The morning sun peeked softly through the white curtains, casting a gentle glow across the quiet room. The air still carried the weight of last night’s heartbreak—a silence so loud, it hummed with unsaid pain. Srisha lay curled up in bed, her face still damp from the tears she had cried herself to sleep with. Her body was still, but her heart… it throbbed with the sting of betrayal.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Nandini—her bhabhi—stepped in, as quiet and graceful as ever, holding a folded pair of soft pink pajamas in her hand. Her eyes immediately fell on Srisha’s fragile form. A pang of pain stabbed her heart seeing the younger girl like that—broken, wounded, and so utterly vulnerable.

Nandini had known Srisha since she was barely out of her teens. She had seen her laugh so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks. She had seen her dance in the kitchen with flour on her nose. She had seen her fall in love—with wide eyes and an innocent, pure heart. And now… she was watching her fall apart.

She walked slowly to the bed, placing the pajamas gently on the corner, then sat beside Srisha. For a moment, she didn’t say a word. She just softly ran her fingers through her sister-in-law’s tangled hair, untangling the knots with a patience only love could carry.

Feeling the warmth of that familiar hand, Srisha stirred.

She blinked her eyes open slowly, still swollen from the night before, and found Nandini looking down at her with eyes full of quiet understanding. The moment their gazes met, Srisha’s lips trembled.

And without a word, she sat up and fell into her bhabhi’s arms.

She clung to her like a lost child—arms wrapped tightly around her, face buried into her shoulder—as fresh tears spilled once again.

Nandini held her close, whispering nothing, just holding her. Just being there. Sometimes comfort didn’t need words—it only needed presence.

After a while, when Srisha’s sobs began to slow and her breathing evened out, Nandini pulled back just a little, brushing her hair gently behind her ear.

“Baccha,” she said softly, her voice full of love, “now forget him.”

Srisha’s lips parted to protest—but Nandini didn’t let her.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” she continued gently, stroking her hair. “Not even a single tear of yours.”

Srisha looked down, fingers twisting in the bedsheet, still too broken to believe that she could move on. That healing was even possible. But Nandini cupped her face tenderly.

“You are love, Srisha. Pure, kind, beautiful love. You gave everything, and he… he just proved he never deserved even a piece of it.”

A tear escaped the corner of Srisha’s eye, but Nandini wiped it away.

“Come now,” she said after a pause, with a small smile, “take a warm shower, freshen up. I’ve kept your favorite pink pajamas here.”

She picked up the soft cotton pair—delicate and comforting—and placed it gently in Srisha’s lap. “Once you’re ready, come downstairs. Breakfast’s almost done. Papa is waiting. Manvi is already there, asking for you. And yes… I made aloo paratha, just how you like it.”

That one sentence—so simple, so home-like—made something shift inside Srisha. The ache was still there, the wound still raw… but somehow, Nandini’s words, her touch, and her love felt like a balm.

Srisha looked at the pajamas in her lap—soft pink, simple, familiar.

And for the first time since the storm began… she nodded.

Nandini kissed her forehead gently, gave her one last comforting squeeze, and then stood up to leave. As she walked out the door, she glanced back with a small smile, the kind that says, I’m here, always.

And in that moment, Srisha knew—

She wasn’t alone.

She may be broken, but she was surrounded by people ready to help her heal—slowly, gently, with love.

And maybe… just maybe… she could begin again.

___________________

The clinking of spoons against porcelain and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air, but there was a weight in the room that refused to lift—a silence that pressed on every heart despite the morning light spilling generously through the windows.

Every seat at the breakfast table was filled, yet it felt incomplete.

They were all waiting for her.

Arpita looked toward the stairs for the fifth time in ten minutes, her hand wrapped tightly around her teacup. Tejas was trying to look casual, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, though his eyes flicked up every time there was the slightest sound. Nandini was gently plating the food, trying to keep everything warm, her ears tuned sharply for footsteps. Abhijit, ever the silent force, sat in his chair with his arms crossed, expression unreadable—but the crease on his forehead gave away more than he intended.

And then—

Soft footsteps echoed down the stairs.

The air shifted.

Everyone turned their heads almost at the same time.

Srisha stood there.

Dressed in the soft pink pajamas Nandini had given her, her long hair slightly damp from the shower and loosely falling over her shoulder, her face bare and pale. There was no makeup, no jewelry—just a girl trying to hold herself together with invisible thread.

She walked slowly, almost hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure if she belonged.

Her eyes scanned the room, meeting everyone’s gaze one by one—her papa, her bhabhi, her brother, her best friend… and her mumma.

No one spoke at first.

Then Manvi was the first to jump up, beaming.

“Look who finally decided to come out of the cave,” she teased gently, walking over to her. “Took you long enough, Madam Ji.”

Srisha didn’t respond. Not a smile. Not even a twitch.

She simply hugged Manvi tightly for a second, then moved to sit at the table in her usual spot—quiet, withdrawn, almost ghost-like.

Nandini placed a plate in front of her with a soft “Here, eat something, baccha.”

Arpita reached across the table and brushed a stray hair out of Srisha’s face lovingly. “You didn’t sleep well, did you, beta?” she asked softly.

Srisha blinked once, then looked away, picking at the edge of her paratha.

Tejas couldn’t take it anymore. “Princess,” he said, voice louder than he intended, “at least talk to us. You’re scaring everyone, yaar.”

Still nothing.

Abhijit stood up slowly and walked around the table to her, placing his hand gently on her head.

“Bacchi,” he said quietly, “we’re not angry. We never were. We’re just glad you’re here. That’s all that matters now.”

Srisha closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to fall again.

It wasn’t the betrayal that hurt the most anymore. It was the overwhelming, unconditional love sitting right here in front of her—after she had shouted, fought, ignored their warnings, and chosen someone else over all of them. And still… they chose her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice cracking.

Arpita immediately moved to her side and wrapped her in her arms. “Shhh… you don’t have to be.”

Tejas stood up and ruffled her hair. “You’re not allowed to cry anymore, samjhi? I’ll go beat up that idiot again if I have to.”

Manvi leaned closer from the other side. “And I’ll hold your earrings if you ever feel like slapping him yourself,” she added, trying to lighten the moment.

That made Nandini smile softly, but Srisha… she just stared at her plate, lost.

Even laughter didn’t reach her ears yet.

Abhijit sighed and walked back to his chair. “Give her time,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “She’ll come back to us when she’s ready.”

And so, the morning continued. Tejas told an old story from childhood that made everyone else laugh. Manvi mimicked one of Srisha’s old school teachers. Nandini kept feeding everyone like always, and Arpita brushed her daughter’s hair gently with her fingers, even while she ate.

Through all of this, Srisha sat silently, like a shadow.

But in the depths of her stillness… something flickered.

She hadn’t smiled.

She hadn’t laughed.

She hadn’t spoken more than two words.

But she felt it.

The love.

The warmth.

The home that had never left her side—even when she had turned her back on it.

And maybe… just maybe… this was where healing would begin.

Not with revenge.

Not with closure.

But with the people who never stopped waiting for her.

_____________________

The golden hour crept into Srisha’s bedroom, brushing its amber warmth across the white curtains that fluttered softly from the balcony breeze. Her room, once always echoing with laughter, scented candles, fabric sketches, and calls with clients, was now cloaked in silence. Only the faint hum of her phone vibrated softly against her blanket.

She was curled on the sofa in her room, legs tucked close, her face still void of its usual glow. A cup of untouched coffee sat on the side table beside her. Her hair was messy from lying in bed most of the day, but none of that mattered to her.

It had been days since the breakdown in France.

Days since she cried in her father’s arms, days since she returned home where everyone surrounded her with love she once fought against.

And yet, her heart hadn't stopped aching.

Tonight, her fingers scrolled lazily through her phone. She was just aimlessly moving through Instagram and news apps, half-heartedly watching fashion reels and ignoring texts from clients—until a headline caught her attention.

“Kunal Bundela’s Empire Collapses Overnight: Financial Scandal, Bankruptcy & Legal Action Begin”

She blinked.

Scrolled back.

Her breath caught.

“Sources reveal that the Bundela Group’s key investors have pulled out after reports of illegal dealings, fraud, and leaked personal controversies. The once-thriving business tycoon Kunal Bundela has reportedly gone underground…”

Srisha sat up slowly, eyes glued to the screen.

Images of Kunal—disheveled, angry, and surrounded by cameras—flashed.

Panic. Rage. Downfall.

She felt her pulse race.

Her heart should’ve leapt in satisfaction, right? He hurt her. He shattered her heart, her trust, her innocence. He used her love, her name, her silence. He deserved it.

But all she felt was confusion.

“How?” she whispered, eyes narrowing. “How did this all happen… so fast?”

Her mind raced.

She knew her father had influence—power beyond what the public knew. Her brother, too. They could do this. Maybe they did. Maybe this was what Tejas meant when he said “we’ll take care of it.”

But something about the timing… the clean precision of it… felt too calculated. Too sharp. Too fast even for them.

And deep down, a part of her just… knew.

This wasn’t Abhijit Rajyavardhan’s method. Nor Tejas’s temper.

This was someone else.

Someone colder.

Someone who didn’t just want revenge.

They wanted destruction.

And they succeeded.

Srisha locked her phone and tossed it aside, curling into herself again. Her brain was spinning, heart pounding not from fear… but from a strange, unsettled feeling that something bigger had moved in the background.

Unseen. Unknown. Unbelievably precise.

But for now, she had no idea that the man who had destroyed Kunal wasn’t her father.

Not her brother.

It was someone else.

The man whose arms had held her that night in the storm.

The man whose name she didn’t remember.

Devraj Pratap Sisodia.

And while she healed in silence, in his palace office miles away… he sat, fingers steepled, watching the downfall he had orchestrated unfold exactly as planned—without a single thread tying back to her or her family.

Because no one makes a princess cry in front of a king… and walks away unharmed.

_______________________