had nothing left to hide, nothing left to protect himself with. The man who had just placed every soft, burning part of himself in front of her… without asking anything in return.

Noor’s body shivered.

Her fingertips trembled.

The air felt too soft, too heavy.

But somehow—her heart felt the lightest it had ever felt.

She slowly lifted her shaking hand, cupping his jaw with a tenderness that came only from knowing every fragile piece of him. And as her warm fingers touched his skin, Siddharth leaned into her palm…

Like he always did.

Like he always would.

Their eyes met again.

And this time, Noor couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Her voice cracked as she tried to speak

“K-kash mere paas wo sab hote…jo aapko yeh bata paate… ki hum kitna kuch mehsoos kar rahe…”

(“I-I wish I had the words… that could tell you… how much I am truly feeling…”)

She paused.

Tears spilled down freely now.

She took a deep breath that trembled with every emotion.

“…ki kaise aapki har kahi baat…kaise aapki Noor ke dil ko…pagal kar rahi hai…”

(how every word you say… how it drives Noor’s heart… into madness…”)

The words fell out of her in broken pieces—soft, choked, real.

And then she didn’t wait another second.

Noor threw herself into his arms.

Her arms wrapped tightly around him, her face buried into his chest, the fabric of his white shirt soaking her silent tears.

And Siddharth?

He held her like she was his breath.

Like letting go would stop his world from moving.

There were no words left now.

Only hearts.

Beating wildly against each other.

Carrying the weight of a love so soft… so sacred… that the sky itself seemed to turn golden in their honour.

They didn’t move.

They just stayed like that—wrapped in each other’s arms. Noor’s face buried into Siddharth’s chest. Her tears soaking the white cotton of his shirt. His arms tight around her small frame like he was trying to hold every piece of her heart, every word she couldn’t say, every tear she had ever dropped in silence.

Everything inside them felt quiet now.

But it wasn’t an empty quiet.

It was a full one. A quiet filled with love and peace and the soft, shaking breath of two people who had just touched the deepest layer of each other’s soul.

Noor held on tighter. Her arms around his waist, her nose brushing against the place where his heart was beating fast—so fast, like it was running, flying, dancing just for her.

And Siddharth… he slowly pulled his face back.

He loosened his hold just a little—only enough to lift one hand and gently cup her face. Her cheek was still pressed against his chest, and he didn't force her to look up. Instead, his palm curved softly around her temple, brushing her hair with such tenderness it could melt the sky.

Then, Siddharth bent down.

And with that same soft ache in his chest… he kissed her.

Not her lips. Not yet.

He kissed the crown of her head, right where her hair parted.

Then again. On her hair.

Then again. On her temple.

Each kiss carried a different emotion.

A kiss for the years he never thought he would say those words.

A kiss for the little boy who had forgotten how to love.

A kiss for the man who now couldn’t stop loving.

A kiss for Noor—his Noor—who made all this possible.

Siddharth kept pressing those silent, warm kisses all over her hair—like he was speaking through his lips now, letting his mouth say all the things his heart still hadn’t figured out how to shape into words.

And then, very slowly… he pressed his lips just above her sindoor.

Right where her hairline ended.

He stayed there.

Lips unmoving. Heart wide open.

Like this kiss was a vow. Like this kiss was a prayer.

Noor closed her eyes.

Her body didn’t move.

But inside… she felt like a fire had bloomed in her chest. A soft, golden fire that didn’t burn, only warmed. Her fingers curled against his shirt. She could feel the heat of his skin beneath the thin fabric. His heartbeat under her hand—loud, wild, and so, so alive.

And then… Noor smiled in her tears.

This was it.

This moment… this love… this man.

This was everything.

For the first time in a long time, her mind stopped thinking.

Stopped worrying.

Stopped remembering all the pain, the unsaid things, the hurt, the questions.

She remembered only this.

Him.

Her Siddharth.

The warmth of his breath.

The weight of his arms.

The love in his voice.

And then she leaned forward just a little and placed a kiss over his heart. Right where it was beating the fastest. Right where she could feel the rhythm of a man who had burned for her and loved through the silence.

Siddharth’s hold tightened instantly.

And then, she heard him whisper—low, rough, with that same storm still hiding in his throat.

"Bahot pyar karta hoon aapse, Noor..."

He said it again.

This time even slower.

Even softer.

Like he was feeling the words on his own tongue. Like the words themselves were lifting him off the ground. His breath caught, but he still smiled it felt like flying.

Saying it… made him feel like his heart had grown wings.

Siddharth slowly pulled back her face—but only a little. Their hands still held each other tight. Their bodies were still pressed close. Her hair was still tangled with his breath. And then… he lowered his head again.

He pressed his forehead to hers. Both of them closed their eyes. They breathed in the same air.

They felt the same storm.

They stood there like two prayers had finally found their place to rest.

And then—he whispered again.

"Main aapse pyaar karta hoon, Noor…"

A small sound left her lips. Not a sob. Not a laugh.

Just a soft, broken sound of joy.

Her lips stretched into a full smile now. Her eyes still closed, and her cheeks still wet with tears, but her smile—oh, that smile—was blooming like a flower in his arms.

And then Siddharth kissed her.

Slowly. Softly.

He leaned in, and his lips met hers like they were afraid to hurt. Like they knew the weight of this moment and didn’t want to rush it.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t desperate.

It was devotional.

His lips moved against hers like he was learning the shape of her soul. Like he had all the time in the world to say the same thing again and again through touch.

Noor’s hand slid up into his hair. Her fingers curled gently, holding onto him like she never wanted to let go.

And he kissed her again, his warm lips moving again her cold one. Slightly deeper this time. Then softer again. Nibbling on the lower lips he slowly pulled back. When he pulled back just an inch, he didn’t go far. He pressed another kiss to the corner of her lips.

Then one more.

And then again—right in the middle.

Multiple soft kisses.

Warm. Breathless. Silent.

Their lips still touching. Their smiles still blooming. Their hearts still dancing.

And in that one perfect moment, nothing else existed.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The night had fallen slow.

Like it wanted to stay a little longer.

Like even time didn’t want to leave them alone in this peace.

The sky above was endless, dark… but full of stars. Clearer than it had been in weeks. It had rained for so many days. But tonight, the clouds had quietly moved back, as if they knew—this moment needed stars.

And they were all there.

Scattered, soft, blinking like they had something to say.

Noor sat on the ground—her back resting gently against the wooden wall of the small farmhouse built right in the middle of the wide, open field. Horses were still nearby. Some were walking lazily in circles. Some just stood, gazing into the air like they too were part of the stillness.

And Siddharth… he was lying on the grass. His head resting on Noor’s lap. One of his arms crossed over his chest, the other lazily touching her wrist like he needed her skin to keep breathing.

Noor looked down at him once—just a glance.

But her heart… it paused.

Because this reminded her of something.

A few months ago.

They had sat just like this.

Same place. Same position.

Only that time… they were still learning each other.

That night they had sung together. Laughed together. That night was beautiful.

But tonight?

Tonight felt like it had bloomed into something more.

Something sacred.

Noor leaned her head back and looked up.

The stars were bright. Brighter than usual. It felt like even they understood what was happening in her heart tonight. Like the universe had cleaned itself up just so she could sit here, feel this peace, and live inside this love.

And then she felt it.

The soft touch of Siddharth’s fingers on her cheek.

She looked down.

His eyes were already looking at her, that small smile on his lips—the kind of smile that didn’t stretch too much but pulled all the breath from your chest.

His thumb, which had been resting against her cheek, gently traced down… to her lower lip.

There was a faint smudge of lipstick there. He had seen it a while ago but hadn’t said anything. He had been watching it—watching her. Like he was memorizing her in this moment. And now… he gently wiped the color off.

Noor’s smile grew instantly, and she bent down a little and kissed his thumb, soft, warm.

So full of love that Siddharth’s heart tugged painfully inside his chest.

A bigger smile spread across his face. This one… wide enough to show his teeth.

Noor looked back up at the sky again. For a few seconds. But that feeling—like someone was watching her—stayed.

She looked down again.

Siddharth was still staring.

The same intensity in his eyes. That quiet, unwavering focus. Like he wasn’t just looking at her—he was trying to memorize her. Frame her into his breath. Mold her into the corners of his soul.

She smiled, the corners of her lips lifting softly.

“Kya dekh rahe hain?”
(What are you looking at?)

Siddharth didn’t blink.

He didn’t even move.

And then his lips parted, and with that same softness in his voice, he whispered—

“Aapko dekh raha hoon.”
(I’m looking at you.)

Noor chuckled. Her eyes softened even more.

She lifted her finger and playfully flicked his nose.

Siddharth closed his eyes at the touch, like even that was precious.

And Noor, in the same teasing tone, whispered again—

“Itna dekhenge toh aaj hi mann bhar jaayega humse…”
(If you keep staring this much, you’ll get tired of me today itself.)

But Siddharth didn’t answer immediately.

He just smiled quietly and kept touching her cheek with the back of his hand.

Then, slowly, he reached up and gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers moved like he was brushing something sacred—soft, careful, and full of devotion.

His other hand reached up too—he took Noor’s hand and brought it down to his face.

He placed her palm on his cheek. Gently. Like he was showing her where he wanted to be held the most.

Noor’s hand now cupped his face. And Siddharth leaned into it like a child leans into their mother’s warmth.

His eyes closed for a second.

And when he opened them again, they looked different like a storm had passed through them amcd left behind gold.

“Agale saat janam bhi aise hi baith ke aapko dekhta rahunga,”
(In all seven lives, I’ll sit like this and keep looking at you,)

he whispered.

Then paused.

His eyes stayed locked in hers.

“Phir bhi yeh mann aapse nahi bharega, Noor.”
(And still… my heart will never get enough of you, Noor.)

His voice was soft. But his words were made of weight. They landed gently, but left her shaking. Her heart trembled at the way he said it—not just what he said, but the way he meant every syllable.

The kind of love that didn’t ask.

Didn’t wait.

Didn’t measure.

Only gave.

Siddharth’s eyes were doing more than looking.

They were surrendering.

And Noor could feel it.

Every inch of her skin warmed. Her chest tightened. Her fingers curled into his hair without thinking.

Noor was still looking down at him.

Their eyes had not moved away from each other.

Even in the quiet, something strong was passing between them—unspoken, slow, and deep. Like the wind that touches without asking, like silence that says everything.

And then, in that soft stillness, Noor's lips moved.

Her voice came out in a whisper, almost like a secret from her heart.

“Aisa bhi kya hai humare chehre mein, Aarth…”

(What is there in my face that holds you like this, Aarth…)

Her hand was still resting on his cheek, warm and soft. And slowly, gently, she started moving her thumb. Stroking his skin like she was trying to understand what he was seeing. Why he was looking at her like that.Siddharth didn’t blink. His eyes didn’t leave hers.

Siddharth didn’t answer right away. His blue eyes were still locked with hers.

But then, his lips parted, and the words came as naturally as his breath.

“Mera sab kuch.”
(My everything.)

Just like that.

No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just truth.

Noor felt her breath catch. Like the words had touched a place inside her she didn’t even know was waiting. Her lips parted, her chest lifted. Siddharth had this way of making her feel completely full… and speechless… at the very same time.

He had a way of making her feel speechless and still making her feel seen. Loved. Worshipped.

Her heart fluttered so hard that she didn’t know what to do—so she leaned down and softly kissed his forehead. And then again. Another kiss, just a little lower.

Her heart was overflowing.

She stayed close, still bent over him, and whispered with a trembling voice:

“Itna kaise chah sakte hain aap, Aarth… Itne khaas nahi hain hum…”

(How can you love me this much, Aarth… I am not that special…)

Her voice broke a little at the end.

But Siddharth didn’t look away. His eyes stayed right there—like they were trying to stop those words from ever reaching the air. Like they were quietly saying, “How can you not see it?”

And his heart ached.

There was a small smile on his lips. But it wasn’t just soft—it carried something unspoken. Like a quiet sadness and love holding hands.

Then Siddharth said, voice low and full of meaning:

“Kabhi mere dil se poochiye, Noor… Aapse bhi, koi khaas ehsaas hai kya iske paas?”

(Ask my heart once, Noor… is there any feeling more special than you?)

Noor’s smile broke wider—along with her tears.

She didn’t answer in words. Her eyes did.

Siddharth kept looking at her. Every part of her. Like he was trying to hold her inside his eyes forever.

Tonight… he was trying to memorize her. Every curve of her face. Every soft breath. Every tiny mole near her lip. The way her brown eyes softened when she looked at him. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she felt shy. The way her gaze shifted when the moment became too much.

He was absorbing it all.

Like he didn’t know what tomorrow held, and he didn’t want to lose even a single detail of her.

Noor noticed it. She could feel how Siddharth was watching her. How he was holding back a storm in his chest, and still smiling.

It made her heart tremble.

Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair. As if to erase that deep look from his eyes. As if to tell him don’t look like that… please.

And then she looked up at the sky.

Trying to distract herself from the heaviness sitting on her chest.

Trying to believe that it was just the weight of love, not fear.

But the next words that came from Siddharth brought her heart right back down.

“Yaad rakhiyega, Noor…”
(Remember, Noor…)

“Bahot khaas hain aap. Main rahoon, na rahoon… aap bahot pyaari hain mujhe.”

(You are very special. Whether I stay… or not… you are very dear to me.)

Noor froze.

Her eyes blinked once, and then a tear—sharp, silent—fell from her cheek. It landed directly on Siddharth’s shirt.

She didn’t like how that sounded. Not tonight. Not when the sky was finally full of stars. Not when her heart was finally so full of love.

Her chest tightened, and she looked down at him again, brows pulled in a small frown.

She shook her head, voice soft but firm.

“Kya bol rahe hain aap…”
(What are you saying…)

She placed her palm flat on his chest and gave him a light slap—just enough to make him blink and look away for a second.

Noor was still frowning when Siddharth closed his eyes for a breath, then smiled. A soft smile. The kind that breaks you slowly.

Then he opened his eyes again, blue and full of calm mischief.

“Sorry… nahi karoonga.”
(Sorry… I won’t say sorry.)

Noor rolled her eyes lightly and looked up at the sky again, a little pout on her lips.

“Bematlab rulaate ja rahe hain humein…”
(You’re making me cry for no reason…)

She wiped her cheek quickly and looked back down, still sniffing, and said in the cutest scolding tone:

“Kal humein hari choodiyan dila rahe hain aap. Samjhe? Aur koi faltu baat nahi ab.”
(Tomorrow you’re buying me green bangles. Understood? And no more silly talks now.)

Siddharth nodded immediately, a big smile spreading on his lips like the stars above them. Noor kept looking at him, eyes softening. That smile… it melted every single bit of her anger.

It melted her whole world.

.

.

.

.

.

The wind picked up.

A soft gust pushed through the open wooden panels of the stable and brushed across Siddharth's face. His eyelids fluttered, and slowly, he opened his eyes.

The sky above had turned completely dark, scattered with stars. His body was resting on the cold ground, the smell of hay faint but present. He blinked again, adjusting to the dimness, and the first thing he saw in front of him was Noor—asleep, her head slightly pushed back, the lines of her face calm and peaceful.

For a moment, Siddharth didn’t move. He just looked at her. The way her chest rose and fell slowly. The way a few strands of hair had stuck to her cheek.
He slowly turned his wrist to check his watch.

10:04 PM.

They had fallen asleep in the stable. All this time, under the stars.

Siddharth exhaled quietly, then gently began to push himself up, careful not to disturb Noor.

His movements were slow, steady. He leaned over, brushing a few strands from her face. She murmured something under her breath, shifting slightly.

Siddharth whispered against her forehead, his lips just barely grazing her skin.

"Main yahin hoon... so jaiye.."
(I'm right here... sleep.)

With one arm underneath her legs and the other supporting her back, he lifted her with great care. Her body leaned unconsciously into his chest. She didn’t wake.

As he carried her outside, Siddharth paused. The moonlight touched her face, and he pressed another kiss on her temple, breathing her in.

The car stood nearby. He opened the passenger door with one hand, adjusting Noor in his arms, and gently sat her down. Her head rested softly against the seat.

He buckled the seatbelt around her.

Then he moved around, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

The road ahead was empty, dark, and quiet.

One hand on the wheel. One hand holding hers.

His thumb kept running over the back of her palm. From time to time, he would lift it to his lips and press a kiss there, not saying a word. There was something quiet about him now. Something different.

The lightness in his eyes from earlier was gone. Replaced with something else. Something heavier. Something unreadable.

He didn’t blink much. His jaw was set tight. Eyes fixed on the road, but his heart somewhere else. A faint muscle in his temple pulsed as the silence of the car grew.

The car finally reached the small house they had been staying in.

Not the palace. Not her father’s home. Just a quiet place. For them.

Siddharth stepped out of the car. He walked over to her side, opened the door slowly, and leaned in.

Noor was still sleeping.

He smiled. A soft, helpless smile.

"Itni gehri neend..."
(Such deep sleep...)

He wrapped his arms under her again, lifting her gently. She leaned more into him, her breath brushing his collarbone. He carried her up the small staircase, using his foot to push the door open.

Inside, the air was warm. Familiar.

He walked straight to their bedroom and gently laid her down on the bed. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake.

Then he stepped back.

He closed the door. Locked it.

And returned.

He sat down beside her.

His fingers reached for the safety pin near her shoulder. He slowly unpinned the saree pallu, letting it fall naturally.

Then his eyes went to her face.

So quiet. So peaceful.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her forehead.

Soft.

Sacred.

His hand moved lower, gently slipping off her sandals, one by one. He kept them aside. Then, carefully, he removed the ring from her finger.

Siddharth knew her night routine. He had watched it, memorized it, repeated it.

Now he did it in silence.

He unclipped her hair, letting it fall free. Brushed it gently with his fingers. All while looking at her sleeping face. From time to time, his lips would pull into a sad smile. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He left for the bathroom. Came back with a small towel.

Wet. Warm.

He knelt down, gently wiped her face. Noor murmured.

"Sone dijiye na..."
(Let me sleep...)

Siddharth chuckled under his breath.

"Bas... ho gaya..."
(Just a little more...)

He wiped her cheek softly.

Then went down to her feet.

He held her leg very gently, almost like he was afraid to break her.

And began to wipe. Again and again. Slowly. Carefully. The sandals had left faint marks. He went again to the bathroom. This time he came back with a hot towel.

And started over. His hands worked slowly over her feet, ankles, calves. As if he was trying to take her pain away.

When he was done, he washed his hands. Came back.

And instead of lying beside her—

He knelt.

Right near her face.

His eyes were fixed on her. Silent. Still.

And there, kneeling, he raised one hand. Let it hover above her face. Then softly touched her cheek. Brushed his fingers across her skin.

"Bahot pyaar karta hoon aapse, Noor... Bahot zyada..."
(I love you so much, Noor... So much...)

His voice broke with warmth. His lips said what his eyes could not.

Then he stood.

Took two steps toward the end of the bed.

And knelt again.

This time, near her feet.

He gently lifted her leg. Leaned in and pressed a kiss on her ankle.

Then another.

And then one more. On her leg.

Soft. Long. Wordless.

Those kisses held more than love. They held devotion. Fear. Surrender. Things he couldn’t speak.

Siddharth stood up again.

He looked at her.

His eyes had changed. There was something wild behind them. Some storm he was trying to control.

His brows were slightly pulled together. His jaw locked. Hands in fists. His chest rose and fell in deep, slow breaths.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The soft morning light was brushing the walls in gold, slipping quietly through the windows, touching everything in silence. Noor’s eyelashes fluttered faintly, her face still pressed softly against the pillow. Her body stirred, slowly waking to the warmth that usually cradled her at this hour — but today, that warmth was missing. There were no arms around her, no steady heartbeat beneath her ear. A small frown gathered on her forehead, even as a drowsy, lazy smile lingered on her lips.

Siddharth must’ve woken up early, she thought. Perhaps he was already downstairs, maybe making tea the way he always did — quiet, thoughtful, gentle. Noor stretched slightly, turning toward his side of the bed, but her hand only met emptiness. The bedsheet was cool. The space beside her undisturbed. Her smile faded just a little. She opened her eyes fully now.

She sat up slowly, eyes scanning the room. Everything looked untouched. The clips from her hair had been kept neatly by her side. Her saree pallu was folded delicately over her shoulder. She noticed she was barefoot. He had taken care of everything, as always. Her hand lifted to fix her hair, and her fingers paused. He had unpinned it too. The tenderness of it made her heart ache a little — that same old ache of loving someone so silently, so completely.

A small, shy smile came back to her face as she shook her head. "Ye bhi na..." she whispered under her breath, imagining the quiet look he would’ve given her in reply. Maybe he was in the kitchen. She stood up, collected the loose pallu and fixed it across her chest, ready to go find him.

Her feet made soft sounds against the stairs, her heart already a little fuller with the thought of seeing him. But halfway down the steps, her eyes caught something. Two figures were seated in the living room — familiar, but not the one she was expecting. It wasn’t Siddharth. Her steps slowed. The smile on her lips held for a moment… and then dimmed, flickering like a candle in uncertain wind.

It was Vikram and Abhimanyu. She blinked. Their faces looked strange. Not unfamiliar — but strange. Still. Quiet. Unmoving. Her feet touched the last step.

They looked up at the sound of her anklet. Noor smiled again, politely, carefully. “Aap dono yahan?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a small note of confusion — not worry yet, just confusion.
(You both here?)

But there was no reply. Their eyes fell again. Something in that silence pulled at her heart. She looked around the room, her smile hesitating now. "Siddharth ji... woh kitchen mein hain kya?" she asked, still trying to sound light, still holding on to that thread of normal.
(Is Siddharth ji in kitchen?)

Again, silence.

The kitchen was empty when she entered. No steam rising from the kettle. No tea cup. Not even his phone lying on the counter like it usually did. The space felt untouched, too quiet for this hour. Her heart skipped something. It wasn’t panic, not yet — but it was something. Her steps quickened. She looked toward the back garden. Nothing. She walked to the balcony. Empty. She came back inside.

“Siddharth ji?” Her voice was louder now. Still soft, but louder. There was a shake in it she tried to hide.

Still no answer.

Her pallu slipped a little from her shoulder as she turned sharply toward the living room again. Her fists were tight now, clutching the fabric. Her eyes moved from one wall to another. She called again, “Siddharth ji?” Her voice cracked softly. No answer.

Vikram and Abhimanyu were standing now, still quiet, still watching.

Noor’s steps were uneven as she walked toward them. Her voice trembled with something unexplainable. “K-kya hua hai? Kahan hain woh?” She didn’t mean to sound scared, but the fear was crawling slowly into her words. Still, she didn’t cry. She didn’t allow herself to cry.

(What happen? Where is he?)

Abhimanyu looked away. Vikram clenched his jaw.

And then, in the softest, lowest voice, Vikram said it.

“He’s gone.”
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How was the chapter? Any favorite moments?