The rain hadn’t stopped.

It roared against the glass like it wanted to wash the world clean. The sky cracked open every few minutes, thunder rolling through the mansion’s ancient walls like a warning. But Tanishk didn’t flinch. He sat in his room, on the old leather chair near the window, the one Kasish used to tease him about—saying it made him look like an eighty-year-old zamindar.

He used to laugh.

Now, there was no laughter in this house. No voice humming through the corridors. No soft footsteps dancing across the marble floors in the early mornings.

And no Kasish.

When he came back, drenched and desperate, he asked the staff where she was.The staff looked at him being surprised as he never asked about her.

“Madam went out, sir,” the butler had said carefully, eyes lowered. “Said she had to meet someone. Might return tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

It felt like a lifetime away.

Tanishk leaned forward in the chair, elbows on knees, watching as the lightning lit up the garden—the same garden where they used to play with paper boats during monsoons. He remembered her shrieking laughter as she jumped into puddles barefoot, dragging him with her until he slipped and fell and got scolded by the head cook for ruining his white kurta.

He closed his eyes.

And it all came rushing back.

Her hand in his, small and warm, tugging him away from the gate when the neighbor’s dog barked. “It’s okay, Taniskh , I’m here,” she’d whisper, shielding him like a soldier at the front line.

He remembered hiding behind her during Diwali when the crackers went off too loudly. He remembered her carrying extra tissues because she knew he always sneezed after eating too much chocolate.

They were best friends.

No—more than that. They were soul twins. Two kids against the world.

And then…

Marriage.

A decision made in a cold boardroom of family honor and legacy. A business alliance disguised as tradition. No questions asked. No opinions taken.

Just a wedding card printed.

Three years. Three months. Twenty-seven days.

That’s how long he had punished her.

He stopped speaking after the wedding night. Not a word. Not even anger—just a wall. A cold, cement wall he built between them. She had knocked on it once. Twice. Then every day, gently. Softly. Like the rain tapping at the glass now.

But he never opened the door.

He remembered how she had quietly crossed out each day on her calendar during their fights in college, circling the third day with a little heart.

"Three days max, Taniskh. No more. Life’s too short to stay mad at you."

But this fight… this silence… had lasted 1,217 days.

And she stayed quiet through it all.

Not because she didn’t want to speak—but because he never gave her space to.

Tanishk ran a hand through his still-damp hair. His throat ached with the weight of unsaid things.

And he hated himself for it.

He hated how he once understood her pain without her saying a word—like when she got her first period and hid in the washroom for hours, ashamed and confused. He had knocked gently, asked one of the female staff to help her, and stood guard outside like a sentinel.

He remembered her whispering, “Thank you. No one noticed… but you did.”

He remembered how she once cried the night before their farewell because she didn’t know how to wear a saree. Her mother wasn’t around, .So he asked one of the older maids at her father’s house to help—and left a tiny note inside her farewell gift box: “You’ll look perfect. Don’t worry.”

She had smiled at him for the entire bus ride the next day.

And now… that smile was gone.

He looked out the window again. The thunder cracked once more, loud and final.

Was she gone, too?

No. She wasn’t.

She had stayed for three years without a word from him.

And now… it was his turn to wait.

Tanishk stood slowly, walked to her room, and paused at the door. It was locked. As always.

But something felt different tonight.

He leaned his forehead gently against the wood.

“I’m sorry, Kasish,” he whispered.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t grand. Just a sentence in the dark.

“I didn’t know how to be your husband. But I remember how to be your friend. And I want that back. Please…”

The hallway echoed with the silence that followed.

But for the first time, he had said the words.

Now, he could only hope that tomorrow would come.

And with it—Kasish.

The knock was soft.

Almost hesitant.

Tanishk stirred from his restless sleep, the memory of last night clinging to him like a second skin. The rain had stopped, but inside, he still felt soaked—with guilt, longing, regret.

He opened the door, eyes still heavy.

And there she was.

Shree.

Wearing a soft peach kurti, her hair tied loosely, strands framing her young face. Her hands clutched something close to her chest. A small bundle of fabric.

“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.”

Without waiting for a reply, she stepped inside, opening the cloth in her hands.

It was a plain white kurta, now blooming with hand-embroidered patterns in thread—delicate, thoughtful, precise. A swirling border of maroon and gold ran along the cuffs. At the chest, a tiny motif of a sun hidden behind clouds—just beginning to peek out.

Tanishk blinked, caught off guard.

“It’s… beautiful,” he said, slowly reaching out to touch the stitches. “You made this?”

Shree nodded. “Kasish di gave me the threads. All of them. She saw me stitching once and brought these back from the market. I thought…” she hesitated, eyes dropping for a second, “I thought I’d give something back. To the one man who ever stood by me, helped me… even when we never had any relationship.”

Tanishk looked at her then—really looked.

There was no trace of pretense in her voice. Just quiet gratitude.

His throat tightened.

“Shree…” he began, but she interrupted, her eyes scanning the room behind him. “Where is Kasish di? I was actually looking for her—I made something for her too.”

Tanishk swallowed and looked away. “She isn’t home”

Shree nodded slowly. “I’ll go wait then..”

She turned to leave.

But his hand moved before his mind did.

He caught her wrist.

“Why do you keep running around like this?” he asked, voice low, unsure of his own words. “Always full of energy, bouncing from room to room…”

Shree gasped at the sudden pull and stumbled slightly. Her hands landed on his chest for balance.

Their eyes locked.

Her breath hitched.

“It’s just—” she said softly, trying to compose herself, “I’m… excited. That’s all. Now leave me.”

He did.

Slowly. Letting her wrist go like it burned.

Shree stepped back, fixing the dupatta around her neck with trembling fingers. She didn’t know why her heartbeat was racing. Maybe it was the suddenness of the moment. Or maybe… it was the way he had looked at her—like he was seeing her differently for the first time.

Tanishk turned away, pretending to fix the folded sleeve of the kurta.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

And under that silence… a new current had begun to flow. Something soft. Something unfamiliar.

But neither of them named it.

Not yet.

Because this was still a game.

A game where Shree was pretending to be his wife—for the sake of revenge.

And Tanishk?

He was pretending this didn’t feel like something else entirely.

The heavy iron gates of Chandravanshi Mansion creaked open as Kasish stepped through them. The early morning sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the marbled pathway.

She stopped at the threshold.

Breathed in.

And exhaled.

This wasn’t fear. Not anymore.
This was clarity.
This was the breath of someone who had just learned how to let go.

In her hand, she held a key. Not to this mansion. To another door—her door.

She walked through the echoing corridor into the grand living room, her footsteps as steady as her resolve.

The mansion was too quiet for this hour.

She turned to one of the maids standing nearby and said, calmly:

“Please call everyone to the living room. I need to say something.”

The maid nodded, wide-eyed, and quickly went upstairs.

Minutes later, they began to gather, one by one.

Angad Chandravanshi came down first, adjusting his cufflinks, his expression unreadable.

Malini, her mother-in-law, followed close behind, looking worried.
Tarini, ever composed, leaned against the pillar with arms crossed.

Then came Tanishk—moving slowly. Still in his grey t-shirt and sweatpants, hair slightly tousled from sleep, eyes guarded but alert.
And. Shree too, silent and curious.

They all looked at her.

But Kasish didn’t flinch.

It was Malini who spoke first, voice tinged with concern.

“Kasish beta… where were you last night? I kept calling you, but you didn’t answer. We were worried—”

Kasish gave a faint smile, but her eyes were sharp with purpose.

“I went to finish something important,” she said quietly. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

A ripple of tension ran through the room.

Tarini straightened slightly.
Tanishk’s jaw tensed.
Shree looked between them all, sensing the storm brewing under the calm.

The silence in the Chandravanshi living room hung like a painting—elegant, still, but full of stories no one ever spoke aloud.

Kasish slowly opened her bag. Her fingers were steady. Not trembling. Not hesitant.

She pulled out a thin brown envelope—neatly sealed, professionally labeled.

And handed it to Tanishk.

The room stiffened.

Tanishk looked at the envelope in her hand as if it were a ghost.
His lips parted, but no words came.

Kasish spoke, soft and direct.

“Divorce papers.”

A silence so loud it rang in everyone’s ears.

“I signed them already,” she said, her voice calm but not cold. “They just need your signature now.”

Tanishk looked at her—eyes wide, disbelieving.

But she didn’t pause. She wasn’t waiting for approval.

“You remember, right?” she said, her tone gentler now. “The night before the wedding... we planned to run away.”

His throat tightened.

“You and i decided that I’d sneak through the kitchen. We thought if we made enough chaos, the wedding would be called off.”

A faint, bitter smile flickered at her lips.

“But that night, something happened. I couldn’t leave. And neither could you.”

She met his eyes fully now.

“And we got bound into something we never wanted. Something that was never meant for us. Not love. Not choice. Just... tradition and pressure and guilt.”

Her voice cracked slightly, but her eyes didn’t.

“I’m not angry anymore, Tanishk. But I am correcting that mistake.”

She extended the envelope toward him.

“This marriage was never ours. Let’s stop pretending it was.”

Without speaking, without blinking, Tanishk took the envelope.

His hand hovered over the table for a second. Then, in one smooth motion, he signed.

No hesitation.
No resistance.
Just blankness.

Kasish watched him silently.

Then… she took the envelope back, carefully folded it, and clutched it to her chest.

And turned—to face the family.

She walked slowly to Angad Chandravanshi, her father-in-law. The man who had always treated her with polite warmth, never cruelty, but never full honesty either.

Her voice was soft now. Intimate.

“Baba sa… you always treated me like your daughter.”

Angad looked at her, caught between pride and regret.

“But you did something wrong the day you made me your daughter-in-law.”

His jaw clenched slightly. But he didn’t deny it.

“You saw how well I could adapt, how quietly I could stay, how ‘respectfully’ I endured. But you never saw how silently I disappeared.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

Then she walked over to Malini, her mother-in-law.

Kasish looked at the woman’s tired eyes, her aging grace, and gave a small smile.

“You were strict outside and soft inside . Always. But you were the one who let me call you Maa sa.”

Malini’s eyes welled up instantly.

“I never had the privilege to call anyone that before. You gave me that.”

Malini reached out and held her hand.

Tightly.

Kasish’s own eyes shone. She wiped a single tear and nodded, gently letting go.

Then, her gaze landed on Tarini.

She walked up slowly.

“Di,” she said quietly. “You were like a sibling to me. Sharp. Distant. But familiar.”

Tarini didn’t respond. Her jaw tightened.

“But I want to say something,” Kasish continued. “Tanishk… never saw you as a rival. Never once.”

Tarini blinked, startled—but didn’t show it.

“He admired you. Respected you. Loved you. You were everything to him. But somewhere along the line, you started treating him like competition.”

Kasish stepped just a bit closer.

“Please, Di… try to give him the love he deserves. Not as a man. Not as a CEO. But as your little brother.”

Her words were not accusing.
They were protecting.

Tanishk took a step back. As if the gravity of it all was just now hitting him.

The same woman he had once labeled as betrayal… was now defending him.
In front of the sister he had always longed for.

His breath caught. His eyes dropped.
He wasn’t angry.
He was… ashamed.

Tarini didn’t speak. She stared at Kasish, unreadable.

Then slowly, she turned her face away.

Kasish didn’t wait for validation.

She stepped back, collected herself, and turned toward the door.

She was done.

Done explaining.

Done justifying.

Done staying in a story she no longer believed in.

But just as she reached the hallway, Shree called out softly from the stairs.

“Kasish di… where will you go?”

Kasish looked back.

With a serene smile, she replied:

“Home.”

And then she walked away.

Not as a wife.
Not as a daughter-in-law.
Not as a woman waiting to be chosen.

But as someone who finally chose herself.

Sneak peek- Chapter 37

Her eyes widened in shock. "S-Sir? What are you doing?"

Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest.

Without saying a word, Rajveer reached behind him and pulled out a yellow rose, holding it out to her with a half-smile.

“I need a favor,” he said softly. “And I won’t get up until you say yes.”