Author’s POV

Gatha wore a beautiful green saree. She sat at the dressing table, her reflection glowing in the soft light. Her makeup was done, but she had refused to call a hairstylist—because she already had one.

Her Dr. Thakur.

Siddharth stood behind her, watching a tutorial on his phone, carefully following every step to style her hair. His hands moved gently, brushing through her strands, his expression focused but tender.

After he finished, Gatha looked at herself in the mirror and smiled shyly.
“How am I looking?” she asked.

Siddharth’s eyes met hers in the reflection. “You’re asking again?” he teased. “I’m already dead.”

Gatha blinked in surprise. “Then why am I seeing an angel?”

He grinned, a dimple appearing on his cheek. “Because heaven’s jealous tonight.”

She laughed softly and lightly punched his arm. He pretended to wince, pulling her closer.

For a moment, there was only silence — the kind that felt like home.

Then Gatha’s voice broke it, quieter this time.
“I never really met your father, Siddharth. What kind of person is he? After marriage, he was barely home… we never talked. I don’t know him at all.”

Siddharth turned to face her fully.
“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “Dad just looks grumpy, but he’s fine. And I can tell he’s excited — to meet you… and his grandchild.”

Gatha’s eyes widened slightly, the words sinking into her heart. She hadn’t expected that warmth from the man she barely knew.

Siddharth smiled, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead softly.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Everyone’s waiting downstairs.”

He took her hand and guided her out of the room — down the stairs, into a night filled with laughter, lights, and the quiet hum of fate already moving toward its next turn.

Rewa & Vikrant’s Bedroom

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of silk and the clinking of gold.
Rewa sat on the edge of the bed, carefully packing a delicate gold chain into a velvet box — a gift for Gatha. The lamplight glowed on her face, calm but distant.

Vikrant walked in slowly. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her — the woman who had once been his entire world, now sitting only a few feet away, yet separated by years of unspoken pain.

He cleared his throat softly.
“Rewa,” he said, his voice steady but gentle. “We’re still husband and wife — at least for the world. We should present this gift together.”

Rewa didn’t look up immediately. Her hands froze on the ribbon. When she finally lifted her gaze, her eyes met his — sharp, restrained, and still holding that old ache.

“If Siddharth wasn’t in between us,” she said quietly, “I would have divorced you long ago.”

Vikrant’s expression didn’t change. He only looked down, his silence heavier than words.

Rewa exhaled, the edge in her voice softening. “But you know what?” she added, eyes glistening now. “That same Siddharth — our son — he’s the only reason I’m still here.”

The air between them went still.
For a moment, the room was filled with the weight of everything they hadn’t said in years — regret, love, and the ghost of what used to be.

Rewa turned back to the gift box and closed it gently.
“Let’s go,” she said, her tone steady again. “We shouldn’t keep Gatha waiting.”

Vikrant nodded silently. For him, that single sentence — “I’m still here because of Siddharth” — was both a wound and a reason to live.

Gautam’s Office — Night

Gautam leaned forward across his desk, the lamplight painting hard shadows on his face. His fingers drummed the blotter. “The whole Thakur family,” he said slowly, each word measured, “is stuck because of that stupid Gatha. What if we make her suffer? What if we pull her apart — tear her life to pieces?”

Silence filled the room like a held breath. Across from him sat his son, Arjun — calm, composed, his jaw tight. For a moment Arjun only watched his father, cold curiosity in his eyes.

“Dad,” Arjun said finally, voice low, “how can you say that? She’s pregnant. You know that. How can you be so heartless?”

Gautam’s mouth twitched into something like a smile. “Heartless?” he echoed. “My cruelty is what built everything you enjoy. Don’t be sentimental. Why are you suddenly pitying her? Are you… falling for her?”

The question landed like a knife. Arjun’s face hardened. “No,” he snapped. “That’s ridiculous.”

Gautam’s voice turned sharper, almost playful in its cruelty. “You can try to be noble, Arjun. But listen — she’s made of lies. She’ll never love you back. She sits pretty, plays the victim, and people fall for her act. Feel pity all you want, it changes nothing.”

Arjun’s expression soured into disgust. He straightened in his chair, anger finally surfacing. “Your thinking is sick, Dad. You always break people for profit, but this—this is beneath you. Even you used to have limits.”

Gautam’s eyes flashed. For a heartbeat there was something like hurt behind his rancor — quickly covered by contempt. “Limits,” he repeated. “Limits are for the weak.” He tapped a pen against the desk. “We have a problem to solve, not a conscience to consult.”

Arjun stared at him, the disgust not gone so much as hardened into resolve. He didn’t speak, but his silence said more than words: there would be no shared cruelty from him, not today.