The boardroom was a mosaic of polished mahogany, sharp suits, and clinical efficiency. Tanishk sat beside his elder sister, Tarini Chandravanshi, who exuded her usual calm and composed demeanor. Her face, carved with precision and poise, gave nothing away. But Tanishk, ever the quiet observer, noticed the faintest tightness around her eyes—the flicker of something unsettled.

A senior board member, Mr. Kapur, cleared his throat and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Ms. Chandravanshi," he began, leaning forward with interest, "regarding the Singapore project... have the final logistics been settled? When do you fly out?"

Tarini didn’t miss a beat. Her voice was steady, almost disinterestedly calm. "I’ll be leaving on Sunday."

Her eyes flicked to her notepad, fingers elegantly poised over a silver pen, but she wasn’t writing. She hadn’t written a word since the meeting began.

"Very well," Mr. Kapur nodded, satisfied. "We trust you'll handle the client negotiations as smoothly as always."

She offered a half-smile—the kind that looked gracious but didn’t quite reach her eyes. Around the table, heads nodded, conversations resumed, and no one questioned further. No one ever did. Because Tarini Chandravanshi didn’t let people in. That was her strength, her armor.

But Tanishk, seated beside her, felt the chill in her silence. He could sense it—something was wrong.

And he knew better than to ask in front of others.

As the meeting went on, he glanced sideways at his sister again.

Whatever storm she was carrying, she was bearing it alone. Like always.

But not for long, he promised himself quietly. Not this time.

As the meeting dispersed, chairs scraped against the floor, and executives filtered out with murmured goodbyes and polite nods. Tanishk lingered, his eyes still on Tarini.

She stood, gathering her files with precise, mechanical movements. Her face was unreadable—elegant and distant, like always. But Tanishk couldn’t let it slide this time.

He stepped closer.

“Dii,” he said, his voice low, careful, “is everything okay?”

She paused. Just for a heartbeat. That tiny pause told him more than any words could.

Then, without meeting his gaze, she replied curtly, “I’m fine.”

And just like that, she turned and walked away.

Tanishk stood there, jaw tightening. He watched her retreating figure—head high, shoulders straight, every step measured and powerful. But he saw it now. The weight she carried. The way her fists clenched just slightly around the folder in her hand. The storm beneath her perfect silence.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

She was shutting him out again.

Like always.

But something in her silence tonight felt different. He didn’t know what it was. Not yet.

But he was going to find out.

Tarini drove in silence.

The city lights passed in a blur, reflections flickering across her windshield like ghosts of thoughts she didn’t want to think. Her grip on the steering wheel was tight, too tight. She didn’t notice.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up outside a quiet upscale restaurant on the south end of the city. The kind of place where chandeliers hung low and privacy was a luxury easily bought.

But she didn’t go in.

Instead, she stayed in the car, engine off, window half-down, the night air drifting in like a cold whisper. Her eyes, sharp and searching, were fixed on a small open terrace just beyond the restaurant’s arched glass doors.

And there he was.

Yash.

She spotted him instantly, standing tall and confident, with that effortless charm he always carried. He was talking to a woman—young, poised, radiant in a subtle, designer way. Tarini didn’t need introductions.

Pariniti Goyenka.

The only daughter of the Goyenka industrial empire. The heiress. The perfect match. The one Yash was going to marry.

Tarini’s breath caught, just for a moment.

From this distance, they looked good together. Too good. Like a scene out of one of those glossy society magazines she hated flipping through. Pariniti was laughing softly at something Yash had said, and he leaned closer, smile easy, eyes warm.

Tarini sat back in her seat.

Her expression didn’t change.

No flicker of pain crossed her face. No tears. No anger.

But inside, something cracked—silently, cleanly, like porcelain under pressure.

Of course. It was all unfolding just as expected.

And she? She was exactly where she was always meant to be.

Outside.

Watching.

Tarini sat in her car, eyes still fixed on the terrace where Yash stood with Pariniti. But her mind was no longer in the present.

It drifted—unwillingly, uncontrollably—back to a different time.

Five years ago.

The college volleyball court was alive with cheers, sun spilling over the bleachers as students hooted and clapped. Tarini sat in the front row, wearing a crop and jeans and her sunglasses slipping down her nose.

But her eyes never left one person.

Yash.

He was in his zone—his tall frame agile, spiking the ball with a force that drew roars from the crowd. His hair stuck to his forehead, sweat glinting on his arms, but the grin he gave her—after every point—was pure fire and joy.

And every time he looked her way, she cheered louder.

“Let’s go, Yash!” she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth.

He winked at her mid-serve, and Tarini laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Back then, it was simple.

Back then, there were no Goyenkas. No boardrooms. No curated engagements or names tied to legacy.

There was just Yash, the boy who shared her cold coffee every evening, who walked her back to the hostel after late lectures, who once told her, under the old banyan tree, "I don’t know what the future holds, Taru, but I do know it won’t make sense if you're not in it."

She had never replied.

She remembered that now, sitting in her car. How she had smiled faintly that day and looked away—because Tarini Chandravanshi didn’t believe in fairy tales. Or in promises made under banyan trees.

She believed in reality.

And reality was: Yash was going to marry Pariniti Goyenka.

And she? She was still where she had always been—on the sidelines, cheering for him.

Only now, she was silent.

Tarini blinked, the memory dissolving like mist, leaving only the faint ache it always did.

She sat still for a moment longer, the night air brushing gently against her cheek. Inside the restaurant, the laughter continued. The flicker of candlelight played over Yash’s profile as he leaned in, saying something that made Pariniti smile again.

Tarini exhaled slowly, her eyes clear now. No trace of the memory remained on her face—just that same perfect composure she wore like armor.

She opened the glove compartment, pulled out a napkin, and dabbed the corner of her mouth—not because anything was there, but because it gave her hands something to do. A gesture of elegance. A practiced calm.

Then she started the engine.

The soft hum of the car filled the silence, grounding her. She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles pale, then loosened her hold deliberately. One breath. Two.

She didn’t look at the terrace again.

Didn’t glance back.

Didn’t allow herself that weakness.

Because Tarini Chandravanshi didn’t break down. Not in public. Not in private. Maybe not at all.

She pulled away from the curb, the taillights disappearing into the velvet night.

But somewhere deep inside—beneath the elegance, beneath the silence—there was a version of her that had once believed in banyan trees and boys with soft smiles.

And she mourned that girl quietly.

Without a single tear.

Shree sat huddled in the corner of the small, dimly lit room.

The window was half-covered by an old, torn curtain that fluttered slightly with the breeze. She hugged her knees to her chest, her worn dupatta clutched tightly in her fists, and tried not to listen. But the voices from outside the half-open door were too close. Too loud.

Maasi Ma’s voice.

Sharp, hushed, but clear.

“He brought her here for himself. That man, Tanishk Chandravanshi... he made it clear.”

A man’s voice followed, deeper, smug, soaked in entitlement.

“He’s not here now, is he?”

Shree froze. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, wild and loud, like it was trying to escape.

She crept forward, just an inch, pressing her ear near the crack of the door.

“I’m paying,” the man said, the sound of crisp paper hitting the table hard, “and I want her. One night.”

There was silence.

Then more notes. More bundles.

Maasi Ma didn’t speak. Not at first.

Shree could almost hear the hesitation in her breath—short, panicked. But then came the soft rustle of hands gathering the money. Quiet, guilty... and final.

The kind of silence that meant agreement.

Shree felt her stomach drop.

No. No, no, no…

Tanishk never touched her, but now this man,,,!!

How will she fight..

And now? She was just a price.

Again.

Her breaths came faster. Her palms trembled. The room felt smaller now, suffocating. Her eyes searched for something—anything—a way out. But there was none.

Because the money had already spoken.

And Maasi Ma's silence had sealed her fate.

Shree’s heart raced as the door creaked open.

The man stepped in slowly, the heavy scent of cologne and power trailing behind him. His eyes were cold, calculating—he didn’t see a girl; he saw a purchase. A thing.

Shree backed away until her knees hit the edge of the small bed.

“Don’t come near me,” she whispered, voice trembling.

He smiled, a predator’s smile. “Don’t be scared. Just one night. You’ll be fine.”

When she tried to move past him, he blocked her path.

“Stay still,” he said, stepping closer. His hand reached out, and instinctively, Shree pushed him back.

He didn’t like that.

His expression darkened as he moved faster, grabbing her wrist—not violently, but firmly enough to make her flinch. She cried out, twisting away, panic rising like a tide in her chest.

“Let go!” she screamed.

Suddenly, the door slammed open.

Tanishk stood there.

Breathing hard, eyes scanning the scene—the stranger gripping Shree, her face pale with fear, the tremble in her limbs. And behind the man, Maasi Ma, frozen in place with a bundle of money still clutched in her hand.

Tanishk didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

“Step away from her,” he said, deadly calm.

The man turned, startled. “I paid—”

“I said,” Tanishk cut in, taking a step forward, “leave. Now.”

There was something in his tone—quiet, unshakable, and dangerous.

The man hesitated, but the moment passed. He dropped Shree’s wrist, straightened his coat, and walked out without another word. He knows who this man is and what power he holds..

Tanishk turned to Maasi Ma next. She lowered her eyes.

“You promised she was safe here,” he said. “You promised me.”

Maasi Ma said nothing. The money in her hands said everything.

He didn’t waste another word.

He went to Shree, who had sunk to the floor, shaking. Her eyes welled with tears when she looked up at him.

“I was scard..Sahab…,” she whispered, her voice broken.

Tanishk knelt beside her, his hand gently reaching for hers.

“I know,” he said softly. “Now you don’t have to worry”

He helped her to her feet, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders. She clutched it tightly, the warmth of it—and him—like something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“You’re coming with me,” he said. “Tonight. Right now.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Shree nodded.

Not because she believed in miracles.

But because, for once, someone had chosen her.

Just as Tanishk turned with Shree to leave, Maasi Ma stepped forward, her voice sharp, desperate, and laced with something bitter.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Tanishk stopped, his body tense, shielding Shree with a quiet, instinctive movement.

“She belongs here,” Maasi Ma continued, her eyes flashing. “This is what she is now. A prostitute. Like the others. This is where she stays. Till her last breath.”

Shree flinched at the word, her shoulders shrinking inward.

But Tanishk didn’t flinch.

He turned slowly to face Maasi Ma, his expression unreadable.

“No,” he said calmly. “That’s what you made her. What people like you decided for her.”

“She has no one else!” Maasi Ma snapped, waving the money in the air. “You think she’ll find a fairytale life outside? The world out there is worse. It’ll eat her alive.”

Tanishk stepped closer, his voice low and resolute.

“She’s not yours to keep. You don’t get to decide the rest of her life just because the world failed her once.”

Maasi Ma’s eyes narrowed. “You think taking her away will fix her? She’ll never be clean in their eyes.”

Tanishk looked back at Shree, who stood frozen, unsure, wounded. But there was a flicker in her eyes—hope. Fragile and small, but there.

He turned back to Maasi Ma.

“She’s already more than you’ll ever be,” he said. “And as for the world—if it has a problem with her, it can answer to me.”

Then, without another word, he took Shree’s hand.

She hesitated only for a moment.

Then she followed him—past the dim corridors, past the locked doors and heavy stares, past the life that had tried to bury her.

She didn’t know where they were going.

But for the first time… she wasn’t walking alone.

Sneak peak - Chapter 12

“Maa sa”

“Where are you, Tanishk?” Her voice was cool, controlled. “Everyone’s waiting at Riwaaz. Your father is furious. You’re making a mockery of us in front of the Aswars and Goyenkas.”

“I got caught up in something,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Something?” Malini Devi’s voice sharpened. “ Tonight was important. You know that.”

“I know what tonight was,” he said quietly.