The sun was setting in shades of gold and rose, casting warm light across the small garden behind the Verma mansion. The air smelled of jasmine, the same flower Nisha loved tucking behind her ear.

She was sitting on the stone bench, legs crossed, tapping her foot impatiently when Aransh finally walked in.

"There you are," she said with a smirk, flipping her hair dramatically. "I thought you ran away because you couldn't handle my beauty."

Aransh laughed softly, shaking his head.
"Trust me, if anyone is running here—it's me, running toward you."

Nisha raised an eyebrow.
"Smooth. Who taught you that? YouTube tutorials for shy boys?"

Aransh sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
"No. Just years of dealing with your attitude."

She gasped dramatically and hit his arm.
"My attitude keeps your life exciting."

"It definitely keeps my blood pressure high," he teased back.

Nisha laughed—the kind of laugh that made her eyes shine, the kind that Aransh could recognize even in a crowded room with his eyes closed.

He watched her for a moment.
Really watched her.

Her glowing skin in the warm evening light...
The spark in her eyes...
The boldness in her smile...

He didn't know it would be one of the last times he'd see her like this.

Nisha noticed him staring and snapped her fingers in front of his face.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because," he said softly, "you look... breathtaking today."

Her expression softened—just a little.
"Oh. So you can compliment me without me forcing you."

They both laughed.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, something she rarely did.
"You know... I like this. Just sitting with you. No drama. No fights. No proving anything to the world."

Aransh turned slightly so he could see her face.
"You don't need to prove anything. Not to anyone. Not even to me."

Nisha smiled, but her eyes held a hint of vulnerability—something she never showed to others.

"You know," she whispered, "people think I'm too bold, too loud, too much—"

"And I think you're perfect," Aransh cut in.

She looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice.

He touched her cheek gently, his thumb brushing her skin like she was something fragile, precious.

"Nisha..." he said quietly, "I don't care how the world sees you. I care how I see you. And to me, you're the bravest, most beautiful woman I've ever known."

Her breathing softened.
For a rare moment, her boldness melted away, revealing the girl who just wanted to be loved.

"You make me soft," she whispered.

"And you make me strong," he replied.

She snorted.
"Wow, we sound like a very cheesy movie couple."

He laughed. "Maybe. But I don't mind being cheesy if it's with you."

Nisha lifted her hand and gently traced the line of his jaw.
"Aransh," she said softly, "if something ever happens to me—"

"Nothing will happen to you," he said instantly, his voice firm.

But she continued anyway, her fingers trembling slightly—
"If something ever happens... I want you to remember me like this. Happy. Annoying you. Loving you."

His throat tightened.

"Nisha—"

But she placed her finger on his lips.

"Shhh. Let me have this moment."

He held her hand, pulling it down and intertwining their fingers.

"You're not going anywhere," he whispered. "You're mine. My headache. My heartbeat. My everything."

Nisha blinked away a tear—but she smiled.

Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling.

For a long, quiet moment, they just sat there as the world turned gold around them.

Two hearts.
One love.
One last perfect memory.

Because neither of them knew...

This would be the last time Aransh ever saw her smile this brightly.
The last time her laugh filled the air.
The last time her hand fit so perfectly in his.

The last moment before the world took her away.

___

He sat on the floor against his bed, knees bent, shoulders shaking.
In his trembling hands was Nisha's framed photograph — the one where she was smiling at him, eyes full of mischief, hair blowing in the wind.

His thumb brushed over her face again and again... almost like he was trying to feel her warmth through the glass.

His tears dripped on the frame.
He didn't bother wiping them.

"Nisha..." his voice broke, barely a whisper.
"I remembered... that evening in the garden... the way you laughed... the way you looked at me like I was your whole world."

His breath shuddered.
More tears spilled.

"Love, they said you... you died because of me."

His fingers tightened around the frame, knuckles turning white.

"They blamed me for everything," he whispered, his voice cracking. "It's breaking me, Nisha. Every single time Ishaan says your death is my fault... it— it tears something inside me."

He swallowed hard, pressing the photo to his chest.
His heartbeat thumped painfully against it.

"You said I make you soft..." he whispered. "But you're the one who made me live. You're the one who made me feel like I was worth something."

A sob escaped him — sharp, painful, raw.

"How can they think I hurt you?" he choked out. "How can they even imagine that I— that I would cheat on you? Lie to you? Break you?"

His voice rose, filled with helplessness.

"Love, you knew me!"
His shoulders trembled violently.
"You knew I couldn't hurt even a stranger... then how could I ever hurt you? My breath... my everything..."

He lifted the photo again, holding it in front of him like he was talking to her directly.

"You know the truth, right?" he whispered. "You know I didn't do anything. So tell them... please tell them... because it's killing me, Nisha. Every time they look at me like I'm a monster... it kills me."

His chest heaved with uneven breaths.

"Ishaan hates me," he whispered. "Every time he sees me, I see the anger... the disgust... and I know why. Because he loved you too. You were his sister, his light. And now you're gone, and all he can see is me." He didn't let me see you last time, I cry, i begged him but he didn't.

Tears slipped down his jawline, falling on his shirt.

"This world is cruel to your shy boy, love..." he said with a broken smile. "You always said you'll protect me from everything. Then why didn't you protect me from this pain?"

He pressed the picture to his forehead, eyes squeezing shut.

"I miss you," he breathed.
"I miss you so much, it's like I can't breathe without you."

He exhaled a shuddering breath.

"I... I want to come to you," he whispered, voice trembling. "Every night I think about it. About ending this... ending the pain... and coming to where you are."

His voice cracked into a sob.

"But you'd scold me, wouldn't you?"
A broken chuckle escaped him.
"You'd slap me hard and call me stupid for giving up."

He wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand.

"I'm trying, Nisha," he whispered. "I'm trying to survive. But it's so hard without you."

He clutched the frame tightly, hugging it to his chest as he curled forward.

"Come back... just one more time..."
His whisper was so soft it almost disappeared.
"Please, love... come back."

But only silence replied.

The room stayed dark.
The world stayed cruel.
And Aransh stayed alone — holding the memory of the only woman he ever loved... the woman whose death he was still paying for.
...

Out side his room mrs verma who just come to give him coffe heard everything. 

She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth as her son's sobs reached her — raw, painful, helpless.

She leaned against the door, tears instantly filling her eyes.

Inside, Aransh kept speaking, his voice shaking with grief.

"I didn't do anything, Nisha... you know that. So why won't they believe me? Why won't anyone believe me?"

A sharp pain stabbed her heart.

Her boy...
Her gentle, shy boy...
Crying alone like his soul was tearing apart.

More words came, each one breaking her more.

"They all look at me like I'm a monster... even Ishaan. And I can't take it, love... I can't take being hated for something I didn't do..."

Mrs. Verma's tears fell freely now, sliding down her cheeks.

He didn't know she was there.
He didn't know she was hearing everything he never said to them.

... sometimes I just want to come to you." she heard him saying.

Mrs. Verma pressed her palm against his door, as if wanting to reach him somehow.

"No..." she whispered shakily, "no, beta... don't say that... don't ever say that..."

Her knees felt weak.
She backed away from the door slowly, quietly, careful not to make a sound.

The tray shook in her hands.
She didn't trust herself to breathe.

She walked down the hallway with steps that trembled more with every second.

____

Mr. Verma was in the living room, reading documents when he heard hurried footsteps.

He looked up — and froze.

Mrs. Verma stood there, tears streaming down her face, clutching the tray like it was the only thing holding her together.

"Disha...?" he whispered, alarm spreading. "What happened?"

She couldn't speak.
Her throat tightened painfully as she shook her head, tears falling faster.

Mr. Verma rushed to her and gently held her by the shoulders.

"Disha... talk to me."

She finally broke.

She buried her face in his chest and sobbed — a sound full of month of fear, guilt, helplessness.

Mr. Verma held her, shocked and terrified.
"What happened? Is he hurt? Did someone say something?"

Her voice came out in pieces, broken by sobs.

"It's... it's Aransh..."

Mr. Verma's hold tightened. "What about him?"

She pulled back only enough to look at him — her eyes red, wet, devastated.

"I heard him," she whispered shakily. "I heard him crying... talking to Nisha's photo..."

Mr. Verma's eyes widened. His jaw clenched.

"disha—"

"He's breaking inside!" she cried. "Our son is breaking and we didn't even know!"

Her hands shook violently as she grabbed his shirt, clinging to him.

"He said he wants to go to her..." she whispered, voice cracking. "He said he can't take the blame anymore... he— he's drowning in pain and we... we didn't see it..."

Mr. Verma closed his eyes, a heavy ache settling into his chest.

His son's screams...
His wife's tears...
The truth hitting him like a blow:

Their son wasn't a culprit.
He was a victim too — of loss, of love, of misunderstanding.

Mrs. Verma sobbed helplessly.

"I can't lose him too," she whispered. "I can't, Dev... I can't lose my son."

Mr. Verma wrapped both arms around her tightly, his own eyes moistening.

"You won't," he said quietly but firmly. "I promise you... no one is going to take him away. Not his pain. Not the world. Not even Ishaan's anger."

He held her as she cried in his arms, both of them silently realizing:

They had to protect their son.
They had to uncover the truth.
And they had to do it before it was too late.

___

Aanya stood outside Jay's room, heart thumping loudly in her chest.

Her palms were cold.
Her stomach twisted with nerves.

Her thoughts kept spiraling:

What if he's angry with me?
What if he hates me now?
It's been two days since the accident... two days since everyone found out I'm married to Ishaan...
He hasn't talked to me since.
He didn't even come to ask for a game... he ALWAYS does.
He must be angry. He must feel betrayed.

But then she inhaled slowly and straightened her back.

"No, Aanya... you have to talk to him," she whispered to herself.
"If he's angry, convince him... he's your Jay. He can't stay mad at you forever. One game and he'll melt. Yesss... exactly."

Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath and gently pushed open the door.

Jay was sitting at his gaming desk, headphones around his neck, eyes glued to his laptop screen.
He heard the door open, glanced at her once...

And immediately turned back to his laptop.

Aanya's heart sank a little.

"Jay..." she called softly.

She walked to him and sat on the chair beside him.

"Jay, are you angry with me?" she asked again, voice fragile.

He didn't answer.

"Won't you talk to your Aanya di...?" she whispered.

Still nothing.

Aanya bit her lip, her voice shaking.

"Do you... hate me because I'm married to your brother?" she asked quietly.

At that, Jay finally turned to look at her.

His eyes were soft, not hateful — just hurt.

"No," he said firmly. "Why would I hate you because you married my brother? I don't hate you."
He paused, pouting slightly.
"But I am angry with you."

Aanya exhaled in relief, smiling as she gently pulled his cheek.

"And why is my little gamer angry with me?" she asked sweetly.

Jay crossed his arms and huffed.

"Because you didn't tell me," he said. "You didn't tell me you were married to bhai. You didn't tell me you weren't a maid. I thought we were friends!"

"We are friends," Aanya said instantly. "We're best friends."

"Then why didn't you share it with me? Friends share everything, but you didn't."

Aanya sighed and took his hand.

"I'm sorry, Jay," she said softly. "I had to keep it a secret until Ishaan himself decided to tell everyone. We had our reasons."

She held her ears dramatically.

"Please forgive your Aanya di... I'm really sorry."

Jay looked at her for a second... then sighed deeply.

"Okay, okay... don't make that sad face. I forgive you."

Aanya's face lit up.

"Yesss! That's my gamer!" she said proudly, pulling his cheek again.

"Oww! Don't pull my cheek! I'll get angry again!" he complained.

"Okay, okay, sorry!" she laughed, holding her ears again.

Both of them giggled, the tension melting instantly.

Aanya relaxed finally, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders.

Jay leaned back with a teasing grin.

"So... married to my brother, huh?" he smirked.
"Does that mean I should call you 'bhabi' instead of 'di' now?"

"Nooo," Aanya said immediately. "I'm still your Aanya di. No need for bhabi-shaabi, please."

"Oh, but I will call you bhabi," Jay teased.

"Jayyy..." Aanya said, face turning red, her eyes widening.

Jay chuckled and added,

"Honestly, I kind of suspected something was going on between you two."

Aanya's eyes snapped open wider.
"What? What do you mean?"

Jay shrugged.

"It was obvious, di. The way bhai looks at you — cold, but somehow soft too. Like he wants to say something but stops himself every time."
He paused.

"And you... you also look at him like you understand him... like you see his pain and want to know why he's hurting." he sometime stares at you."

Aanya blinked, shocked.

"Really?" she whispered. "He... stares at me?" 

"Oh, believe me, he does," Jay said confidently.

Aanya muttered under her breath, flustered:

"Unbelievable..."

Jay grinned proudly, knowing he just exposed something big.

After talking and laughing for a while, Aanya finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been buzzing in her mind since morning.
She let out a slow breath, her fingers nervously twisting together.

"Jay... can I ask you something?" she said hesitantly.

Jay looked up at her, curious. "Yeah, sure. What is it?"

"Well... you—you know every member of the Verma family?" she asked, careful and uncertain, afraid of how he might react.

At her question, Jay held her gaze for a moment before sighing softly.

"Yes," he said. "I know everyone."

Aanya blinked, surprised and more curious now.

"Oh... you've met all of them?" she asked.
Because she didn't remember ever seeing Jay or Jiya before. She was only thirteen when she moved to America to stay with her aunt. She vaguely remembered her mother talking about a 'Mrs. Mehra,' her best friend—someone she visited often. But Aanya had been way too young to remember the face or understand the connection.

Recently, the thought struck her—what if that same "Mrs. Mehra," her mother's best friend, was actually Ishaan's mother, Mrs. Ishwari Mehra?
What if the Mehras she knew about... and the Mehras she was living with now... were the same family?

She needed to confirm if her assumptions were even close to the truth.

But Jay shook his head.

"No, I haven't met all of them," he corrected gently. "I've only met Aransh bhai, and Mr. and Mrs. Verma.
I've heard they have a daughter around bhai's age—she's studying in America. And they have a son too, almost my age. But I've never met them."

"Oh..." Aanya exhaled slowly, her doubt settling into clarity.
"So your mom—Mrs. Mehra—is the same Mehra my mom used to talk about." she thought.

She paused as everything connected inside her head.

"That means both our families knew each other already... And that's why Dad had said during the marriage that Ishaan would take care of me—because he already knew him."

The realization washed over her like a wave, surprising her, confusing her, yet making everything make a little more sense now.

After dinner,  Ishaan and Aanya's returned to their bedroom. yes their bedroom.
Ishaan sat at his study table, eyes scanning through work emails, though his mind wasn't fully there.

Aanya sat cross-legged on the bed, completely absorbed in her novel, the warm bedside lamp casting a gentle glow over her face.

Every few minutes Ishaan glanced at her... then quickly looked away.

Guilt pricked him.
He still felt bad about his outburst when he came home in the afternoon, but he hadn't apologized.
Not because he didn't want to—he just couldn't untangle the storm in his mind.

Aransh's words kept replaying in his head:

"I didn't cheat on her, Ishaan."

The rawness in Aransh's voice... the pain in his eyes...
It had shaken him more than he expected.

He sighed heavily, trying to push away the thought.
When he looked at Aanya again, she was quietly reading, unaware of the battle going on inside him.

Finally, closing his laptop, he stood up and walked to the closet.

The soft sound of the closet door made Aanya look up.
She watched Ishaan pull out the same mattress he had slept on the previous night.

She stood up quickly.

"Give it to me—I'll spread it," she offered gently.

"No, it's okay. I'll do it," he said shortly, already dragging the mattress out.

But instead of placing it near the study table, he started setting it down right beside the closet.

Aanya frowned in confusion.
"Why are you placing it there?" she asked. "There's more space near the study area."

Ishaan didn't look up.

"Let it be," he said in a dry, mocking tone. "I don't want to break my head early in the morning. I'm perfectly safe here."

Aanya's cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"It was just one time, Ishaan," she muttered, flustered. "It's not like I'm going to fall on you every day..."

He finally turned to look at her, a slow teasing smirk forming on his lips.

"Oh really, Mrs. Mehra?" he drawled.
"Maybe you won't. But I'm not taking any risks."

His tone was savage, playful yet tinged with the awkward tension still lingering between them.

Aanya looked away with a small, shy smile... her heart beating faster than she wanted to admit.

___

Late at night, while the Mehra mansion slept under quiet shadows, another part of the city was wide awake.

In a dimly lit office layered with cigarette haze and silence thick enough to choke on, corvo stood in front of a wall covered with photographs, documents, and red marker lines connecting faces like a web.

At the center...
A photo of Ishaan Mehra.
Right beside it...
A photo of Aanya.

corvo's cold eyes shifted between the two as he tapped his fingers against the table rhythmically—like a countdown only he understood.

"Everything is moving exactly the way I want," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

A man wearing a black hoodie entered the room quietly, placing a file on the table.

"Sir... They doesn't know anything yet," he reported.
"Neither does Ishaan."

corvo smirked—a cruel, calculated smile.

"Good. They shouldn't know... not until the last moment."

He opened the file. Inside were secret documents, transaction papers, an envelope marked CONFIDENTIAL, and a USB drive labeled Project M.

The man hesitated. "And... Aransh Verma?"
corvo's jaw tightened.
"He's becoming emotional. Weak. That makes him... useful."

"Should we keep monitoring him?"

"No," corvo said slowly, eyes gleaming with a chilling confidence. there is no need for that now. 

He circled Ishaan's picture with a red pen.

corvo's smile deepened—dark, victorious, terrifying.

Outside the office, thunder cracked across the sky, as if warning the city of what was coming.

Thank you for reading.
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