The late morning light filtered through the ornate curtains, casting soft shadows across the guest room. A breeze stirred the corners of the room, but the air inside remained heavy — too still, too silent.

Shree sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap, her dupatta neatly draped over her head. She had not moved in a while. Not since the chaos of the morning.

The door creaked open.

No knock. No pause.

Malini Devi walked in like she owned the silence.

Her eyes swept over the room, then landed sharply on Shree. There was no welcome in her gaze. Only disdain, coiled tight like a whip waiting to strike.

“So,” Malini began, voice cold and sharp, “this is where you’re hiding.”

Shree didn’t respond. She didn’t even raise her eyes.

Malini stepped further in, heels clicking against the marble floor with the certainty of someone used to being obeyed. Her dupatta was perfectly pleated, her expression controlled — but her voice carried fire beneath its calm.

“Tell me something,” she said icily. “How does a woman with even an ounce of self-respect marry a man who already has a wife?”

Shree remained still. Unmoving. Unblinking.

Malini’s voice rose slightly. “You knew about Kashish. You knew she was his wife. You knew they were bound by sacred vows — by family, by tradition, by name. And still you stood in a temple with sindoor in your hair and pretended you belonged.”

Shree did not flinch.

Her silence wasn’t weakness — it was armor.

Malini stepped even closer now, her eyes narrowed.

“Was this your plan all along? To seduce him with your sob story? To crawl your way into this family through sympathy and scandal? Is that the kind of woman you are?”

Still, no response.

Only the sound of Malini’s breath, quickening with fury.

“You are nothing more than a shadow. And shadows don’t replace people like Kashish.”

Then — suddenly — footsteps approached from the corridor.

Firm. Measured.

And a moment later, Tanishk walked into the room.

He took one glance at the scene — Malini standing, towering over Shree, her voice still sharp with accusation — and his expression changed.

Stone. Controlled.

Malini turned at the sound of the door — and her words caught mid-air.

She froze.

Tanishk’s eyes locked on his mother’s, steady and unreadable.

“Maa sa,” he said, voice low but firm. “That’s enough.”

A heavy silence followed.

Malini’s lips parted as if to speak again — but she saw something in her son’s eyes that made her stop.

Shree finally looked up — not at Malini, but at Tanishk.

.

After Malini Leaves

The door clicked shut behind Malini Devi.

Tanishk remained standing for a moment, his hand still on the doorknob, his jaw clenched. The storm had passed — for now — but the air was still crackling with everything unsaid.

He turned slowly toward Shree, who was now standing by the bed, composed, but too quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly.

She shook her head. “You don’t need to be. She said what she should do at this moment.”

He stepped closer, his voice lower now. “Still… you didn’t deserve that.”

Shree gave a faint, tired smile. “I’ve heard worse. I just never thought I’d hear it in a silk room with gold ceilings.”

A beat passed.

They both laughed — softly. Hollowly.

Then silence settled again, heavier now, but familiar.

Tanishk leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Still she is harsh on you, because of me .”

Shree looked away, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s ok.”

One day ago, Inside the living room, a different kind of heaviness sat between them.

Shree stirred her tea absently, her eyes wary.

Tanishk, across from her, leaned forward — urgency in his voice.

“I just need you to help me. Pretend to be my wife — just for a while. Just in front of the family.”

Shree blinked, stunned. “What are you saying , Sahib?”

“Why?” she asked, still trying to understand. “You already have a wife, Sahib.”

His jaw tightened. “No. I have a marriage, which was unwanted. That’s all.”

She didn’t say anything.

He continued, “My father is forcing me to legalize it. He’s using it as leverage — to tie me down, to keep me under this family’s thumb. If I go along with it, I lose everything I’ve built. If I refuse, I risk a public disaster. So… I need something stronger. I need your help..Please Shree.”

Shree stared at him, stunned by the absurdity of it all.

“You want me,” she said slowly, “a woman who’s barely rebuilt her life, to walk into your family circus and lie to everyone? Pretend to be a Chandravanshi bahu?”

“I wouldn’t ask,” he said gently, “if I didn’t trust you.”

She laughed — not out of amusement, but disbelief. “Why me?”

Tanishk didn’t look away. “Because i feel you will never betary me, you are pure Shree, too pure..”

She went quiet.

Months ago. When she was being forced by someone he came and rescued her. He literally brought her, but he never climbed his right on her. 

And now, he was asking her for something more impossible.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she had whispered then.

“I’ll protect you,” he said. “You won’t be alone. And the moment you want to leave, you can. I promise.”

Her silence had stretched for a long time.

Then she finally spoke:

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

“As you save my life an di own you.”She spke.

The memory faded.

Shree sat back down on the edge of the bed, her voice distant. “I said yes because I owed you. But I never realized how heavy it would feel — carrying someone else’s legacy like it’s my shame.”

Tanishk lowered himself beside her, resting his elbows on his knees.

“It’s not your shame,” he said quietly. “It’s mine. For dragging you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me,” she replied. “I walked in. Eyes open. But you never told me…” She paused. “That ”

Another silence.

Akhand’s Study 

The door clicked shut behind Malini as she stepped into the room.

The curtains were half-drawn. Shadows stretched long across the polished floor. The familiar scent of sandalwood lingered — a sign that Akhand had been pacing here for some time.

And there he was — Akhand Chandravanshi — tall, composed, and yet visibly shaken. His hands were clenched behind his back as he moved in tight, agitated circles, the silence between his steps heavy with rage.

Malini watched him for a moment, then spoke gently. “You should sit down. You’ll exhaust yourself.”

Akhand stopped mid-step and turned toward her — his eyes red-rimmed, not from tears, but from the sheer intensity of everything he was holding back.

“He’s humiliated us,” he said sharply. “In our own house. Dressed like a groom, parading some unknown girl as his wife — in front of the servants, the family, the name we built for generations.”

Malini tried to keep her tone steady. “He’s angry. Reckless. But he’s still our son.”

Akhand's voice cut like a blade. “Is he? Is this what we raised him to become?”

He moved to the window, pushing the curtains aside violently.

“We gave him everything — education, legacy, freedom. And what does he give back? Lies. Defiance. Disrespect.”

Malini approached slowly. “Let me handle it. I’ll make sure that girl — Shree — leaves this mansion before the day ends.”

Akhand didn’t turn around. “And what about Kashish?”

The name landed like a weight between them.

Malini’s lips tightened.

“She is his first wife,” she said firmly. “And she will remain the only one that matters in this house. I will speak to her. I will assure her—”

Akhand turned sharply. “And what will you say, Malini? That we raised a son who couldn’t respect a marriage? That he brought another woman under the same roof while Kashish still breathes in this house?”

She faltered.

“He’s our son,” she repeated, though quieter now.

Akhand’s face twisted — not in anger, but in something dangerously close to sorrow.

“I should’ve never married him to her,” he said.

Malini blinked. “What?”

He looked away again, this time toward a framed portrait of the entire family on the far wall.

“She was just a girl. We made her part of this world. I told myself it was the right match — same upbringing, same values. But she didn’t need our name, Malini. She needed peace. And what did she get?”

He exhaled sharply.

“A husband who left the next morning. In-laws who measured her silence like obedience. And a lifetime of waiting.”

Malini was quiet now.

“She used to be lively,” Akhand added, his voice quieter. “Remember? That laugh. Those stories. Always asking questions.”

He sat down finally, the weight of guilt crashing onto his shoulders.

“And now she barely speaks. She walks like she’s afraid to take up space in this house. Her eyes are always tired. And yet… she never complained. Not once. She tolerated everything — even us.”

Malini moved beside him, gently placing her hand on his.

He didn’t look at her.

“She deserved better,” he whispered.

Malini swallowed. For the first time, she had no argument to offer. No strategy. No control.

Just the quiet truth that they had failed a girl who was never meant to carry this family's scars.

She squeezed his hand lightly.

“We can still make this right,” she said softly.

Akhand let out a hollow laugh. “Can we?”

They sat there in silence, two parents mourning the cracks in the empire they had built — not in stone, but in people.

And outside that door, the consequences of every choice they made were already unraveling.

Kashish’s Room 

The late evening sun dipped low behind the arched windows, casting amber light across the floor.

Kashish stood in front of her mirror, her hands resting on the marble dressing table. Her Saree slipped slightly off her shoulder, but she didn’t fix it. She simply stared at herself — not with vanity, not even curiosity.

Just disbelief.

She tilted her head slightly, studied her own expression.

And then…

She laughed.

Loud. Sudden. Hollow.

A sharp, bitter laugh that bounced off the silent walls of her room.

But it didn’t last long.

The laughter cracked, choked — and folded into a quiet sob.

Her knees weakened, and she slowly sat down on the stool before the mirror, her eyes filling, but her voice still steady.

“Look at you,” she whispered to herself. “The perfect daughter. The obedient daughter-in-law. You did everything they asked. You stayed when he left. You smiled when it hurt.”

She wiped a tear quickly, frustrated at her own emotion.

“I tried,” she said softly, almost pleadingly, as if someone was there to hear it. “I tried to make this marriage real. Even when it wasn’t. Even when he didn’t.”

She looked up again — straight into her reflection — and let the silence stretch.

A memory bubbled to the surface, vivid and golden.

It was a crisp winter morning.

Tanishk was sitting alone behind the sports shed, sulking — his collection of rare trading cards was incomplete, and the school bully had just won the last match.

Kashish, in her oversized school sweater and two loose braids, came running toward him, grinning from ear to ear.

“I got it!” she said breathlessly.

“What?” he looked up.

She pulled out a small plastic packet — the rare “Dragon Emblem” card he’d been looking for for months.

He stared in disbelief. “Where did you—?”

“I traded my entire sticker collection for it,” she said, proud. “You owe me big time.”

He jumped to his feet, hugged her tight — spontaneous and real.

“You’re the best, best friend in the whole world,” he said.

And she had laughed, bright and easy. “I know.”

Back to Present 

Kashish touched the mirror gently with her fingertips.

“I know you better than anyone ever will,” she whispered. “I know what you eat when you’re sad. I know the way your nose twitches before you lie. I know that you leave your socks in different corners when you’re thinking too much.”

Her voice broke.

“I’m not the perfect wife, Tanishk. Maybe I never was. But I was your best friend. And even friends ask… before they do something like this.”

She paused.

Her eyes were glassy now. Her voice barely audible.

“You could’ve asked me.”

She swallowed, staring at the mirror like it might answer back.

“You didn’t just humiliate yourself today. You humiliated me. In front of the same family I’ve kept stitched together with silence. With patience.”

A long breath.

“I know it was my mistake too. Marrying you. Refusing to ran away, on my father’s words.But still…” her voice dropped to a whisper, “you could’ve asked.”

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the mirror.

And for a long time, she stayed like that.

Not crying anymore.

Just… empty.

Time had slipped quietly through the cracks of her heartbreak.

The sunlight had shifted across the floor, the golden glow now replaced by softer tones of late afternoon. But Kashish hadn't moved.

She sat curled on the floor beside the bed — arms wrapped around her knees, hair falling loose, her eyes red from hours of silent crying.

Memories swirled around her like a storm she couldn’t step out of — her childhood laughter with Tanishk, the rooftop games, the way he used to lean on her in secret, when no one was watching. When they were just Kashish and Tanishk. No expectations. No titles. No marriage.

Just two kids who understood each other better than they understood themselves.

She buried her face into her arms again as fresh tears spilled. Her shoulders shook.

She didn’t cry loudly — she never had.

But today, the weight of everything finally pulled her down.

How did love between friends turn into this cold war?

How did a quiet girl who once believed in fate end up in a marriage where even betrayal didn’t come with a warning?

Minutes passed.

Maybe hours.

Until finally, her sobs slowed… and stopped.

Kashish wiped her face slowly with the corner of her dupatta, breathing deep. Her eyes were swollen, but there was something different in them now — not strength exactly, but restraint. Containment. The kind of composure only pain can teach.

She stood up slowly, walked to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and tied her hair back. She looked at herself in the mirror again — this time not to grieve, but to steel herself.

Just then—

Knock. Knock.

She turned toward the door.

A voice from the other side. It was the maid, polite but hesitant.

“Rani sa has asked you to come downstairs.”

Kashish blinked, eyes dry now.

Her voice was quiet, but clear. “I’m coming.”

A pause, then the footsteps retreated.

The silence returned.

Kashish stood in the middle of the room for a moment longer, staring at the closed door.

And then she whispered to herself — more promise than statement —

“No more tears.”

She adjusted her dupatta over her shoulder, took one long breath…

…and walked toward the door, head held just a little higher than before.

Sneak peek- Chapter 25

“Shree—are you okay?” he asked, leaning toward her.

But before she could nod, a glass of water slid across the table.

Shree and Tanishk both turned—