Hello
To my beautiful readers...💖💖
**This is my very first story. If you notice any mistakes, please forgive me-English isn't my first language. I hope you enjoy it! ☺️
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Authors pov....
The night was suffocatingly dark, the kind that made it impossible to distinguish the sky from the earth. A cold breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the dead leaves that crunched beneath his unsteady steps. The distant hoot of an owl echoed, blending with the eerie silence that stretched endlessly around him.
He walked forward, though he had no idea where he was going. His feet moved of their own accord, drawn by something-no, someone. A soft, broken voice wept in the silence, fragile and despairing, like a melody of sorrow carried by the wind.
His heartbeat stuttered. There, ahead of him, a shadow sat curled on the ground.
girl.
She was trembling, her frail body rocking with every silent sob. Her long hair spilled over her face, hiding her from the world, as if she were trying to disappear into the night itself.
His throat felt dry, his voice hesitant when he finally spoke.
"Who are you?"
The moment his words reached her, she froze. The air around them thickened, heavy with something unspoken. Then-without warning-she bolted.
"Wait!" He called out, but she didn't stop.
Panic surged through him as he chased after her, his feet pounding against the cold earth. She ran as if the darkness itself was chasing her, her figure flickering in and out of sight like a phantom.The trees blurred past, the wind howling louder, but his focus was solely on her.
And then-she stopped.
He skidded to a halt, his breath ragged, his chest heaving. She stood at the very edge of the sea, her back to him, her silhouette outlined by the moonlight reflecting off the restless waves.
His pulse thundered as he took slow, cautious steps toward her.
And then he saw her.
The water shimmered like a mirror, capturing her reflection. The sight stole his breath.
Her face...
Bruised. Bloodied. Shattered.
Deep gashes marred her delicate skin, streaks of crimson trailing down her cheeks like tears. Her lips trembled, her shoulders shook, and her glassy eyes held a sorrow so profound, it made his chest tighten with unbearable pain.
A tear slipped down his own cheek before he even realized it. His fingers twitched as he reached out, his touch feather-light when it finally brushed against her ice-cold skin.
And then, as the moonlight fully illuminated her face, his world shattered.
His breath caught in his throat. His body froze, disbelief crashing over him like a tidal wave. His lips parted, his voice trembling as a single name escaped.
"Tara...?"
She turned her head slightly, her lifeless eyes meeting his. A flicker of recognition? Or just a cruel trick of his mind?
Before he could react, before he could hold her, pull her back-she stepped forward.
And jumped.
"NO!" His scream tore through the night, raw and desperate.
He lunged forward, his hands grasping at nothing but air. The sea swallowed her whole, the water rippling as if it had just consumed a ghost.
His breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded, his body frozen in horror. He wanted to dive in, to reach for her, to save her. But his limbs felt like lead, his mind spiraling into chaos.
Then-
He gasped, his body jolting upright.
The world around him shifted. He was in his bed. Sweat drenched his skin, his breath came in rapid, uneven pants, and his heart slammed against his ribs like a caged beast. His fingers clutched the sheets, his entire body trembling.
A dream.
It was just a dream.
But the pain... the grief... the tears that slipped silently down his face....
.............
At exactly 5:30 a.m., the stillness of dawn was broken by the soft chime of a bedside clock. Siddharth stirred slowly from sleep, his eyes opening to reveal a steely calm. Without haste, he sat up and began his morning ritual. First came the toothbrush and the brisk swish of minty water, then he moved to his home gym. In that quiet space, every deliberate step on the treadmill and each measured set of weights reinforced his belief: productivity is born of discipline and a healthy body.
After his workout, Siddharth stepped into a warm shower, the cascading water washing away the remnants of sleep. Emerging refreshed, he entered his walk-in closet. With practiced precision, he applied moisturizer, selected a crisp shirt and tailored pants, and changed into them. Standing before the mirror, he combed his dark hair and applied a subtle layer of perfume. He studied his reflection for one last, silent moment-a look that spoke of unwavering resolve-before donning his coat and gathering his phone, laptop, and wallet.
Downstairs, the breakfast room was already alive with the chatter and bustle of his family. The aroma of freshly brewed tea and warm parathas filled the air. At the long, polished table, everyone was immersed in their own little morning rituals. Trisha sat tucked into a corner chair, a book open before her as she tried to memorize key points for an exam, her brows occasionally furrowing in concentration. Tushar, ever diligent, was intently checking his emails on his smartphone, his eyes darting across the screen. In another corner, Siddharth's father and his chacha were deep in animated discussion about a new product that had recently hit the market-their voices rising and falling in a friendly debate. Meanwhile, Nisha moved gracefully about, arranging the breakfast spread with practiced care, while Malini sat close by, tenderly feeding Trisha bits of food as she read.
Siddharth entered the room with a commanding presence, his expression calm and unreadable. Without a word, he approached Trisha and gently ruffled her hair. In a measured, low tone he asked,
"Exam hai?"
Trisha, her gaze still on her book, nodded while softly mumbling her affirmation. A fleeting, rare smile tugged at his lips as he murmured,
"Stress mat le... accha karegi tu."
Her quiet "thank you" was enough acknowledgment of his concern.
Settling into his chair, Siddharth then turned his attention to Tushar.
Siddharth:
"Tushar, project ka update kya hai?"
Tushar looked up from his phone, his voice steady as he provided a brief rundown of the latest progress. Siddharth nodded thoughtfully, absorbing every detail. Yet, as the update concluded, Tushar's eyes lingered on him, expectant and almost challenging. Siddharth arched an eyebrow and asked,
Siddharth:
"Kya... aise kyu dekh raha hai?"
A brief pause ensued before Tushar responded, his tone light and teasing:
Tushar:
"Appne mujhe kyu nahi bola, jo aapne Trishu ko bola."
Siddharth realized exactly what he was hinting at. A small, amused smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head.
Siddharth:
"Chota baccha hai tu."
Tushar crossed his arms and grinned, retorting playfully,
Tushar:
"Not fair, bhai."
Their exchange, laced with familiar banter, drew a few soft chuckles from around the table. Shortly thereafter, Nisha approached with a plate of steaming breakfast, serving him his share with a caring smile.
Harsh Oberoi, cleared his throat, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had once controlled an empire but was now grasping at broken threads.
"Siddharth, naye project ke baare mein bataoge?" (Siddharth, will you tell us about the new project?)
A slow, eerie silence followed. Siddharth didn't even blink.
Siddharth barely acknowledged him. Instead, he picked up his glass, took a slow sip of juice and set it down with an almost theatrical clink. His dark eyes finally lifted, locking onto his father with chilling indifference.
" If you wanted to know, you should've attended the board meeting ..."
The words landed like a blade-silent but deadly.
"Siddharth, the foreign investors asked for an update this morning. You haven't sent the final proposal yet."
A beat of silence.
"The deadline is today, Siddharth."
At this, Siddharth finally moved. He turned, his dark, obsidian-like eyes locking onto his father's. His face betrayed nothing-no stress, no urgency. Just an eerie calm.
"I know"
Harsh exhaled sharply, his frustration barely contained. He had spent decades building the Oberoi empire, handling ruthless businessmen, cutting deals with billionaires. And yet, the one person he struggled to control was his own son.
Harsh exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. This was always Siddharth. Unmoved. Untouchable.
"Responsibility sirf naam ki nahi hoti, Siddharth. Action bhi dikhana padta hai." (Responsibility isn't just in name, Siddharth. You have to show it through actions.)
"I know my responsibility more than you and I know how to make decisions, You don't need to teach me.
"Deal finalize karni hai. Aaj raat tak." (The deal needs to be finalized. By tonight.)
Finally, with an exhale that held more frustration than fatigue, Vikram slid a file across the desk.
Siddharth took the file in his hands, flipping it open lazily. He skimmed through the contents for less than five seconds, then shut it with a soft thud.
He adjusted his cuff, his movements slow, precise. Then, without looking up, he replied-
"Hojayega." (It'll be done.)
After finishing his meal, the household began to stir with the urgency of the day. One by one, family members gathered their belongings and bid farewell, heading off to their respective tasks. Siddharth leaned down and, with a gentle pat, wished Trisha:
Siddharth:
"All the best for your exam, Trisha."
Then, turning his gaze toward Tushar with a seriousness that belied his earlier teasing, he said.
Siddharth:"Do your best."
Tushar blinked in mild surprise at this unexpected note of earnestness before nodding firmly,
Tushar:"I will, bhai."
Siddharth then gathered his things and left for work, his coat draped over his arm as he stepped out the door. Tushar watched him go until his figure disappeared down the corridor. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Nisha broke the silence by looking at Tushar and asking,
Nisha:
"Kya soch raha hai?"
The room fell into a gentle pause as every eye turned to him. Tushar hesitated, then, with a knowing smile and a shake of his head, he remarked,
Tushar:
"Bhai is so unpredictable. Jab lagta hai ab kuch nahi ho sakta, tab tab vo unexpected chize karke hairaan kar dete hai.
..............
The conference room of Oberoi Enterprises was dead silent-as if the air itself had thickened with tension. The long mahogany table gleamed under the bright white lights, lined with files, laptops, and employees who looked as if they were preparing for battle.
Every single person present knew what was coming.
The moment Siddharth Oberoi walked in, all hell would break loose.
The employees were already seated, their nervous hands adjusting ties, shuffling papers, or stealing glances at each other. No one dared to speak, not when the storm was about to arrive.
And then-the glass doors swung open.
Siddharth walked in, his black tailored suit fitting perfectly, his presence alone commanding attention. The moment he entered, everyone stood up in unison, voices overlapping-
"Good morning, sir!"
He barely acknowledged them. A single nod. That was it.
His sharp eyes scanned the room, assessing, calculating, judging.
But then-his gaze stopped.
The chair beside him was empty.
A flicker of something crossed his face, but it was gone before anyone could decipher it. Without a word, he took his seat, adjusting his cufflinks with precise movements.
His voice was calm-too calm.
"Files."
A single word. Cold. Demanding.
Everyone scrambled. Chairs creaked, hands fumbled, papers rustled. Within seconds, a stack of files was placed in front of him. No one wanted to be the reason for a delay.
Siddharth opened the first file, his sharp eyes scanning the contents at lightning speed. His jaw tightened. His fingers tapped against the table-a habit that sent a shiver through the room.
That was his warning sign.
He flipped another page. Then another.
And then, he spoke.
"What is this"His voice was dangerously quiet.
The team lead, Amit Mehra, swallowed hard." Sir... this is last quarter's progress report".
Siddharth shut the file with a loud snap.
He leaned forward, his piercing eyes locking onto Amit's. He asked "And when was I supposed to review this?
Amit felt his throat go dry. -" Sir... it was supposed to be submitted yesterday, but...
The word was slow, deliberate, filled with unspoken threat. "But?"
The room felt colder.
Amit opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer.
Siddharth's gaze sharpened. "I don't believe in excuses mr amit. And I certainly don't believe in second chances."
He pushed the file aside, his patience running thin.
"You have until midnight. If this report is not on my desk by then, you can consider this your last meeting here."
Amit's face drained of color. " Y-yes, sir!
The tension didn't ease even after Siddharth had spoken. If anything, it only grew heavier.
Everyone in the room knew that some would pass today, and some would fall.
The second file was presented.
A young executive, Rajat, stepped forward, swallowing his fear as he slid his file toward Siddharth. His hands trembled slightly, but he kept his face straight.
Siddharth didn't spare him a glance. He flipped through the file, page by page, with unsettling
Then, he shut it.
"Not bad."
Rajat let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
Siddharth placed the file aside, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.
"Next."
The second file arrived. Neha, the marketing head, presented it confidently.
Siddharth went through it, his eyes moving fast, scanning, analyzing. A slight nod.
"Decent work. But I want better."
Neha gave a relieved but respectful nod. "Yes, sir. I'll make the improvements."
Then came the next file.
This time, the silence stretched longer.
Siddharth's jaw tightened. His fingers stopped tapping.
He flipped a page back. Then forward.
His expression darkened.
He exhaled slowly, a sign of his patience thinning.
"This is unacceptable."
The air in the room grew colder.
He turned his sharp gaze toward the head of the department-Mr. Khanna.
"Explain." His voice was quiet, but everyone could hear the edge in it.
Mr. Khanna shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, we were unable to get the latest data in time-"
Siddharth's hand slammed against the table.
"I don't pay for excuses. I pay for results mr khanna."
The room shook with his authority.
Mr. Khanna's forehead glistened with sweat. "Sir, we can rework it and send a revised version-"
Siddharth's eyes turned colder.
"By when?"
Khanna hesitated.
A second of silence.
A mistake.
Siddharth leaned back in his chair. "You don't even have a timeline?"
Khanna gulped. "Sir, by tomorrow evening-"
But suddenly the door swung open.
A pair of confident heels clicked against the polished floor.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
A woman in a sharp blue suit strode inside, her presence demanding attention. Like she owned the place.
And hell yes-she did.
Someone near the end of the table whispered under his breath-
"Ruhi ma'am..."
A ripple of shock passed through the employees. No one had expected her to be here. She was not scheduled to attend this meeting.
But she came.
Like an unexpected storm.
Siddharth's gaze flickered toward her, his face unreadable.
Ruhi didn't spare him a glance. Her sharp gaze was locked on Mr. Khanna.
"Evening." Her voice was calm, yet it carried weight, making every head turn.
Mr. Khanna gulped, straightening himself. "M-ma'am-"
Ruhi cut him off with a pointed look.
"Evening. If I don't get the report by evening, I will personally throw you out of this company."
A deadly silence followed.
Her voice wasn't loud. But it didn't need to be. The sheer authority in it was enough.
Siddharth observed the scene with mild interest, his fingers lightly tapping against the table.
Mr. Khanna's throat went dry. "Yes, ma'am!" He stammered, nodding vigorously.
Ruhi finally turned, her gaze landing on Siddharth for the first time.
A challenge flickered in her eyes.
Siddharth raised an eyebrow slightly, but his face remained impassive.
This meeting had just taken an unexpected turn.
Siddharth's sharp gaze lingered on Ruhi for a mere second-calculating, observing-before he turned away just as swiftly.
He shifted his focus back to the manager.
"Start the meeting." His tone was crisp, leaving no room for delay.
The manager, who had been standing frozen in the tension-filled room, jolted at the command. He hurriedly grabbed the remote and walked toward the projector, his steps slightly uneven.
Meanwhile, Ruhi adjusted herself in the chair beside Siddharth, crossing one leg over the other. Her movements were calm, unbothered-as if she hadn't just turned the meeting upside down with her unexpected arrival.
Her eyes flicked to the screen as the presentation began.
The manager cleared his throat and started speaking. The graphs, reports, and data illuminated on the large screen. He explained the company's progress, the sales figures, the upcoming projects-everything under Siddharth's scrutinizing gaze.
Ruhi listened intently, occasionally tapping her manicured fingers against the armrest.
Siddharth, on the other hand, sat like a statue-silent, composed, yet terrifyingly attentive.
Every number, every slide, every word was being weighed in his mind
The employees knew that any flaw-no matter how minor-would not go unnoticed.
As the manager moved to the next slide, Ruhi suddenly spoke.
"Pause."
The manager stopped mid-sentence, his hands tightening on the remote.
Ruhi leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the data in front of her.
"This projection is off. The expected revenue doesn't align with the expenditure you've proposed."
The manager blinked rapidly, flipping through his papers in panic. "M-ma'am, this is based on-"
"I don't care what it's based on." Her voice was firm but emotionless. "Fix it. If I can see the flaw within seconds, imagine what the investors will do when they see this."
Siddharth's fingers stilled against the table.
A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes, but he remained silent.
The manager nodded frantically. "Yes, ma'am! I'll rework it immediately!"
The manager continued his presentation, his voice faltering slightly as he flipped through slides, explaining numbers, graphs, and quarterly performance updates.
The rest of the employees focused on their notepads, scribbling as much as they could, as if writing things down would shield them from the storm waiting to strike.
For a moment, the meeting seemed to be progressing without any major disruptions.
And then-
"Stop."
Siddharth's voice cut through the air like a blade.
The manager stiffened, hands freezing mid-gesture.
A sharp silence followed.
Siddharth didn't immediately elaborate. Instead, he slowly leaned back, fingers tapping once-twice-against the polished wooden table. His dark eyes were locked onto the screen, unwavering, calculating.
"Financial report. Second quarter. Page 13." His voice was calm. Too calm.
The manager gulped, fumbling through his thick file of documents. "Y-yes, sir?"
Siddharth's gaze didn't waver.
"Explain."
The manager wiped his forehead nervously. "Sir, this report covers the projected profit margins for the next quarter-"
"I know what it covers. What I don't understand is why these projections show an increase when the market trends clearly indicate a decline in demand."
The air in the room dropped a few degrees..
The manager's face turned pale.
Every other employee held their breath, avoiding eye contact, silently thanking their stars that they weren't the ones being questioned.
"Sir, we-uh-we estimated that with new strategies-"
Siddharth raised a brow, a ghost of a smirk curling at his lips.
"New strategies?" His voice was soft, almost amused. "Based on what? Optimism?"
A quiet, nervous chuckle escaped one of the junior employees before he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, horrified at his mistake.
Ruhi exhaled, resting her chin on her hand.
"Brilliant."
Her voice was smooth-casual even.
But the sharpness in her eyes told a different story.
The manager's hands clutched the edge of the table. "Ma'am, I-"
"You created numbers out of thin air and thought we wouldn't notice?"
There was no sarcasm in her tone. No amusement. Just pure, lethal disappointment.
The manager swallowed thickly. "No, ma'am! That's not-"
"Enough."
Siddharth's voice was final. Unforgiving.
He closed the file, pressing his fingers against the cover as if sealing the manager's fate.
"Redo the report." His tone didn't rise, but it carried a weight that made everyone shiver. "This time, use real data, not guesses."
The manager frantically nodded. "Yes, sir!"
Siddharth gestured toward the screen. "Continue."
The projector changed to the next slide.
The manager was visibly sweating now, but he forced himself to continue, adjusting his tie before speaking about the marketing budget.
But once again-
"Stop."
Ruhi this time.
The employees barely had time to react before she tapped her manicured nails against the table, gaze pinned on the marketing team.
"Why are the expenses for Product B so high when its sales growth is slow?"
The head of marketing nearly dropped his file.
"Ma'am, we were hoping that aggressive marketing would-"
Ruhi clicked her tongue. "Hoping? We don't run a business on hope."
The marketing head's lips trembled. "Ma'am, I am sorry, I will revise the strategy immediately."
Siddharth didn't comment, but his lips curved slightly, a silent agreement.
The meeting continued, but the intensity never dropped.
Slide after slide-mistakes were pointed out, decisions were questioned, flaws were exposed.
Employees squirmed in their seats, some gripping their pens so tightly their knuckles turned white.
At one point, an assistant dropped a pen, the sound echoing in the dead silence.
He flinched as if he had committed a crime.
By the time the last file was closed, half the team looked drained, while the other half looked ready to flee.
Siddharth adjusted the cuffs of his suit. "I want all corrections done within the next twelve hours."
Ruhi leaned back, crossing her arms. "And if I see another mistake tomorrow, you won't just redo the work-you'll redo your resumes."
A shudder ran through the room.
As soon as Siddharth dismissed the meeting, it was as if someone had cut the tension with a knife.
Chairs scraped against the marble floor, papers rustled, and employees rushed out like prisoners being released from a high-security jail.
Some whispered to each other in hushed tones, a few wiped the sweat off their foreheads, while others clutched their files like a lifeline. The manager, who had been grilled the most, looked like he had aged five years in the past hour.
Not a single soul dared to linger.
Within seconds, the enormous boardroom was empty.
Except for two people.
Ruhi leaned back in her chair with a dramatic sigh, closing her eyes for a brief moment before tilting her head toward Siddharth.
"Pani de bhai... chillate chillate gala baith gaya."
Her voice came out hoarse, a mix of exhaustion and irritation. She rubbed her throat lightly, as if the damage done from scolding half the staff was irreversible.
He sat there, his posture relaxed but his presence still imposing. His long fingers tapped against the polished table-a soft, rhythmic sound that filled the otherwise silent room.
Slowly, he shifted his gaze toward the bottle of water sitting at the far end of the table.
Ruhi followed his gaze, then turned back to him expectantly.
But instead of reaching for the bottle to hand it to her, Siddharth leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
His deep voice was casual, almost lazy.
"Khud le le."
Ruhi blinked.
Her gaze flickered to the bottle, then back to him.
For a moment, she just stared.
Then, she let out another exaggerated sigh, flopping back into her chair as if the weight of the world had just been placed on her shoulders.
"Rehne de," she huffed. "Isse accha mai pyasi hi mar jau... uthne ki himmat nahi hai abhi."
She threw an arm over her forehead for extra effect, as if she were a tragic heroine in a dramatic film, dying of thirst in a desert.
Siddharth's lips twitched.
Amusement flickered in his eyes, but his expression remained unreadable.
And then-
"Itna weight gain kar rakha hai... kaha se uthne ka mann karega."
Ruhi's eyes snapped open.
For one full second, there was silence.
And then-
"Excuse me?"
Her voice was dangerously slow, but her glare could burn a hole through steel.
Siddharth simply shrugged, completely unfazed.
Ruhi sat up instantly, glaring at him.
"Agar yeh bottle mere hath tak nahi aayi agle 10 second mein, toh tujhpe phek kar maarungi."
Siddharth raised an eyebrow. "Interesting threat. But mujhe nahi lagta tu uthne waali hai."
Ruhi's jaw tightened. Siddharth's smirk deepened.
The tension wasn't like the one in the meeting-this was different.
It was the kind of charged energy that only two equals could share, the kind of banter that had no real malice but was filled with unspoken familiarity.
Ruhi narrowed her eyes.
Siddharth stared back.
Neither moved.
And then-
With one last dramatic groan, Ruhi pushed herself up from the chair.
She dragged her feet to the other side of the table, grabbed the bottle with an unnecessary amount of force, and-
Thud!
She slammed it down right in front of him.
Siddharth raised an eyebrow, looking down at the bottle before glancing up at her.
Ruhi crossed her arms, glaring at him like she had just won a battle.
"Le, tu hi pee le!"
Siddharth let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as she dramatically flopped back into her chair.
She grabbed the bottle again, twisted the cap open, and took a long sip.
He noticed the fatigue that had etched itself into the delicate lines of her face. Leaning forward, his tone was unexpectedly gentle as he asked,
"Itni tired kyu dikh rahi ho? Soyi nahi kya raat mein?"
Ruhi lifted the bottle of water to her lips, taking a slow, measured sip. After a moment, she passed it over to him. Siddharth accepted it, taking a few gulps before carefully setting the bottle on the table.
Ruhi (softly):
"Kya karu, nind hee nahi aae puri raat."
Siddharth's eyes softened with genuine concern as he leaned forward.
Siddharth:
" Kyu ...Koi problem hai?"
Ruhi merely nodded lazily, her voice trailing off as she replied,
Ruhi:
"Nahi toh ,buss aise hee"
Glancing at his watch, Siddharth's expression shifted from personal concern to the no-nonsense demeanor of a boss. He stood up and, with a gentle tug, motioned for Ruhi to do the same.
Siddharth (in a firm tone):
"Time for work, Miss Rajvansh."
Ruhi slumped back into her chair for a moment, clearly still drained, before responding in a tired yet defiant tone.
Ruhi:
"Mera andar taakat he nahi bache hai... tu ja, mai thodi der me aati hu."
For a long second, Siddharth simply looked at her. Then, taking a deep breath, he reached out and grasped her hand firmly. With a half-teasing, half-exasperated tone, he said:
Siddharth:
"Chal na... kitni bhari ho gayi hai."
He began to gently drag her toward the door. Before they stepped out, he released her hand. Ruhi shot him an annoyed glance, but with a determined set to her jaw, she straightened her posture.
As they walked out of the boardroom side by side, the playful, relaxed camaraderie of best friends was gone. In its place were two bosses-no smiles, no banter-just a steely silence and the unspoken understanding that now it was time to get back to business.
...........
The Sharma household was like any typical middle-class home-modest, warm, and filled with the scent of freshly brewed chai and morning prayers. The soft rays of the morning sun filtered through the floral curtains, casting a golden hue on the neatly arranged furniture. The faint hum of the city outside mixed with the occasional clang of utensils from the kitchen. It was a home that held memories, laughter, and love-but also unspoken pain, invisible to an outsider's eye.
Vikram Sharma, the head of the house, sat comfortably on the brown cushioned sofa, his legs crossed as he read the newspaper. His thick-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, his brows furrowing slightly as he scanned the headlines. His wife, Reema, sat beside him, sipping her morning tea with an air of quiet authority. She looked as elegant as ever in her neatly draped saree, her sharp eyes always alert-always watching.
Across the room, their daughter, Riya, hurriedly packed her college bag, her fingers flipping through pages of her notes. She glanced at the clock on the wall before stuffing the last book into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.
Vikram folded the newspaper with a sigh and looked at her. "Hurry up, Riya beta. You'll get late," he reminded her, his voice firm yet calm.
Riya gave a small nod and settled at the dining table, her eyes still on her notes. She tapped her pen absentmindedly against the pages, waiting for her breakfast. The sound of ticking clock filled the silence, growing louder with every passing second.
Vikram glanced at the table, then at the clock, his patience wearing thin. His brows knitted tog
ether in irritation as he let out a heavy sigh.
Then, his voice rang through the house, sharp and commanding.
"Riddhima! Riddhima!"
Within moments, hurried footsteps echoed from the kitchen, and a young girl came rushing out.
Riddhima.
She was young, perhaps in her early twenties, with delicate features that held a quiet grace. A few loose strands of hair escaped from her braid, sticking to her forehead as if she had been working nonstop. Her dupatta was slightly crumpled, her hands still damp from washing them in a hurry. The moment her eyes met Vikram's, she straightened, her posture stiff with unease.
Vikram's gaze bore into her as he spoke, his tone sharp with disapproval. "When are you going to serve breakfast, ha? Riya is getting late for college! Do you even understand the importance of time and studies? Of course not. How would you? All you do is sit and eat!"
His words hit like a slap, but Riddhima didn't flinch. She lowered her lashes, swallowing the ache that rose in her throat.
Riya, noticing the hurt flickering in Riddhima's eyes, immediately felt a pang of guilt. She hesitated before saying softly, "It's okay, Papa. There's still some time left before my lecture."
But Vikram turned his glare toward her, shutting down any further argument. His disappointment was clear, and Riya, despite her sympathy for Riddhima, knew better than to push.
Reema, who had been silent until now, smirked slightly, sensing an opportunity. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she said, "Vikram ji is right. How would an uneducated girl like her ever understand the value of education?"
Riddhima's fingers clenched into fists at her sides. She had grown used to the taunts, but they still cut deep-especially from Reema, who never missed a chance to remind her of her place in this house.
Her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. She had learned long ago that tears only made things worse.
Vikram's voice broke the silence again, more impatient this time. "Why are you still standing there? Go and bring her breakfast!"
Without another word, Riddhima turned and walked back toward the kitchen, her footsteps quiet, her head bowed.
No one noticed the way she wiped the corner of her eye with the edge of her dupatta. No one saw the way her heart sank a little more.
The clatter of utensils filled the kitchen as Riddhima stood by the sink, scrubbing the last of the dishes. The scent of leftover parathas and tea lingered in the air, mixing with the faint fragrance of detergent. Her hands moved mechanically, used to the routine, as warm water splashed against her fingers.
Outside, the morning chaos had settled. Vikram had left for work, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance, and the house was finally quiet. Riya stood near the entrance, adjusting the strap of her bag, ready to leave for college. But before stepping out, she made her usual stop.
Her feet moved instinctively toward the kitchen.
There, standing by the sink, was Riddhima.
She was scrubbing a plate, her hands submerged in soapy water, her thin wrists moving in slow, practiced motions. The sleeves of her faded salwar were rolled up to her elbows, exposing arms that looked too delicate for the weight of responsibilities she carried. Her head was slightly bowed, her damp hair clinging to her neck from the heat of the kitchen.
Riya's heart clenched at the sight.
Riddhima wasn't just doing the dishes-she was trapped in a life that didn't belong to her. A life that never asked her what she wanted.
Something inside Riya ached, knowing that the girl before her was just nineteen-nineteen, and yet burdened like a woman who had seen too much of life. Nineteen, and yet she had no freedom, no choices, no dreams to chase.
She didn't deserve this.
Silently, Riya stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Riddhima from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder.
Riddhima's body tensed for a brief second at the sudden touch, but the tension melted almost immediately. She smiled softly, recognizing the familiar warmth.
This was their daily ritual.
Riya did this every morning before leaving for college. And every morning, Riddhima would flinch at first-because she wasn't used to kindness-but then she would smile, because it was the only love she received in this house.
Riya tightened her embrace, as if trying to shield Riddhima from everything, even if just for a moment. Then, she placed a small kiss on her cheek and whispered, "Bye, take care."
Riddhima nodded. She didn't say anything, but her smile was enough.
Riya pulled away reluctantly, looking at her one last time before walking toward the door.
Riddhima remained where she was, watching from the kitchen window as Riya stepped onto the street.
She saw her adjusting her dupatta, smiling at something on her phone, her face bright with the happiness of youth.
She saw her walking confidently toward the bus stop, excitement evident in her every step.
She saw her heading toward a future that Riddhima could only dream of.
A slow, bitter ache crept into Riddhima's heart.
She wasn't jealous-not in the way people normally were. She was happy for Riya. She truly was.
But deep down, a tiny voice whispered, "I wish I had that too."
A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.
She quickly wiped it away.
What was the point? Tears wouldn't change anything.
She leaned against the sink, staring at the empty street outside, lost in thoughts she had buried too many times.
She wanted to study too.
She wanted to chase dreams too.
She wanted a chance to build a future too.
But she had nothing.
No money.
No savings.
No one to fight for her.
Her mind drifted back to her parents-the only people who ever encouraged her to dream.
They had always told her, "Sapne bade dekhne chahiye, Riddhima. Aur unhe sach karne ki koshish bhi." (You should dream big, Riddhima. And you should try to make them come true.)
But what they never taught her was how to live when dreams were taken away.
What they never taught her was how to survive when they were no longer there to guide her.
They had given her wings but had left before she could learn how to fly.
She let out a shaky breath and wiped her tears quickly before anyone could see. Her voice, barely above a whisper, escaped her lips, "Maa... Papa... I need you."
But there was no answer.
No warm embrace. No comforting words.
Just silence.
She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to push the emotions back. There was no time for weakness.
There never was.
She turned back to the sink, picked up another plate, and resumed washing.
Because that was all she could do.
Keep working.
Keep surviving.
Keep pretending.
After finishing the house chores, Riddhima climbed the old wooden staircase leading to the terrace.
It was the only space in this house that felt like hers.
Unlike the rooms below, filled with furniture and life, the terrace was empty. Just a cot in the corner, a thin blanket folded at the side. No walls, no roof, no privacy.
This was where she slept.
Under the open sky, beneath the stars that seemed so close yet so out of reach.
People loved the idea of sleeping under the stars, calling it beautiful, romantic even. But only those who had homes could say that.
Riddhima understood now-there was nothing beautiful about sleeping under the sky when it was your only option.
The night winds were cruel. The cold seeped into her bones. The darkness stretched endlessly, making her feel like a forgotten shadow.
She sat down, hugging her knees, watching as the sun began to set.
The sky turned shades of orange and pink, colors blending beautifully, as if painting a masterpiece of hope.
But to her, it felt distant.
Like a world she wasn't meant to be a part of.
A soft breeze blew, carrying the sounds of laughter from the streets below-children playing, families chatting, life moving forward.
And yet, here she was.
Trapped in the same place.
Living a life that didn't feel like her own.
She exhaled and looked up at the sky, her heart heavy with unspoken words.
But the sky, like always, remained silent.
Because dreams like hers had no place in reality.
.......,.......................................................................................................the end.....
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