The midday sun filtered through the tall glass windows, casting a golden glow over the tastefully set table where the foreign investors now sat, finishing the last bites of their meal.

In the kitchen, the tension that had hung in the air all morning had begun to lift. The plates had returned empty, the servers wore subtle smiles, and even the head chef gave Kasish an approving nod.

Then came a surprise.

One of the senior waitstaff pushed through the swinging doors, eyes wide.
“Kasish,” he whispered, slightly breathless. “One of the clients is asking for the chef. Specifically, the one who made the main course.”

Kasish froze for a moment, fingers still resting on the edge of the prep counter. Her apron was slightly stained with sauce, her hair tucked back in a neat knot.

“Me?” she asked, just to be sure.

The waiter nodded. “Yes. He insists.”

A moment later, Kasish stepped into the dining area, her palms slightly damp. A tall man in his late fifties, dressed in an elegant navy suit, stood waiting near the table. His eyes lit up the moment he saw her.

“You,” he said with a warm, accented voice, approaching with outstretched hands. “You made the Melanzane alla Parmigiana, yes?”

Kasish gave a polite nod. “Yes, sir. I did.”

He smiled broadly, emotion tightening his eyes. “It tasted exactly like the one I grew up eating in Modena. The layers, the herbs, even the olive oil—you made it just like home.” He placed a hand gently over his heart. “I haven’t tasted that in years.”

For a beat, Kasish didn’t know what to say. Her lips parted, but no words came. Then, quietly, she found her voice.

“I visited Modena once,” she said, eyes brightening. “A few years ago. I still remember the tiny family-run trattoria just off the piazza. I watched the nonna layer the eggplant with such care… The way it tasted—it made me speechless. I never forgot it.”

The man’s face softened even further. “You brought that memory back. That takes more than skill—it takes soul.”

Kasish lowered her eyes, humbled. 

“Thank you, sir. That means more than you know.”

With a final appreciative nod, the client returned to his group, but not before saying, “Tell your CEO—he’s got a gem in his kitchen.”

As Kasish turned to head back behind the swinging doors, her heart beat a little faster—not from nerves, but from something else entirely.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t just following a recipe.

She was being remember.

The afternoon light streamed faintly through the corridors of the Chandravanshi mansion, casting quiet shadows across the walls. Most of the house was hushed—just the soft ticking of clocks and distant sounds from the garden.

Shree hadn't left her room all day.

She sat curled up by the window, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the pale sky. Her sketchbook lay unopened beside her. The silence in her room wasn't peaceful—it was heavy. But she preferred it now. It was better than words that hurt.

A soft knock broke her stillness.

She hesitated, then slowly got up and opened the door.

Kasish stood there, a small bag in her hand, her expression calm, kind.

“Hi,” Kasish said gently. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Shree blinked, surprised. “No… not at all. Please, come in.”

Kasish stepped inside and handed over the bag. “I was at the market yesterday, and I saw these. Thought of you.”

Shree opened the bag cautiously—and then her eyes lit up.

Inside were beautifully dyed fabrics in soft, cheerful shades—peach, lavender, sky blue—and bundles of colorful threads in every hue imaginable. Reds, golds, silvers, and deep emerald greens, neatly tied with thin ribbons.

Her breath caught.

“H-How” Shree whispered, her fingers brushing over the embroidery threads.

Kasish smiled. “Of course. You always stitch. I remember how you make a design on the clothes. I liked it .You have potential and passion for it. Shree, you can make something big.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then, Shree looked up, her eyes glossy with quiet gratitude. 

“Thank you. Really. No one’s… done something like this ever-”

Kasish touched her shoulder lightly. 

“Shree, stop being reserved and try climbing what you want. I will be beside you. ”

And for the first time in weeks, Shree smiled—a real one. Not wide. Not loud. But warm, like a tiny flower peeking out after a long rain.

“Thank you Kasish ji.”

“Wait stop calling me ji…how old are you?”

“19.”

Shree whispered.

“You can call me di, Kasish di.”

Kasish spoke. She looked happy now. Shree saw how Kasish's face was glowing. Is working, being independent gave us this much freedom..!

Shree thought of seeing Kasish. When she saw Kasish for the first, she only looked beautiful but now Kasish's eyes held something., which is peace. 

“Kasish di.”Shree called, Kaish smiled .

“That’s good. Bye I have some work to do.”

Kasish said and walked away.

Another day , The late afternoon sun filtered through a hazy sky, painting the city streets in muted gold. The hum of traffic rose and fell like a lazy wave, and on the side of a quieter road near the old market turn, a silver car sat idly, its hazard lights blinking faintly.

Kasish stood beside it, arms folded, staring down at her phone. The driver had gone to find help, but she doubted he'd be back soon. The engine had sputtered once—then died completely. Now, the sun was dipping lower, the breeze getting cooler, and the road around her steadily emptier.

She didn’t like standing still. Especially not in the open.

Then came the low growl of an engine—not loud, but distinct. A moment later, a sleek black motorbike slowed near the curb. The rider pulled off his helmet, ruffling his windblown hair with one hand.

Rajveer.

He spotted her before she could even look away.

Kasish immediately turned her gaze down the road, pretending to check her phone again. She stiffened, hoping—absurdly—that he’d just ride past.

He didn’t.

Rajveer swung his leg off the bike, planted his boots casually on the pavement, and walked up, a small, easy smile tugging at his lips.

“Well,” he said lightly, “looks like your car’s not a fan of rush hour either.”

Kasish didn’t return the smile. She straightened, calm but distant. “Just a minor issue. The driver went to get someone.”

Rajveer nodded, glancing once at the blinking car, then back at her. “Need a ride? I’ve got space.” 

He tilted his head toward the bike with a lopsided grin. “It’s not a Bentley, but I promise it moves.”

“No, thank you,” she said politely, her voice clipped but not rude. “I’ll manage.”

Rajveer didn’t press. He simply leaned back against his bike, resting one foot on the footrest, pulling out his phone. He didn’t leave.

He stood there, scrolling idly, not looking at her. Just… staying.

Kasish glanced sideways, confused. “You don’t need to wait.”

“Not waiting,” Rajveer said casually, still not looking up. “Just enjoying the breeze.”

But she knew.

He was waiting. Quietly. Without pushing. Without asking.

She didn’t say anything more—but her shoulders relaxed slightly. She didn’t feel so exposed anymore.

A few minutes passed. Then, from down the road, her driver appeared, panting and waving, a mechanic in tow.

Kasish exhaled a soft breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She turned toward Rajveer.

“Thank you… for staying,” she said quietly.

Rajveer looked up, smile gentle now. “Anytime, Chef.”

Then, as the mechanic got to work and her driver fussed around the car, Rajveer pushed off the bike, revved the engine, and rode away into the lengthening light—without looking back.

But the corners of Kasish’s mouth lifted, just a little.

She didn't know why.

But it felt like someone had stood beside her—for once—not to save her, but just so she didn’t have to stand alone.

On Way,

Her phone buzzed .

Unknown Number.

She hesitated—then picked up.

“Hello?”

A warm voice came through, crackling slightly.

Kasish blinked. “Reva?”

“The one and only,” the woman laughed. “Though now people call me Advocate Reva Sharma, thank you very much.”

A surprised smile crossed Kasish’s face. “It’s been years… How are you?”

“Busy being a boring grown-up,” Reva teased. “But I’ve missed you. So, when your message came in, I dropped everything.”

Kasish took a breath, quiet but purposeful. “Were you able to draft the documents?”

Reva’s voice turned serious.
“Yes. The divorce papers are ready. I had them printed and sealed this morning. You can collect them anytime.”

Kasish closed her eyes for a moment.
So it begins.

“And after we sign them?” she asked softly.

“Once both signatures are there—yours and Tanishk’s—we can file the petition with the court,” Reva explained. “It’ll take some time from there, but this is the first and most important step.”

Kasish was silent for a beat. Her fingers gently tapped against the edge of the shelf. A part of her wanted to feel nervous, scared even. But she didn’t.

She felt… certain.

“Thank you,” she said, voice steady. “I’ll come pick them up tomorrow.”

Reva added gently, “Are you sure you’re ready, Kasish?”

Kasish looked out the kitchen window, watching a butterfly flit past the garden herbs, its wings bright against the green.

“I’ve been ready for a long time. I was just waiting for the courage to show up.”

There was a pause. Then Reva’s voice smiled.

“Well, looks like courage finally caught up with you.”

Kasish smiled faintly. “Maybe it did.”

The atmosphere inside the Chandravanshi Industries boardroom was suffocating. The long oval table, usually a place of sharp strategies and confident decisions, was now shrouded in tense silence. The senior board members sat stiffly in their seats, papers untouched, coffee cups cooling. Not a single soul looked relaxed.

At the head of the table sat Tanishk Chandravanshi, the current CEO, his jaw clenched, eyes scanning the room. But what stared back at him wasn’t respect—it was silent rebellion.

Mr. Angad Chandravanshi, his father and the chairman of the board, sat with a stony expression—one that had once been full of pride for his son but now showed only restrained disappointment.

To Tanishk’s right, his elder sister Tarini sat poised, her expression unreadable, but her sharp eyes gave nothing away. Only the faintest flicker at the corner of her lips hinted at something deeper.

Finally, it was Mr. Saxena—

“I believe it’s time we reconsider the company’s leadership,” he said, voice calm but firm. “The market numbers don’t lie. Our shares are declining, our vision is lost, and there’s growing concern among our investors.”

Tanishk leaned forward slightly, tension bristling under his skin. “Say what you mean, Saxena.”

Mr. Saxena didn’t flinch. “What I mean, Mr. CEO, is that the company needs new leadership. Someone who has clarity, commitment, and a long-term vision—not just pride and impulsiveness.”

He paused deliberately, then added, “I propose Tarini Chandravanshi as the next CEO.”

Murmurs erupted around the table. A few heads turned toward Tarini; others exchanged looks, surprised but not entirely shocked.

Saxena went on, “She has worked tirelessly in the background for years. No shortcuts, no special treatment. Her numbers, her projects, her strategies—they speak louder than any surname ever could. Frankly, the only reason she wasn’t made CEO in the first place... is because she’s a woman.”

Angad’s brows furrowed.

Saxena continued, undeterred. “But look where that decision has brought us. The company is crumbling under a man’s ego while a capable leader has been overlooked. This isn’t about gender anymore—it’s about survival.”

One of the board members, Mr. Kapoor, nodded in agreement. “Tarini has seniority, experience, and the loyalty of half this room. Maybe it’s time we stop ignoring the obvious.”

Another member added, “She should’ve been CEO from the beginning.”

Tarini remained silent, her fingers laced neatly on the table. But her eyes gleamed with silent triumph.

Tanishk’s face turned pale. A flush of anger and humiliation climbed up his neck. Then—he slammed his palm against the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the stunned room.

“So that’s it?” he spat, rising from his chair. “Years of work, dedication, sacrifices—wiped out just like that? One rough quarter, and suddenly I’m the villain? You all forget what I did to build this?”

He looked directly at his father.

“You made me CEO, Baba. You trusted me. And now you sit there and say nothing?”

Angad opened his mouth, but nothing came. Just silence.

Tanishk let out a bitter laugh. “Fine. You want Di to take over? Then make her.”

He grabbed a pen, pulled a sheet from the meeting folder, and scribbled down his resignation in bold, messy strokes. His hands trembled—but not from weakness. From grief. From anger. From the sharp taste of betrayal.

“I resign,” he said, voice lower now. Almost tired. “Let Di handle the company. Maybe she’ll do better. She always did, didn’t she?”

His eyes flicked back to his sister.

“She topped in school. Got better grades in college. Had more vision. More… everything. Maybe that’s what the company needs now—someone who’s not falling apart.”

Angad stood quickly. “Tanishk, don’t—”

But Tanishk shook his head, cutting him off. “No, Baba sa. I can’t even handle myself anymore. How will I handle this empire?”

He placed the signed resignation in front of the board. For a second, no one moved.

Then, without looking back, he turned and walked out—his shoulders hunched, his steps heavy. The once-proud CEO of Chandravanshi Industries… now leaving as if he owned nothing at all.

Behind him, the room stayed still.

And Tarini?

She allowed herself the smallest smile.

Victory had never tasted so quiet.

Tanishk walked out of the boardroom like a ghost—his once-confident stride replaced by the heavy shuffle of a man whose world had just cracked open. His resignation letter still burned in his mind like ash from a bridge he’d just set fire to.

As he moved through the glass corridors of the office floor, an employee accidentally bumped into him near the lift lobby. A young intern—wide-eyed, nervous, clutching a file close to his chest.

“S-sorry, sir,” the intern stammered, stepping back quickly, bracing for an outburst.

But Tanishk said nothing.

He didn’t even look at the boy.

He just kept walking.

When he stepped out of the building’s main lobby, the world outside greeted him with a torrential downpour. Rain thrashed against the glass doors, soaking the marble steps beyond.

He didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight into it.

The guards at the entrance scrambled. One of them rushed after him, quickly pulling out an umbrella.

“Sir! Please, you’ll catch a cold—”

But Tanishk raised a hand, stopping him mid-step. Without a word, he pushed the umbrella away, the gesture quiet but sharp.

“Don’t follow me,” he said flatly. “Just… don’t.”

The guard stood frozen as Tanishk stepped into the storm, the rain instantly drenching him from head to toe. But he didn’t care. He didn't even flinch.

He kept walking.

Through the parking lot. Past the company gate. Onto the street.

No car. No destination.

Just the sound of the rain and his own breath.

After a few minutes, he found himself on a deserted road, quiet except for the occasional drip of water from the trees. The streetlights flickered above him, casting uneven shadows on the pavement.

And then, without warning, he dropped down.

Right there.

On the edge of the road, like a man who had lost not just his position, but his purpose.

His elbows rested on his knees, his soaked hair clung to his forehead. For a long moment, he didn’t move.

Then, slowly, memories began to creep in—uninvited and unstoppable.

He remembered being a child again. Running through the garden, hands outstretched, calling for his sister.

Tarini Di. Always strong. Always distant.

She used to taunt him, laugh bitterly and say,
"Of course they love you more, Tanishk. You're the son. The heir. The prince."

At that time, he never understood.

He was just a boy who loved his sister.

He thought she was joking.

Now, sitting on this empty street in the middle of the rain, it hit him.

She wasn’t joking.

Every year she skipped Rakhi, claiming she had a meeting, she was busy on pretending to be busy.
He waited.
He called.
She never showed.

And he kept telling himself—she was just busy. She'd call back. She’d come next time.

But now… in that boardroom… he saw something in her eyes that chilled him.

She had smiled.
Not politely. Not awkwardly.

A real smile. The kind he hadn’t seen in years.
She smiled while watching him break.

Tanishk swallowed hard, his throat burning with a hundred unsaid words.
All these years, he had seen her like a second mother.
He loved her, trusted her—more than anyone.

But maybe… maybe the company, the legacy, the crown—had blinded them both.

Maybe she had been hurting for far longer than he ever realized.

And maybe… he wasn’t the only one who fell today.

The rain kept falling, merciless and cold.

But Tanishk didn’t move.

Because sometimes, before you can stand again—you have to sit with your sorrow.

And in that moment, all he had was rain, memory, and silence.

The rain had soaked through every inch of his clothes. His shirt clung to his chest, heavy with water—like his heart. The world around him had blurred into a soft, wet haze, but his mind? It was clearer than it had been in years.

His eyes fluttered closed.

And then—he remembered her.

Kasish.

A flash of her laughter echoed in his ears. Not the quiet, forced smiles she gave now—but the real kind, from years ago, when life was simpler, purer.

They used to play hide and seek in the mansion’s gardens. She always cheated, peeking through her fingers and pretending she didn’t. He used to catch her, but never called her out. He liked seeing her laugh too much.

They had been inseparable. Best friends. Secret-sharers. She knew things about him no one else did—his fears, his dreams, the pain of always being “the son of Angad Chandravanshi.”

And he knew hers. Her love for the stars. Her silly crushes. Her stubbornness when she cried.

He ruined it.

He had destroyed the most sacred bond in his life.

He had stopped talking to her. Shut her out. Thrown cruel words at her like stones.

All because…

Because he blamed her.

For marrying him.

For becoming a part of the storm he was drowning in.

But now, under this merciless rain, he saw the truth.

He never asked her why she agreed to the marriage.

He never gave her a chance to speak. He just assumed—just like everyone always assumed things about Tarini, about him, about everyone.

And now?

They lived in the same mansion, shared the same space… but they were two strangers. Passing each other like ghosts in a house that once felt like home.

The calls that used to last for hours?

Gone.

The late-night laughs?

Gone.

The silly arguments over who ate the last chocolate?

All of it—gone.

All that remained was silence.

And him.

Broken, in the rain.

But one thing still pulsed inside him like a lifeline:

If there’s anything in this world that was ever pure… it was his friendship with her.

It may be buried. It may be ruined.
But it was real.

And maybe, just maybe—it wasn't too late to ask her.
Not accuse.
Not shout.

Just… ask.

"Why did you do it, Kasish?"
"Why did you marry me?"

And maybe she’d look at him with the same cold eyes she gives now. Maybe she’d walk away without answering.

But he needed to try.

Because if he didn’t… he’d lose the one person who once knew him better than he knew himself.

Tanishk opened his eyes slowly, the rain still pouring.

But for the first time in days… he had a direction.

He stood up from the pavement, legs shaky, eyes red—but this time, not from defeat.

He wasn’t walking away anymore.

He was going back.

To ask.

To listen.

To face the truth he was too afraid to hear.

Sneak peek- Chapter 36

“Shree?” Tanishk’s brows pulled together. “What are you doing here this late?”

Shree bit her lip, then smiled—genuinely, almost nervously. “I… wanted to show you something.”