The darkness pressed close, heavy and unmoving, the only sound in the room the faint ticking of a clock that felt like it was counting down to something inevitable.
A soft knock broke through the fog in Ahaan's mind.
He didn't answer.
Then came her voice—muffled, but painfully familiar.
"Bhai… I know you're not asleep."
He exhaled, slow and tired, like the breath had to crawl its way out.
For a moment, he considered pretending. Staying quiet. Staying hidden. But that wasn't a choice he'd ever really had.
With a reluctant breath, he rose.
He smoothed the sleeves of his shirt—a useless motion, more instinct than intent—like slipping back into the skin of the man he was expected to be.
As if straightening fabric could somehow straighten the wreckage beneath it. As if performing normal could make it feel real.
The man with answers.
The man in control.
The man everyone needed him to be.
Even when he didn't recognize himself anymore.
Another knock.
Firmer. Less patient. More worried.
He opened the door.
Savi stood barefoot in the hallway. Dressed in a simple white kurti, the cotton clinging slightly to her skin from the humidity that refused to leave even at night. Her dark hair fell loose around her face, strands sticking to her temples. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, like she was physically holding herself together.
But it was her eyes—
Big, storm-wracked, red at the corners from tears not yet shed—
That hit him like a knife in the ribs.
Before he could say anything, she stepped past him, brushing his shoulder lightly. The touch was feather-soft—but it left behind a weight he couldn't carry.
She shut the door behind her. The click was gentle, but final—like she'd just locked the outside world away.
Then she turned to him.
"So," she said, her voice too light, too forced. The kind of lightness that always came just before someone broke."engaged and a father of twins... all in one day."
Ahaan gave a weak smile, the corners of his lips twitching upward before falling again. It looked like a smile, but it didn't reach anywhere near his eyes. "Apparently."
She took a slow step toward him, her bare feet soundless on the cold marble floor.
"That's a lot. Even for a Rajvanshi."
He tried to nod. It felt like moving a mountain.
"It just… happened."
She scoffed. A sound with no humor.
"No, Bhai. Things like that don't 'just happen.'"
A pause.
Then, softer. Less biting.
More wounded.
"Do you even know Aria di?"
Silence.
A pause stretched so long it didn't feel like silence anymore. It felt like an answer.
Ahaan swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper.
"…Of course I do."
Savi tilted her head slightly. Her brows furrowed, the way they always did when she sensed something wasn't right.
"That's strange," she said quietly. "Because until this morning… you didn't even recognize her name."
Her voice faltered, just a little.
"And now, suddenly she's the love of your life? The mother of your children?"
She laughed under her breath—sharp and hollow.
"Do you hear yourself?"
He flinched—barely. But she caught it.
She always caught it.
Savi stepped closer, her voice gentler now. Not accusing. Just broken.
"What's really going on, Bhai?"
He wanted to tell her.
God, how he wanted to.
But the truth was buried too deep. Wrapped in shadows. Bound in chains.
So he reached for the lie instead.
The rehearsed version. The safer version.
"What Aria and I had… it was private," he said, the words flat but careful. Like walking barefoot over broken glass.
"It ended months ago. I didn't know about the twins until today."
Her brow creased.
"And you just believed her?"
The disbelief in her voice wasn't harsh. Just sad.
"Just like that?"
"I saw the twins," he said softly, voice fraying.
"That was enough."
He paused. The next words burned on the way out.
"And the truth is… I never stopped—"
His voice cracked. He looked away.
"Never stopped what?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
He lowered his gaze.
"…Thinking about her."
Close enough to carry the lie.
Far enough from the truth to hurt.
The silence between them thickened. Pressed into the room like fog.
Then she spoke.
Quiet.
Clear.
Unflinching.
"You're lying."
No anger. No judgment.
Just the quiet devastation of someone who knew him too well to be fooled.
"Maybe not completely," she added. "Maybe not about the kids. But something's off. You're hiding something, Bhai."
He clenched his jaw, looking at the floor.
His shoulders were shaking—but not from rage.
From the unbearable weight of holding it all in.
Grief.
Guilt.
And something darker.
Older.
Inherited.
"I'm not hiding anything from you," he said, voice low and almost apologetic.
"I'm just… trying to figure it out myself."
Savi stepped even closer, until they were just breaths apart.
Her voice was trembling now. Fragile. Raw.
"Don't lie to me, Bhai. You're all I have left."
His head snapped up.
She swallowed hard. The composure she clung to all day begin to crack, unraveling thread by thread.
"After Maa died, everything changed."
Her arms fell to her sides, fists clenched.
"This house... this family... it's like walking through a mausoleum. Papa's always gone. Dadu barely remembers I exist. And Dadi..."
She shook her head. Her eyes burned but she refused to cry.
"She only speaks to remind me what I'm not doing right—how I dress, how I speak, who I'm supposed to marry, and when."
Her voice cracked.
"But you..."
Her hand moved right over her heart, curled into the fabric of her kurti, clutching hard.
"You're the only one who makes this house feel like something more than a cage of stones and rules. You're the only one who sees me, who makes me feel like I matter. Like I still belong somewhere."
Tears shimmered in her lashes—one blink away from falling.
"You're my brother. My only one."
Her voice broke again.
"And today—when you said those kids were yours, when you stood there like you'd lived a whole life I knew nothing about—I felt like I lost you too."
She stepped forward and took his hand—gripping it like a lifeline. Her fingers were cold. Shaking.
"I don't care if you're a father, or engaged, or hiding the entire damn world from me. I just… I can't lose you, Bhai."
Her tears fell now, hot and unstoppable.
"If you leave me too… I won't survive it."
Ahaan's breath caught like a sob that never quite left his chest.
He tightened his grip on her hand. His own fingers trembled.
Her words pierced deeper—painful in ways she couldn't even imagine.
Because she didn't know how close to the truth she already stood.
She didn't know about Rudra.
The brother who protected her more fiercely than Ahaan ever could.
The brother who had given up his life in the light just to keep hers from falling into darkness.
The brother who had stood behind pillars, watched her grow, fought for her safety, and vanished as if he never existed.
The uncle—Madhav— the man who had silently protected them from afar, fought battles they never knew existed.
The graves buried beneath their feet. The names never told.
The ghosts in their bloodline.
The guardians in the shadows.
The hands that held swords for her without her ever seeing the blood.
She didn't know their names— didn't even know they existed.
Because Ahaan hadn't told her.
Because Grandfather didn't care enough to let her know.
Because no one thought it mattered if she felt less alone.
Every year, on Raksha Bandhan, when she tied her rakhi around his wrist, believing she had only one brother—
He felt that thread cut deeper than any blade.
Because it belonged on two wrists.
One for him.
And one for Rudra.
Ahaan looked down at her now—his sister, his soul's last tether.
His eyes burned.
But he didn't cry.
He couldn't.
Instead, he reached out and cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that had slipped down.
His hand trembled.
"I'm still here, Savi," he said.
"I'm not going anywhere."
She searched his face with red-rimmed eyes, like she wanted to believe it—needed to.
"Promise?"
He nodded.
"I won't leave you."
She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder.
Her sobs were silent, but they shook her.
And he held her the only way he knew how—like she was made of glass, and his truth was a hammer.
"You always take care of everyone," she whispered against him. "If this is your truth... I'll stand by it. I just hope it's not something that'll destroy you."
Ahaan closed his eyes.
"You won't lose me."
Another lie.
One he hoped to make real, if only by living it.
Because if she ever learned the truth—
About Rudra.
About the shadows that guarded her.
About the weight of her last name—
She wouldn't just break.
She would shatter.
So he would carry the truth alone.
The guilt.
The silence.
The shadows no one saw.
Even if it drowned him.
Even if it killed him.
Just to keep her from ever needing to.