Tanishk entered the bedroom, only to halt abruptly as his eyes landed on the figure seated before the vanity.

There, in the soft morning light, sat Kashish, her damp, curly hair cascading over her shoulders as she gently ran a comb through the strands. The scent of jasmine oil lingered faintly in the air. She looked up the moment she sensed his presence.

Rising slowly from her seat, she met his gaze—tentative, searching.

Tanishk turned away almost instantly, as though her very presence stung his pride. His eyes remained fixed on a distant point, his jaw tight, his steps rigid.

Kashish’s brows knitted in worry. She took a hesitant step forward.

"Where were you last night?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He said nothing.

"Maa Sa was worried. We both were."

Still no response.

Tanishk walked past her, his indifference like a wall between them, and headed straight to the bed without acknowledging her presence.

"Tanishk, I need to give them some answers!" she said, her voice rising slightly, though it still carried no warmth. "You can’t keep pretending I don’t exist. We are married. You owe me that much—at least the truth!"

Her tone was firm but devoid of emotion, as if she had grown used to rehearsing pain.

Tanishk scoffed quietly, the sound laced with disdain. He didn’t respond—not a word, not a glance. Without a second look, he strode into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Kashish stood still, her eyes burning. She reached up, wiped a tear before it could fall, and let out a shaky breath.

At the breakfast table, the Ranawat family sat in tense silence.

Malini, regal and cold in her crisp ivory saree, sat stiffly at the head of the table. Her sharp gaze moved from her husband to her daughter-in-law with calculated precision.

"Where is he? Didn’t he come home last night?" she asked, her tone edged with disapproval.

"No, Maa Sa," Kashish replied, carefully pouring tea into her father-in-law’s cup.

Angad Ranawat, the patriarch of the household, looked up from his newspaper, concern clouding his aged features.

"What happened to your hand, Bahu Rani?"

"It’s nothing, Baba Sa," she replied with a small smile.

He narrowed his eyes, reaching for her wrist gently.

"It looks painful..."

"Just a small kitchen accident," she replied.

Malini scoffed.

"Who let her into the kitchen? I thought I made it clear—there are enough servants for such tasks. You weren’t meant to lift a finger in this house!"

Angad’s voice cut across the room, deep and resolute.

"Malini, enough. I know you’re behind this. But listen carefully—if I ever see her in the kitchen again because of your games, I won’t stay silent. She is the Laxmi of this house. She deserves respect—not bruises."

Malini fell silent. She knew when not to argue. Her husband’s affection for Kashish ran deeper than for his own son, and it stung her pride every day.

"Baba Sa, I love cooking for you," Kashish said softly, trying to soothe the moment. "And don’t forget—I’m a trained chef. It’s just a minor burn, nothing more."

Angad shook his head gently. "Even so, beta, your well-being comes first."

Just then, the door to the dining hall opened.

Tanishk entered, immaculately dressed in a tailored navy-blue suit. His hair was neatly combed, his movements composed. But the moment his eyes met Kashish’s, his expression hardened. His emerald eyes—cold, sharp—sent a message only she could read:

Stay away from my family. Stay out of my life.

Kashish lowered her gaze.

Tanishk resented how much his father adored her. He hated that Kashish, despite everything, still held a place in his home—even in the hearts of people he could not control.

"Beta, come sit," Malini cooed, rising to her feet. "I made your favourite dishes this morning."

Tanishk glanced at his mother with indifference.

"Where were you last night?" Malini asked, concerned.

"Maa Sa, I’m hungry."

The reply was flat, dismissive.

But Malini—blinded by maternal love—rushed forward without question. She lifted the serving bowl herself and began filling his plate with care.

"Eat, beta. You’re getting thinner every day," she said, and lovingly offered him a bite with her own hand.

Tanishk accepted it in silence, his eyes never once flickering toward Kashish.

Kashish sat still, her smile practiced, her heart quiet.

She had stopped expecting kindness from him long ago.

The sun hung high above the Chandravansh estate, casting long shadows across the marble driveway as Tanishk adjusted his cufflinks and strode toward his waiting car. His steps were swift, purposeful—each one echoing with a silent determination to leave everything, and everyone, behind.

Behind him, the ornate double doors creaked open.

"Tanishk!"

Kashish’s voice broke the still air, soft yet urgent.

He paused for the briefest second—but didn’t turn.

She rushed down the steps barefoot, her pale peach dupatta fluttering behind her like a whisper of desperation.

"Tanishk, please... just listen to me!"

Still, he didn’t stop. His back remained turned, broad and immovable, like a wall she had run into too many times before.

She hurried forward, her breath catching. "You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to speak kindly. But don’t pretend I don’t exist."

He reached the car door, the driver instinctively stepping aside.

"Tanishk, I’m not a ghost," she said, her voice breaking now. "I breathe, I feel... I hurt too."

He opened the door.

Kashish stood a few steps behind him now, her chest rising and falling, her hands trembling by her sides.

"Look at me—just once."

Nothing.

He slid into the back seat with the cold grace of a man who had mastered silence as punishment.

To him, she wasn’t even worth a glance.

The door closed with a soft, final click.

Kashish stood there frozen, her reflection caught in the blackened car window. For a heartbeat, she thought he might lower it. Say something. Anything.

But the engine roared to life, and just like that—
he was gone.

She watched the car disappear down the driveway, her fingers curling around the edges of her dupatta.

And even though she stood in the sun,
it had never felt so cold.

The car vanished around the curve of the estate, leaving only dust and silence in its wake.

Kashish stood on the stone steps, watching the empty road like it might return her lost time.

Three years.

Three years of marriage to a man who never looked her in the eye.

Three years of waiting for conversations that never happened, apologies that never came, and love that never existed in the first place.

Yet here she was—still waiting.

She walked back inside, her sandals clicking softly against the marble, the grand halls echoing with a kind of loneliness that only a wife in name could understand.

That night, the house was quiet again.

Kashish sat in the balcony of her bedroom—the one they were supposed to share, but never did—her fingers wrapped around a lukewarm cup of tea. Below, the estate glimmered in soft lights, but none of it reached her heart.

Her thoughts drifted again… to that day.

The wedding day.

The day they both had planned to run.

Flashback – Three Years Ago

"We’ll vanish before the rituals start," Tanishk had whispered as they sat beneath their childhood tree—two best friends on the edge of adulthood, planning their rebellion.

"You’ll run. I’ll cover for you. They’ll never see it coming," he’d said with a small, reckless grin.

And Kashish had believed him. They had planned everything—down to the train ticket and the bag she would hide beneath her lehenga.

But on the day of the wedding, something changed.

Her father had entered her bridal chamber in tears—eyes red, hands trembling as he fed her the last bite of kheer with a shaking hand.

"Your mother would’ve been proud, beta."

And in that moment, she couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t break him.

She couldn’t run.

So, she stayed.

And when Tanishk turned at the mandap and saw her standing there, draped in crimson and shame, his eyes had gone cold—so cold that she felt the temperature drop around her.

From that day onward, he never spoke a word of it.

No accusations.

No anger.

Just... silence.

The kind that buried you.

Present

Now, three years later, Kashish sat in that silence like a prisoner in her own story.

She had tried to talk to him—to explain, to beg, even to fight—but he was like fog. Unreachable. Unbothered.

He lived in hotels, in boardrooms, in meetings. He only returned home on Diwali, Holi, or Dussehra—just enough to be seen, but never felt.

She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d shared a meal.

And yet… something inside her refused to let go.

Because she wasn’t grieving a lost lover.

She was mourning her best friend.

The boy who used to climb mango trees with her.

The one who had shared secrets, comics, dreams—and once, even hope.

And now?

Now he wouldn’t even look at her.

Sneak peek- Chapter 3

“You’ve done well, beta. But the world listens to men. Tanishk will be the face. You will stand behind him, and guide him—as sisters should.”

A courtesy title: Director.

Not a crown, just a costume.

She had smiled, hugged her brother in front of the board, and congratulated him. The cameras captured it all.

But they didn’t capture what she whispered in his ear that day:

“You may wear the crown, Tanishk. But never forget—it fits my head better.”