Evening 

"Maa sa, aap khaaiye na... humein nahi chahiye,"

("Mother, please you eat... I don't want it.")

Mugdha said softly, pushing the warm roti onto her mother’s plate.

Kusum gave her a gentle glance, her fingers pausing mid-air above her own food.

"Na na, tu kha le. Pata nahi shaadi ke baad tu humse mil bhi paayegi ya nahi…"
(No no, you eat. Who knows if you’ll be able to visit us after marriage...)

Mugdha scrunched her nose in mild irritation and looked away, her brows furrowed in mock annoyance. Kusum chuckled at her daughter’s theatrics.

"Accha baba... ab shaadi ki baat band karogi ya nahi?"
(Alright, enough already… will you stop talking about marriage now?)

Kusum smiled, her eyes shining with quiet affection and hidden worry.

She reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind Mugdha’s ear.

"Mugdha baccha... tu shaadi ke liye haan kar de, agar tere bapu sa poochein toh."
(Mugdha dear, please agree to this marriage if your father brings it up...)

There was a softness in her tone that was difficult to resist.

Mugdha looked at her mother—so tender, so tired, caught in the grip of a system she herself never questioned—and sighed with a melancholy that seemed far too heavy for someone her age.

"Maa sa, theek hai... aapki khushi ke liye toh main mar bhi sakti hoon."
(Maa sa, fine... for your happiness, I could even die.)

She said it with a crooked smile, but her words echoed like thunder in the quiet kitchen.

"Akhand Pratap Chaturvedi!"

The name reverberated through the haveli's great hall like a war cry. Startled, every maid and servant froze in place, dishes rattling in their trembling hands.

From the inner sanctum, Ganga Devi—still clad in the serenity of her morning puja—emerged, alarmed by her son’s fury.

"Kya hua, Pratap? Why are you shouting his name like that?"

(What happened?)

She asked, her hands still adorned with prayer beads and a trace of sandalwood paste between her brows.

Pratap stood tall in the centre of the marble corridor, his frame like a pillar carved in rage. His eyes were fixed on the grand staircase, waiting.

His silence in response to Ganga Devi’s question spoke volumes. Pratap Chaturvedi never ignored his mother—unless his anger had consumed him entirely.

"Pratap?"

Ganga Devi tried again.

He turned slightly, his voice low but heavy with restraint.

"Amma, mujhe maaf karo. Aaj aap mujhe nahi rok payengi. Aaj main faisla kar ke rahunga."
(Mother, forgive me. Today, you won't be able to stop me. Today, I will decide.)

From the upper floor, a voice called back—cool, hesitant.

"Kya hua, Baba?"

("What happened, Dad?)

Akhand descended slowly, casual but guarded.

Pratap’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.

"What were you doing last night?"

Akhand, caught off guard, fumbled.

"Baba… I was at a friend’s place."

Pratap let out a humourless laugh.

"Oh really? You have friends now?"

He mocked, his voice cold enough to draw frost.

"Baba, I—"

"No, let me tell you," Pratap interrupted.
"You weren’t with friends. You were gambling, again."

Ganga Devi gasped softly, placing her hand on her chest.

"Gullu…"

Her voice trembled with disbelief.

Akhand stepped forward in shame.

"Dadi, I'm sorry."

She raised a hand, halting him mid-step.

"Ohi theher ja!"
(Stop right there!)

Her voice held more power than the palace walls themselves.

Pratap’s eyes bore into his son.

"Don’t offer apologies you don’t mean, Akhand. You think you’re the only one who lost someone?"

His voice cracked, then roared back louder.

"You think your grief is greater than ours? You think Ranjana mattered only to you?"

Akhand lowered his eyes, lips trembling.

"We’ll talk later, Baba..."

"No, we will talk now!"

Pratap stepped closer.

"Ranjana was ashamed of the man you were becoming! And if she could see you now… she’d still be ashamed. You’re not just destroying yourself, you're dragging the whole family down with you!"

The words hit like iron. Akhand flinched as if struck.

Ganga Devi looked at her son, shaken. He had never unleashed such anger—never on his own blood.

Pratap’s voice softened slightly, but his pain only deepened.

"It’s been three years, Akhand. Three years since she left us. But you’ve buried yourself in your own sorrow like a coward. You’ve become a stranger in your own home."

He paused, eyes glistening.

"We all lost her. I lost my wife. Amma lost her daughter. And still—every single day—your Dadi fasts and prays for your recovery. Have you ever looked at her? Have you even seen what you’re doing to us?"

Akhand said nothing. He turned and walked away in silence, retreating to the confines of his room.

The echo of his footsteps faded slowly, leaving only heartbreak in their wake.

Sneak peek- Chapter 3

"I mean, Devar sa, that land is worth a fortune. And... and we don’t even have the legal papers in order..."

Manohar turned to her with steel in his voice.

"Kamini, who gave you the right to speak in the middle of this discussion?"

His voice was low, but it cut through the room like a blade. Kamini flinched under his gaze, visibly shaken.