It had been a week since Aanya stepped into the Mehra mansion - not as a bride, not as a daughter-in-law, but as something in between a stranger and a prisoner.

There were no welcome rituals. No honeymoon-like warmth. No soft smiles or teasing relatives like other newlyweds might receive.
Instead, she was thrown into the rhythm of the house like one of its silent, worn-out walls. If anything, Ishaan had treated her worse than the maids - his commands colder, his eyes unforgiving.

In the first few days, Nita aunty - the head maid - had tried to treat her gently, assigning her only the kitchen chores. But when Ishaan found out, his tone turned icy.

"She'll clean the entire mansion. Every floor, every room... except my office. And my bedroom. And Nisha's."

Three doors locked. Three parts of the house - and his heart - kept sealed.

The rest? It was all hers.

Aanya didn't argue. She only nodded, quietly. Because somewhere in her fatigue and aching muscles, she held on to one thing - the truth.
The scandal.
Nisha's suicide.
The broken pieces of her own life that somehow seemed tied to theirs.

She thought that while cleaning ishaan room, and office, she'd find a clue. Maybe a letter. A photograph. Something left behind.

But Ishaan had outthought her. His room, his office - locked. Nisha's room too, still frozen in time.

And so Aanya worked.

From dawn till past dusk, the mansion was her battlefield.
She polished floors until her hands ached, scrubbed the staircase, ironed curtains twice her size. And still, there was more. Always more.

Ishaan had fired most of the workers - and made it clear:

"If anyone helps her, they'll be next."

The silence in the mansion was suffocating. No laughter. No footfall except hers. Only the whisper of her cleaning rag against cold marble, and the quiet pain thudding in her chest.

She didn't even get time to eat.
In seven days, she'd only managed to eat lunch twice - both times because Nita aunty forced her to sit down, pressing food into her hand with concern.
Otherwise, she barely noticed her hunger. Her body was too exhausted. By evening, she'd collapse on the bed without dinner, her bones screaming for rest.

But sleep never came easy.

Because Ishaan would wake her.

Every night - sometimes at 1 a.m., sometimes at 2 - a loud knock would echo down the hallway.
And always... on aanya's door.

"Aanya," he'd call coldly. "Make fresh food. Not leftovers."

Even though dinner had already been made hours ago and was waiting in the fridge.

Sometimes she asked, "Can't I just heat the food already cooked?"

But his answer was always sharp. Always cruel.

"Do what you're told. Don't speak."

If she protested, she'd face humiliation again - words dipped in sarcasm and venom.

So she obeyed.

In the dark hours of the night, she cooked while her eyes burned with unshed tears. And then returned to her room like a ghost - broken and invisible.

Sometimes she cried, the pillow her only witness.
Not a call from her mother.
Not a message from her father.
She wasn't allowed to talk to them - not even once.

Yet still... she stayed.

Not because she had nowhere to go.

But because she had to know.

What happened in this mansion?
Why did Nisha die?
Why did Ishaan's pain look so much like anger?
And what did her own family have to do with the storm that tore this place apart?

Aanya had made up her mind.

She may have been forced into this cage.
But she would find the truth - even if it broke her first.

The sun had long set behind the Mehra mansion, casting long shadows across the cold marble floors. Aanya's steps were hesitant as she stood in front of the locked door at the end of the hallway - Nisha Mehra's room. Dust lined the edges of the handle, untouched, forgotten. But something about it... called to her.

Her hand rose slowly, fingertips grazing the handle. It was cold - like the silence that followed Nisha's death.
She wasn't here to open the door, just... to understand. To feel the presence of the woman whose ghost still haunted every corner of this mansion.
She took a shaky breath, her voice a whisper to herself.

"What happened to you, Nisha?"

She didn't notice the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

"Aanya."

His voice was thunder in a quiet storm.

She turned, startled. Ishaan stood just a few feet away. He was wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, veins visible in his tense arms. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark - furious.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Aanya stepped back instinctively, but forced herself not to look away. "I-I wasn't going to go in. I was just-"

"Just what?" he snapped. "Searching for drama? Looking for something to gossip about with your filthy family?"

Her heart jumped. "Don't say that. I was only-"

"You have no right to be near this room. This place is sacred. And you... you're the last person who should be anywhere near it."

His words were venom. They stung deeper than he could ever know.

Aanya's voice broke. "I'm not here to disrespect her. I just wanted to know what happened... Why she-"

"Enough!" he roared.

For a moment, everything stilled.

His hands were trembling slightly. His breathing heavy. His chest rising and falling like someone on the edge of breaking. And when she looked into his eyes... the fire faded. Just for a second.

It wasn't rage. It wasn't hatred.

It was pain.

Deep, raw, splintered pain.

Aanya's eyes softened, her voice low now. "You loved her that much."

His eyes didn't blink. His jaw tightened.

"I loved her more than I ever told her," he said finally, voice barely audible. "And I failed her."

Aanya felt something twist inside her. This wasn't the cold-hearted man who had humiliated her. This was a brother grieving the ghost of someone he couldn't save.

"But why hate me for that?" she whispered.

"Becuse you're verma" sister of aransh verma that's why.

Ishaan looked at her - truly looked - as if seeing her not as a stranger, or a punishment, but as a person.

Then, just like that, the walls came up again.

"Stay away from her room. That's the only warning you'll get."

And with that, he turned and walked away, his shadow stretching behind him like the weight of his guilt.

Aanya stood there, heart thudding.

For the first time, she saw the man not as a monster...
But as a broken soul, bleeding behind pride and silence.

Ishaan sat alone in the dim light of his office, the silence pressing heavy against his chest. In his hand was a photograph - her photograph.

Nisha.

Her smile still frozen in time, warm and bright... like the storm never touched her.

His fingers trembled as they brushed against the frame.

"I'm sorry, Nisha di..."
His voice cracked into a whisper.
"I failed you."
A pause.
"I couldn't save you. I wasn't there when you needed me the most."

His jaw clenched as a storm rose in his eyes.

"But I promise you... the one who did this to you - he won't escape. I'll destroy him, piece by piece. And his sister... his family... they'll feel the kind of pain he gave you. Worse than pain. Regret. Agony."

His eyes burned with vengeance.

"He'll curse the day he ever laid eyes on you."

And with that thought, the past - like an open wound - returned.

Flashback

The loud crash echoed through the mansion like a scream.

Mrs. Mehra rushed toward Nisha's room, panic flooding her senses. She began banging on the door, her voice rising with fear.

"Nisha! Beta, please open the door! Nisha!"

Tears ran down her face as her fists pounded harder.

Just then, Jiya came running down the hallway.

"Mom? What happened?"

"It's Nisha... she's not opening the door. Something broke inside. I... I'm scared, beta..."

Jiya's eyes widened. She ran to the door and joined her mother, both of them now desperately knocking.

"Dii! Please, open the door! Nisha di, say something!"

And then... Ishaan.

He had just entered the mansion when he heard the chaos. Without a second thought, he sprinted toward them, seeing his mother weeping, Jiya pale with terror.

"What's going on?!"

"Nisha dii isn't answering. We heard something shatter-she's not opening the door!" Jiya sobbed.

Ishaan didn't wait. He ran to the door and slammed his palms against it.

"Nisha di! Please open the door! What's going on in there?!"

The silence on the other side was deafening.

"Jiya!" he barked. "Go get the spare key. Now!"

Jiya ran down the corridor, panic pushing her legs faster than they'd ever moved. She returned seconds later, breathless, key in hand. Ishaan snatched it, jammed it into the lock with trembling hands, and flung the door open.

And then-
everything stopped.

The air. Their lungs. Time itself.

There, on the cold marble floor, lay Nisha, soaked in blood, her body limp - like a broken doll.

"Nisha di!" Ishaan cried out, his voice shattering like glass as he rushed to her side. He collapsed beside her, his hands already stained red as he tried to lift her into his arms.

Jiya screamed behind him, falling to her knees.

The room was in ruins - the mirror smashed, furniture overturned, pieces of glass glinting in the light. It was chaos. Violent chaos.

And her wrist...
Her wrist was slashed - cut deeply by a jagged piece of the broken mirror.

Jiya tried to press cloth to the wound, shaking uncontrollably. Ishaan checked for a pulse, but she was unconscious - her skin pale, her lips losing color.

Then they heard, a thud.
Mrs. Mehra fainted - her body dropping to the floor in silent shock.

"Mom!" Jiya screamed, running to her.

Ishaan blinked back tears, his mind racing, heart pounding like a war drum. No time to think.

He scooped Nisha into his arms, her blood soaking into his shirt, and ran - faster than he'd ever run - down the stairs. He threw open the car door, laid her in the backseat, then ran back for his mother.

Jiya was trying to revive her.

"Mom... please... open your eyes..."

Ishaan helped lift her. Jiya climbed into the back with both women, holding Nisha's bleeding wrist with trembling hands, trying to stop the flow, whispering prayers under her breath.

Ishaan drove - speeding through the night like a madman, red lights ignored, horns blaring.

All he could hear was the sound of Nisha's shallow breaths...

...and the voice in his head screaming:

Please

don't leave us please dii please just hold on ple-

ring. ring. ring.

flashback end

iIshaan's phone began to ring. The sound snapped him out of his trance.

Only then did he realize... his cheeks were wet. Tears.

He hadn't even noticed when they began falling.

He let out a long, shaky sigh, wiped his face quickly, and glanced at the screen.

Jay is calling.

Ishaan straightened his posture, trying to compose himself. He couldn't let his younger brother hear his brokenness. Not him. Jay still saw him as the strong one. The anchor.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and picked up the call.

"Hello, bhai?"
Jay's voice was light, but a hint of something lingered behind it.

"Hello, Jay. How are you?" Ishaan asked, steadying his voice.

"I'm good, bhai. How about you?"

"I'm fine too. How were your exams?"

"They went well," Jay replied. There was a brief pause. "Bhai... I wanted to talk to you about something."

Ishaan's brows furrowed.

"What is it, Jay? Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"No, bhai. Everything's fine here... it's just..."
Another pause. This time longer. His voice softened.
"Bhai, I want to come back to India."

Ishaan leaned back slightly, surprised.

"You want to come back? But you just left a few weeks ago."

"Exams are over, bhai. And now it's vacation. There's nothing left here right now... and I miss you, Jiya... and mom."

There was a crack in Jay's voice now - raw, real, unguarded.

"I know Jiya's in the hospital most of the time... with mom's all alone. I just... I want to be with all of you."

Ishaan closed his eyes for a second, his chest tightening. He could hear the longing in Jay's voice - the ache of distance, the helplessness of not being there when your family is falling apart.

"Okay," Ishaan said softly. "I'll book your ticket. Come tomorrow."

"Thank you, bhai... I'll see you soon. Bye."

Before Ishaan could say anything else, the call disconnected.

Silence returned.

He sat there for a few seconds, staring into the dark corners of the room.

"Maybe it'll be good," he thought.
"Jay staying with Mom and Jiya for a while... Jiya won't feel so alone."

He stood up, walked to the window, then pulled out his phone again and dialed.

"Hello, sir," came his secratry's voice from the other end.

"Sunny," Ishaan said, voice firm now. "Book a ticket for Jay - for tomorrow. He's coming back to India."

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"No... just make sure he's picked up from the airport. That's all."

"Understood, sir."

The call ended.

And once again, Ishaan was left alone...
In that cold, quiet room,

He placed the phone face down on the table, staring at nothing-his gaze lost in the silence that now returned to the room like a heavy fog.

His jaw tightened. His chest felt heavy.

He clenched his fists slowly, trying to hold it all together.

But the truth was-
He had no one he could lean on.
No shoulder to cry on.
Not even time to grieve properly.

Everyone expected him to be the strong one.

And so he was.

Even if it meant sitting alone in the darkness,
Bleeding silently behind eyes that no longer knew how to rest.

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