The drive back to Mehra Mansion felt unbearably long for Ishaan. Every passing streetlight flickered across his face like a silent countdown to something he wasn't prepared for. His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee, a restless rhythm betraying the storm inside him.

Beside him, Nisha remained calm—too calm—her presence like a steady anchor in contrast to his trembling thoughts.

By the time the car rolled through the massive iron gates of Mehra Mansion, Ishaan felt as if his lungs had forgotten how to breathe.

The mansion looked peaceful from the outside, the same familiar structure—but tonight, it felt different. Heavy. Expectant. As if the walls already knew something he didn't.

The moment the siblings stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance, the main door swung open.

Gurds wasn't standing there like usual.

Instead, jay—normally the most laid-back, chaos-loving member of the family—came rushing forward with an excitement that didn't match the tension twisting Ishaan's chest.

Without warning, jay practically threw himself into Nisha's arms. "Dii!" he exclaimed, hugging her so tightly she stumbled back a step. "Congratulations!"

Nisha froze, blinking at him in total confusion. "Congratulations... for what exactly?" she asked, steadying herself and looking at his face.

Jay grinned from ear to ear, eyes sparkling with mischief and genuine happiness.

"Come inside, na! Everyone already here. You'll find out soon. But—" He suddenly shifted his attention to Ishaan, his grin softening into something gentler. "Bhai,  what happen you look tense relax. Seriously. Just breathe. Come."

For a moment, Ishaan could only stare at him, searching his expression for answers, for something—anything—that could calm the tightening in his chest.

But jay only squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, guiding him toward the living area.

Ishaan nodded faintly, though it wasn't confidence—just surrender.He didn't trust his voice enough to speak. Together, they stepped inside.

The moment Ishaan crossed the threshold, he felt the air shift around him.
There was a quiet buzz—an undercurrent of excitement mixed with seriousness.
Soft murmurs drifted from the drawing room, where the Verma family was seated.

Mr. Verma.
Mrs. Verma.
Ansh.
And Arasnh.

But not Aanya. That empty space—her absence—stabbed him deeper than any confrontation ever could. A hollow ache tightened his chest.

The entire Verma family is here... except her. She didn't come. She doesn't want to see me—not even once more.

His breath wavered. And then another thought hit him like a blow to the ribs—

If Aransh was here...If Aanya wasn't...Then this meeting...This "important discussion"...Was this about the divorce? Is this how it ends? Silently... formally... like a contract termination?

They're here to cut the last thread.

His thoughts spun so fast he barely registered Mrs. Verma's gentle voice calling out to Nisha.

"Nisha, beta, come sit with me."

Nisha walked in confidently—relaxed, smiling, completely oblivious to the storm building inside her brother. She sat between the Verma family comfortably and glanced at Aransh.

He was smiling—soft, shy, nervous.

Nisha frowned at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if to ask, Why are you blushing like that? Aransh immediately looked away, still smiling under his breath.

She shrugged, amused, and reached forward to grab some snacks from the table. But before she could touch anything, Sikha gently tapped her hand. "Put it down and sit properly, like a girl... not like a boss lady."

Nisha turned to her Aunt with disbelief. "What is wrong with how I sit? You usually like my style. And please, Mum, I want to eat this—it looks delicious."

She reached out again. Sikha tapped her hand again.

"Yes, sweetheart, I do like your style. But not today. Sit properly."

Nisha sighed dramatically but obeyed, sitting straight like a disciplined schoolgirl,
Everyone smiled—warm, genuine smiles.

Because after five long, dark months, this was the Nisha they had all missed:
cheerful, bubbly, dramatic, bold, chaotic presence. the heart of the Mehra home.

Mrs. Verma clasped her hands together.
"So... now that everyone is here, I think it's time we make the announcement."

Ishaan's heartbeat dropped. His entire body tensed.

This is it. This is the moment. it's going to end just like this. No. No, I won't let it. Divorce cannot happen one-sided. If I don't sign, nothing ends. Yes... I won't sign anything. I won't let her go.

His hands trembled as he picked up a glass of water.

Mrs. Mehra inhaled softly and spoke.

"So, we've decided that—this month—we will arrange Nisha and Arasnh's wedding."

The water exploded out of Ishaan's mouth like a fountain—directly all over Karan, who sat across from him. "What?!" he shouted, eyes bulging in disbelief.

Karan groaned dramatically, holding his soaked shirt. "Bhai! What did you just do?!"
"I—I am sorry," Ishaan sputtered, snatching his handkerchief and handing it to Karan, who snatched it with a glare. 

Then Ishaan turned to his mother, eyes wide. "So you all... came to discuss Dii and Aranshs wedding?"

Mrs. Mehra nodded warmly. "Yes, Ishaan. We believe it's time they get married. Why—are you not happy with this decision?"

"Not happy? I'm— I'm extremely happy!" His relief was so powerful he nearly felt dizzy.
What he had been imagining—none of it was true. No divorce. No separation papers. No ending. His joy overflowed; he pulled Aransh into a tight hug. "Thank you— I mean— congratulations, brother!"

Arasnh chuckled and hugged him back. "Thanks, man."

Everyone turned their attention to Nisha.

But she was frozen in her seat. Motionless. Expressionless. As if the very air had been sucked from her lungs. Slowly, she stood. "I'll be back in two minutes," she whispered.

No one said anything. They all knew exactly what was coming. She disappeared down the hallway. The moment she was out of sight, they all began counting together—

"One..."
"Two..."
"Three..."

And BOOM—

AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh

Nisha's ecstatic scream shook the entire mansion. A wild, uninhibited, ear-splitting shriek of joy. Everyone burst into laughter.

"I missed this," Mrs. Mehra whispered, tears glimmering in her eyes. "This happy scream... this is who she is.

When she was ten, her father told her— 'Whenever happiness overwhelms you and you don't know how to contain it, go somewhere alone and shout it out with your whole heart.' She's been doing that ever since."

Two minutes later, Nisha returned, perfectly composed—as if she hadn't just screamed the roof off. She sat down elegantly. "Okay... continue," she said, straight-faced.

The room exploded with laughter again.

And just like that, the families celebrated. Blessings were exchanged. Dates were discussed. Joy filled every corner of the room. By the end of the evening, the wedding date was finalized:

28th December.

A winter wedding. A new beginning. A moment of pure happiness for two souls who had waited too long.

And in the middle of all this joy— Ishaan sat there, the echoes of relief still trembling inside him, he realized...He had been terrified of losing everything tonight.Instead—Tonight was the first time in months this house felt like a home again. 

He quietly held one thought close to his heart: Aanya... while we meet in between this. I will make everything right between us?

__

One week had passed since the announcement, and the Mehra house no longer felt like a house—it felt like a festival in motion. Every room breathed noise, color, and activity. Nothing was still, nothing was silent.

The moment the sun rose, the chaos began.

Bolts of fabric lay scattered across the sofa—silks, velvets, sequins shimmering under the morning light. Tailors came and went like a rotating door. Measuring tapes draped around their necks as they tried to chase Nisha around the room because she refused to stand still for more than ten seconds. mom i have a meeting, mum i need to go office, this is her exuse. to escape the chaoes and go to her room only to talk with aransh on call. 

The dining table, once a place for meals, had transformed into a battlefield of jewelry boxes, wedding catalogs, and color palettes. mrs mehra and sikha debated lehenga shades as if they were discussing national security.

Nisha sat in the middle of it all, a crown of floral samples on her head, overwhelmed, amused, and exhausted—yet glowing. Her laughter scattered through the house every few minutes, bouncing against walls and softening every heart it touched.

"Emerald green will look royal."
"No, sikhu pink suits her aura."
"No, no—ruby red is traditional. She must wear red!"
sikha turned to nisha and asked. " what colour you want to wear nish."

Black. She replied like a matter of fact. mrs mehra and sikha egnore her and again get busy to discuss the colour of lahnega.

And somewhere behind all thisnoise...Ishaan watched quietly. He stood near the window, arms folded, pretending to scroll through his phone. But his mind wasn't in the room. His thoughts drifted again and again toward Aanya.

One week again passed. One week, and she still hadn't appeared. Not even once.

Whenever someone mentioned the Verma family, his heartbeat stuttered. Whenever he heard footsteps at the gate, his stomach twisted with anticipation—and disappointment followed every time. But he hid it well. No one needed to know how desperately he waited.

The house suddenly shook with Nisha's shrill cry:

"MOM! WHY IS THERE A WEDDING CARD WITH MY PHOTO THAT I DIDN'T APPROVE?!"

Sikha rushed to her with a sigh, "Sweetheart, you approved it last night."

"No,  sikhu Mom, I didn't approve anything—I nearly fainted after trying sixty-four outfits!"

Everyone laughed. Even Ishaan smiled. For a moment, the house felt whole again—warm, chaotic, alive.

__

Unlike the Mehra home's thunderous energy, the Verma house carried a quieter, gentler kind of preparation. Soft music played in the background. Scented candles flickered in corners. The air was warm with the aroma of sweets being prepared in the kitchen.

Mrs. Verma moved around the living room with serene joy, arranging trays of dry fruits, sarees, and envelopes—gifts that would soon be sent to the Mehra family.

Ansh and  suzy fought over who would design the stage backdrop. Aransh sat with the pandit, discussing auspicious timings for rituals, his face red with embarrassment every time someone teased him about marriage.

("Suzy is Mr. Verma's sister's daughter. They came from America. She is the same aunt with whom Aanya used to live in america.")

But in the middle of this blooming happiness...

There was a room that remained closed. A heartbeat that remained distant. A silence that held its own pain. Aanya. She hadn't stepped out much. She hadn't smiled properly in days.She watched everything quietly, from behind her closed door or the staircase railing—her eyes a mixture of longing and ache.

She wanted to be happy. She truly did. she is very happy for nisha and aransh. But every sound of wedding preparations felt like a reminder... A mirror reflecting everything she had lost. Everything she was still losing.

Sometimes, late at night, she held the small note in which Ishaan  wrote tiny messages for her. Pages worn from being opened too many times. Words blurred from tears. She traced them gently. Almost reverently. Then hid it again. Because this was not her moment. This was Nisha's and aransh moment. And Aanya didn't want her pain to touch their happiness.

So she stayed silent. Invisible. Present but absent. But her family noticed. Of course they noticed.

Mr. Verma watched her from afar, worry creasing his forehead. Mrs. Verma often entered her. room with tea just to check if she was eating. Aransh paused mid-conversation whenever he heard her door shift. They all cared. They all loved. They just didn't know how to help her yet.

__

The next morning promised joy. The Haldi function was only a day away—laughter, turmeric, songs, and rituals. But today was for something else entirely: The last round of shopping, the final touch before the celebrations began. From both families, only the women were going.

Verma family arrives first Aransh's car stopped in front of the mall. Aanya stepped out quietly, her fingers tightening around her shirt cuff for strength.She had made a decision before leaving home—a firm, brave decision.

No more shadows. No more silent tears. Today, she would smile. For her mother. For her family. For Nisha and arasnh. Because in the past few days she had seen it clearly: when she didn't smile, her family's faces dimmed too. Her silence hurt them more than they showed. So she inhaled deeply, forcing a soft smile onto her lips.

Mrs. Verma wrapped an arm around her shoulder gently, as if sensing the storm beneath her skin. Suzy chattered about outfits and jewelry, pulling Aanya's arm playfully. And together, the three women stood waiting.

Five minutes later—

Mehra car arrives A sleek black car rolled up beside them. Not the usual driver's car. No. Aanya's breath caught—stopped—froze—

It was him.

Ishaan stepped out from the driver's seat, closing the door with a soft thud that echoed far too loudly in her chest.

He wasn't supposed to be here. The ladies were meant to arrive with the driver... but apparently the car had broken down, and Ishaan had been leaving for some work outside. So he had driven them here. Fate's cruelty was too precise. The moment his eyes lifted, they collided with hers. And the world... simply stopped moving.

It had been weeks—almost a month—since he last saw her. A month of longing. A month of sleepless nights. A month of fighting battles no one understood. And now she was standing right there. His heart slammed against his ribs hard enough to hurt. His lungs refused to breathe for a moment. She looked... different.

Her face had grown thinner. Her skin pale. The natural glow she used to carry had dulled. Dark circles smudged the delicate skin under her eyes. Had she been crying? Had she been hurting?Had she been eating properly? The questions rose like fire inside him. But despite everything...despite the fragility in her appearance...she was still beautiful. Painfully, heartbreakingly beautiful. Almost ethereal. He couldn't look away.

Her heart throbbed painfully against her ribs. He had changed too. The confident, intimidating Ishaan she once knew was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a man carved out of exhaustion and sleeplessness. His shoulders seemed heavier. His jaw more tense. His eyes—those sharp, steady eyes—were rimmed with fatigue, carrying a darkness she had never seen before.

He looked like someone who hadn't slept properly in weeks. Someone who carried storms inside him. And something inside her chest twisted sharply. Why does he look so tired? Why does he look like he's breaking? She swallowed hard.

Their eyes held each other for what felt like an eternity— a silent conversation of pain, longing, questions neither dared to ask. Their trance shattered when Mrs. Verma touched Aanya's arm.

"Let's go, Aanya," she said gently.

Aanya blinked, her lashes trembling, and finally tore her gaze away. She walked forward with the other women— every step feeling heavier than the last.

The women moved ahead, talking amongst themselves as they disappeared through the glass doors of the mall. Their laughter, their excitement, and the rustle of their dresses faded into the humming crowd inside.

And right behind them... Ishaan also naturally began to follow. He didn't rush. He didn't call out. He simply walked—as if an invisible thread pulled him after Aanya. His steps were hesitant but determined, like gravity itself was dragging him toward her. but before he could take his second step—A firm hand pressed against his chest.

Aransh.

"Stop, right there bro. Where are you going on between womens?" he asked, voice calm but firm.

Ishaan stared at him as if he hadn't expected to be stopped. "To go inside," he said, jaw tightening. "My wife is one of those women."

Aransh exhaled, half annoyed, half amused. "Let the ladies shop peacefully," he replied. "I've already told the driver to come and pick them later."

Ishaan didn't move. His eyes sharpened. And his tone dropped lower. "Let me go, Aransh. My wife is inside." i need to talk to her."

Aransh didn't back away. "Well," he said slowly, an undeniable truth lacing his words, "your wife is busy today. And I don't think she will talk to you."

The words sliced through the air. Ishaan didn't respond. Didn't argue. He just looked at Aransh—the look of a man who was holding himself together by one thin thread. A look filled with exhaustion, longing, and a quiet ache no one else could understand. Then, without another word, he turned sharply and headed toward his car.

Just as Ishaan reached the car door, his hand on the handle, something caught his eye.

Aransh.

The man who just told him not to go inside was now himself casually walking toward the mall entrance—quietly, slowly, like a guilty thief. Ishaan's eyes narrowed. Very. Slowly. Within two seconds, Ishaan marched right back and grabbed Aransh's wrist from behind. His voice was low, threatening, almost amused. "And where exactly do you think you're going?"

Aransh froze for half a second, then turned with the most innocent expression possible. "To... tell my soon-to-be wife something."

Ishaan raised a brow—dangerously. "Your soon-to-be wife is also busy today," he replied, repeating Aransh's earlier sentence word-for-word, "just like my already wife is busy." He leaned in slightly. "So let's leave from here."

Aransh's innocent smile vanished. They both glared at each other like territorial lions. Neither wanted to back down. Neither wanted to leave. But both had been caught red-handed trying to do the exact same thing. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, Aransh yanked his hand away. Fine.

They walked to the car like two schoolboys being forced to leave a fair before finishing their candy. Still glaring. Still defending their pride. Still equally desperate to be near the women they loved. They sat in the car silently. Not a word spoken. But their anger, jealousy, and helplessness filled the small space between them like a storm waiting to explode.

And with that...

The car pulled away, leaving behind the mall entrance and the invisible threads they both were aching to follow.

__

Ishaan drove home straight from the mall, the weight of the encounter with Aanya still pressing heavily on his chest. His mind was loud, but his voice remained silent. As he stepped into the living room, he found Mr. Dinesh sorting some papers.

"Ishaan, that old folding table in the garden—put it inside the storeroom," Mr. Dinesh said casually.

Ishaan only nodded. Obedience came easily when the heart was already too exhausted to feel anything else.

He walked to the garden, lifted the worn wooden table that had weathered years of rain and sunshine, and carried it to the storeroom. The room smelled of dust and forgotten years. After placing the table in a corner, he turned to leave—until something caught his eye.

A cardboard box, taped at the edges, slumped against the shelf. Old toys were spilling out of it—soft toys, small cars, broken plastic pieces. A strange pull tugged at his chest, something both familiar and distant. Curiosity guiding him, he knelt and picked up a toy from the top. As he moved it aside, his gaze landed on a small metallic gleam hidden between the others.

He pushed the rest of the toys away impatiently and lifted the object.

And then, without warning... a smile touched his lips—raw, soft, almost heartbreakingly gentle.

"Mr. Super Robo," he whispered, as if he were holding something sacred. He traced the tiny dents on the robot's body, memories flooding him in a rush—a little girl's laughter, her angry pout, her trembling tears.

"Should I return you to your real owner?" he murmured to himself, still smiling faintly. "I wonder... would she still love you the way she used to?"

His voice cracked slightly.
"Would she even remember you? After all... she has forgotten me. Her toothless crybaby."
He let out a short, helpless laugh at his own words.

"You know," he said to the toy, as if it could understand, "she's still the same. angry tiger. She still enjoys making me cry." His smile faded. "But I deserve it." He lowered his head, a shadow crossing his face.

"I hurt her sixteen years ago... even then, she cried because of me—because of you." He touched the toy's broken chest, remembering that day vividly. "And sixteen years later, I hurt her again. This time, I broke her heart." His voice trembled.

He swallowed hard, emotions rising like a tide he had tried too long to control.

"Do you think," he whispered almost to himself, "that if I return you to her... she will forgive me?" A hollow, painful laugh escaped him. He leaned back against the wall, staring at the robot in his hand—staring through it, into the past.

"You know," he continued softly, "the day I saw her again... on the wedding day... she didn't look like the twenty-four-year-old Aanya everyone else saw. To me, she was still that eight-year-old girl... red eyes, trembling lips... crying just like she did when I broke you her favorite toy."

His voice cracked again, memories slipping between his words.

"When I saw her like that, I told myself this is wrong. I told myself I can't hurt her."
He smirked bitterly. "But rage blinds you. Anger destroys the things you love most."

He clenched the toy slightly.

"I hurt the one person I never wanted to hurt. Yes, I moved on with life after she left... but I remembered her. Every day."
His eyes glistened. "To me, she never changed. She was still the girl I wanted to befriend the moment she was born."

He looked down at Super Robo, and a single tear finally escaped, rolling silently down his cheek.

"And now look at us," he whispered brokenly. "She's mine... but still not with me. I have only ever hurt her." "I took seven vows to love her, protect her, and be by her side... but I broke every vow. Every promise I made to her was a lie. I just want to make them right again."

His voice dissolved into silence.

The room felt smaller, heavier—filled with all the words he could never say to her.

He didn't know how long he sat there until his phone chimed suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. He blinked, wiped his face quickly, and looked down at the screen... a mail from office work. 

__

The mall buzzed with its usual weekend chaos, but inside the Verma and Mehra circle of women, it felt like their own world—bright, excited, and full of wedding anticipation. Fabrics rustled, hangers clinked, and the voices of mothers, aunts, and sisters overlapped into a warm festival of choices.

After some time, the group spotted Bella walking toward them, slightly out of breath.

"Oh, there you are! I told you to come home—we had shopping today!" Nisha exclaimed, pulling her into a half-scolding, half-affectionate hug.

"I'm so sorry, Di," Bella said immediately, cheeks flushed. "I joined the hospital just a week ago. An emergency came in suddenly... that's why I got so late."

She greeted everyone one by one, smiling, cheerful, effortlessly blending into the group. Aanya stood a little behind the others, watching her silently, studying the girl she had unknowingly hurt.

Bella noticed.
She walked straight to Aanya and wrapped her in a gentle hug.

"How are you, Aanya?" she asked softly.

There was a brief hesitation—thin but noticeable—like two people trying to navigate old wounds without disturbing them. Still, Aanya hugged back politely. "I'm okay," she whispered.

For the next hour, they moved through racks, trying outfits, comparing colors, laughing occasionally. But when Aanya noticed that everyone was distracted with a pile of dresses, she excused herself and walked toward Bella, who was browsing dresses a short distance away.

Aanya cleared her throat.
"Bella... can we talk... for a while?"

Bella looked up. "Of course. What is it?"

"Not here," Aanya said softly. She pointed toward the café right across the shop. "Can we go there?"

Bella nodded without question.

They crossed the corridor, stepped into the café, ordered nothing, and took a small corner table. For a few seconds, a heavy awkward silence sat between them.

Finally, Aanya spoke—her voice fragile, trembling with unsaid guilt.

"Bella... I'm so sorry."

Bella frowned in confusion. "Why are you apologizing, Aanya?"

Aanya inhaled shakily. "I didn't know anything about you... truly. And you know this marriage wasn't my choice. Still... I'm sorry I came between you and Ishaan. I'm really, really sorry."

Bella shook her head gently and raised her palm, stopping her.

"Aanya... who told you that you came between me and Ishaan? When you got married, I wasn't even here. So how could you come between us? If I had been present then—maybe you could think that way. But nothing like that happened. So why are you taking blame for something that was never your fault?"

Aanya stared at her, visibly shaken by Bella's calmness.

"And I won't even say Ishaan is at fault," Bella continued firmly. "He isn't. The situation was bigger than all of us. None of this happened because someone wanted it. Things unfolded... and we had no control."

Aanya swallowed. "You... you don't hate me?"

Bella laughed softly—genuine, warm, almost surprised. "Hate? Why in the world would I hate you?"

Aanya looked down. "Because of me, your wedding got cancelled. You two were together for eight years... you loved each other so much... he proposed to you grandly... you both were happy. You were going to get married and everything broke apart. Doesn't it make you angry at me?"

Bella blinked, then frowned.
"Wait—who said we were in a relationship for eight years? And that he proposed grandly?"

Aanya looked just as confused. "You were not together for eight years? And Ishaan didn't propose to you in a grand way in front of your families?"

Bella burst into laughter—loud, unfiltered, genuine. "Oh God, Aanya... what are you even saying?"

She wiped a tear of laughter from her eye.

"Yes, we've known each other for eight years. But we were only in a relationship for three. Before that, we were just good friends."

Aanya's brows knitted in confusion.

"And the grand proposal?" Bella laughed again. "That was never Ishaan. Come on... Ishaan Mehra? A dramatic, public proposal?" She shook her head, amused.

"I proposed to him," Bella said simply. "Just like that—over tea. No planning, no drama. And he took one whole month to accept."

Aanya's eyes widened.

Bella smiled softly at the memory.
"When he finally decided to give our relationship a chance... he didn't come to me first. He went to his mother. He wanted her tell everything before anything else. Only after that, he accepted my proposal."

She looked away, her voice lowering.

"We were happy... yes. But because we understood each other. We knew each other well. Our relationship grew naturally."

"And the idea of marriage?" Bella continued. "That wasn't his decision or mine. Aunty—his mother—wanted us to settle down. We both were too invested in work, so we didn't protest. We agreed."

Aanya stared at her silently. "Bella... can I ask you something?"

Bella looked up instantly, her expression softening. She nodded. "Of course. What is it?"

Aanya swallowed, gathering courage. "Were you... living in Ishaan's apartment?" she asked quietly. "The one you two used to share when you were in a relationship?"

For a heartbeat, Bella simply blinked. First confusion flickered across her face. Then shock. Then—unexpectedly—she burst into laughter. A loud, genuine, disbelieving laugh that made Aanya blink in surprise. "What?" Bella said, still laughing, her hand pressed against her chest. "Me? Living with Ishaan? Sharing an apartment with him? Aanya, what are you even thinking?"

Aanya looked down, cheeks warming. Her voice trembled when she asked again, softer, almost ashamed, "You... didn't?"

Bella's laughter slowly faded. She shook her head with a gentle, reassuring smile. "No, Aanya. Never. Ishaan and I have never lived together."

Aanya's eyes lifted slowly, confusion clouding them.

Bella sighed, her voice turning serious. "Yes, I stayed at his apartment for a few days," she explained. "But not because of anything romantic. Not because we were together. It was because I was in danger."

Aanya stiffened.

Bella continued, her voice low and steady, "After I escaped from Aarav, the very next morning—around four a.m.—thieves broke into my house. I fought them off somehow and handed them to the police. But I was terrified. I didn't know if Aarav or his men had sent them. I didn't know if they would come back for me." She exhaled shakily. "So I called Ishaan. And he came. Immediately."

Aanya felt her breath catch.

"He was the one who suggested I stay at his apartment for a few days," Bella said. "Because my bedroom door was broken... my main gate was broken... and he didn't think I was safe staying alone. So I stayed at his place until everything was settle down."

She paused, looking directly into Aanya's eyes. "But we never shared an apartment, before Aanya." "Never lived together." "There was nothing like that between us now."

Aanya just stared at her... stunned.

Bella offered a small nostalgic smile. "Yes, back in university, we all used to spend time there together—me, Dii, Aransh, Ishaan, Aarav. Movie nights, birthday surprises, study sessions. But that apartment was always Ishaan's place. Not mine."

Aanya's heartbeat stumbled.

So that morning— The morning Ishaan had left . The morning she thought he had gone running to Bella out of guilt— He hadn't gone to her because of regret. He had gone because Bella was in trouble. Her chest tightened painfully as the realization hit her. Her breathing faltered. Her thoughts whispered, trembling:

So he didn't leave me to run to her. He left because he was helping someone in pain. He left because Bella needed him. Not because he regretted being with me... not because she was more important... I misunderstood everything.

Aanya's eyes grew glossy, her heart sinking under the weight of her own assumptions.

She felt something inside her quietly break—not in pain, but in shame... in guilt... in the slow realization that she had judged him wrongly.

And Bella watched her carefully, gently, as if she knew a storm was rising inside Aanya—but also knew Aanya needed to face it.

Bella finally asked, "Aanya... who told you all this?"

Aanya hesitated. "A–Arav told me."

Bella's expression hardened. "That bastard." She sighed irritably. "He played with your mind aanya. None of what he told you is true."

Aanya's voice trembled. "But... still... you both loved each other. Ishaan loved you."

Bella gently cut her off. "He used to love me, Aanya. But not anymore. Now he loves you."

Aanya's breath hitched. "Ishaan... said that to you?"

Bella nodded.

Aanya swallowed again. "Doesn't it hurt you?"

Bella smiled sadly but gracefully.
"It does. Of course it does. But I also know one thing—maybe we weren't meant for each other. Not in that way. Fate has its own plans... maybe better ones. I'm trying to move on. I'm healing. I lost my lover, Aanya... but I didn't lose my friend. And I know he will always be there for me if I ever need him."

Aanya's eyes glistened. "You're really kind, Bella. Ishaan is lucky to have a friend like you."

Bella chuckled and squeezed her hand.
"And he's even luckier that you're his wife. Just look at you—a whole firecracker in one person. I swear, if I were a man, I would've stolen you from him."

They burst into laughter together, easing weeks of tension in one moment.

Then Bella's face softened. She took Aanya's hands gently.

"I know Ishaan hurt you. but I know he never meant to. Circumstances pushed him. I'm not asking you to forgive him right now. Take your time—heal at your pace. Feel your pain. You have every right to distance yourself. But when you feel ready... when you're whole again... go back to him. Because he truly, deeply loves you. Don't hate him, Aanya."

Aanya nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I don't hate him... I'm just hurt. I need time to stand again—not broken, but full of life. And when that time comes... I'll go back to him."

Bella smiled warmly. "Good. Now let's go back. Everyone must be waiting."

Aanya stood up with her, then paused.
"Bella... I don't want only Ishaan to be lucky." She lifted her eyes with a small, hopeful smile. "I want to be lucky too."

"Hm?" Bella looked confused.

"I mean... make me lucky too—by becoming my friend." Aanya extended her hand.

Bella stared at the hand for a moment, eyes softening, then smiled widely.

"I would be the unluckiest person alive if I let this hand go. Who would miss the chance to have an all-rounder, hot, adorable friend like you?"

She shook Aanya's hand, and the two laughed—light, free, genuine—before walking back toward the others.

A delicate, unexpected friendship had just begun.

__

The Mehra family was gathered in the living room, discussing guest lists and rituals, when Nisha's phone began to buzz. She glanced at the screen.

"Aransh," she said, answering immediately and standing up.

"Yeah, Aransh... Wha-"

She paused midway to leave the room, listening closely. Whatever he said next made her stop in her tracks.

"What? But Aransh—tomorrow is the haldi. And the wedding is in two days. How can—"
Her voice fell. Her lips parted slightly in shock.

She listened again, slower this time, defeated, before exhaling heavily.
"Okay... I understand." She ended the call quietly.

When she turned around, the entire Mehra family was staring at her—worried, alert. Mrs. Mehra stepped forward immediately.

"Nisha? What happened? Why do you look so tense?"

Nisha swallowed hard, her eyes flickering with concern.

"It's... it's Aanya's mom," she said slowly.

Mrs. Mehra's face drained of color. "What happened to her?" she asked anxiously. "Is she okay?"

Nisha shook her head. "She's fine... but... she's leaving. She's going to America. Today."

Before anyone could react—

A loud, shattering sound cracked the silence.
Everyone turned sharply. At the entrance of the living room stood Ishaan, frozen like a statue. A decorative glass showpiece lay shattered at his feet—pieces glittering like broken stars on the floor. His hands trembled visibly.

His eyes reflected something raw...something he had no control over.

Aanya. Leaving. Today.

His breath hitched sharply—painfully—as if the world had punched the air out of his lungs. His heart stopped. Then dropped violently. He couldn't move. Couldn't blink.
Couldn't even gather his thoughts.

The room faded. Only one truth screamed inside him—

She was leaving. She was going away from him. Again. far far away. No,no she can't leave me."

I’m telling you, you all are not ready for the next chapter.