The door clicked shut behind Manik— soft, deliberate and final. Like a match blown out before it could catch flame.
And with that, silence returned.
Not the comforting kind, but the sort that creeps in through the floorboards and settles into every corner of the room. A silence that fills your ears until even your own heartbeat sounds like an accusation.
Only two sounds remained now—the gentle, steady rhythm of two sleeping lungs, and the antique clock's ticking: a quiet reminder that time moved forward, uncaring of the ache it left behind.
Aria didn't move right away. She stood motionless, as if carved from glass, her breath cool against the still air.
Then, slowly, she turned and walked to the bed.
The lamplight bathed the room in soft gold and deep shadow, folding everything in warmth that couldn't quite reach her bones.
She sat down carefully at the edge of the mattress, one leg was tucked beneath her, the other dangling, toes grazing the polished floor as if uncertain whether to stand or stay.
The twins lay between the pillows—fragile islands of peace in a sea of unspoken truths. Dev's fingers had curled into a fist, resting near his cheek. Navya's lips parted slightly, a quiet sigh escaping her every now and then.
They were safe—for now.
They were innocent.
And unknowingly hers.
She stared down at them—not as a mother, not even as a guardian—but as a woman drowning in grief no one could see.
Her fingers moved instinctively, gently brushing Navya's curls. The baby stirred but didn't wake. Dev's tiny foot had slipped from beneath the blanket. Aria tucked it back in gently, smoothing the fabric with a care that felt like a prayer.
They didn't wake.
They didn't know.
They would grow up reaching for her hands. One day, they would call her Maa.
And she—
She would lie with a smile.
They were the only thing that gave her heart something to hold on to. And the very reason it was tearing itself apart.
Her chest ached—not the sharp sting of a fresh wound, but the slow, suffocating pain of something that had been growing inside her for too long. A sorrow that had rooted itself into her lungs, blooming rotten in silence and growing heavier with every breath.
She let her head fall forward, fingers gripping the blanket near Dev's feet like a lifeline.
Her whisper was low.
"Why, Rooh?"
The name barely made it past her lips. It felt too heavy to say aloud.
She tilted her head back, eyes toward the ceiling, voice trembling as it spilled into the stillness.
"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you face it all alone? Had we grown so apart that—"
Her throat burned with all the questions she never dared ask.
"If you knew who he was—if you knew what the Rajvanshis were capable of. If you truly knew what kind of danger surrounded them—then why did you walked straight into it?"
She shook her head, stunned by the recklessness in her best friend's choices.
"You should have run, Rooh. You should have hidden. But instead... you fell in love."
A pause. Then the name fell from her lips like betrayal itself.
"With Ahaan Rajvanshi."
And just like that, the sorrow inside her shifted. It hardened. What had once been grief twisted into something colder, sharper.
She looked at the twins again—at his mouth, his eyes, sleeping on faces that knew nothing of the storm they were born into.
"How could you fall for someone like him?" she asked the night, voice low and trembling with disbelief. "You were soft-hearted—yes—but you weren't blind, Rooh."
Her voice cracked like ice.
"What did he say to win your trust? What did he promise? What version of himself did he show you?"
Aria stood abruptly, stepping away from the bed like her thoughts were claws.
She moved to the window. Her features sharpened in the moonlight—eyes too tired for their age, lips pressed into a thin line, a jaw set with restraint she was barely holding on to.
"He must have lied," she said bitterly. "Spun words into silk. Made you believe in forever."
Her fists clenched at her sides.
"And once he got what he wanted…" Her voice dropped to a whisper edged in steel. "He vanished. Leaving you alone to rot in silence and wither away in his wait."
The room seemed to recoil from her words. Even the shadows grew still.
The cool wind flew in through the window, but it wasn't what chilled her.
"I watched him today," she whispered. "I saw the way he looked at me—calm and controlled."
She frowned, her mind racing faster now, piecing moments together like clues on a board.
"And when I showed the twins… he accepted them. Without hesitation. No denial. Just... acceptance."
She turned, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"No man does that—not unless he's either certain of the truth… or prepared for the lie."
She stepped back toward the center of the room, her thoughts no longer just painful—they were strategic.
"He looked at Dev and accepted my every claim. As if those children already belonged to him."
She stopped. Her spine straightened.
"But if he remembers," she whispered, "why didn't he ask about you, Rooh? Not a single question. Not even a mention of your name."
Silence held its breath.
"Unless..."
Her voice faltered.
"Unless he never left you by choice."
The realization settled over her like a shroud.
She took a breath—a steadying one.
And her gaze changed.
It turned sharp. Analytical.
"But if someone kept him away from you," she murmured, "then why did he accept your children so quietly now? Why doesn't he ask what happened to you, or how they ended up with me instead?"
She crossed her arms, stepping back into the skin of the woman she used to be—the one who dealt in patterns, lies, and truths hidden in plain sight.
"Ahaan Rajvanshi doesn't act like a man in control. He acts like a man who's being controlled."
She remembered the words his grandfather had spoken to her father earlier that night.
'After the wedding, you won't see much of her again.'
At the time, she'd dismissed it—just another attempt at dominance, just another threat from a patriarch drunk on legacy.
But now she remembered the flicker in Ahaan's eyes when those words were said.
Not obedience.
Not defiance.
Something else.
Something like guilt... or resistance.
A Silent Vow.
She exhaled. Her heart was still breaking. But her mind was finally wide awake.
"Is he protecting something... or someone?" she wondered aloud. "Is he just another pawn or a player who forgot how to fight?"
She returned to the bed—but didn't sit. She stood over the twins, the weight of them crashing back into her.
"You gave birth to something pure, Rooh," she whispered. "And now they're trapped in a family built on poison and power."
Her voice turned solemn.
"You won't be erased, Rooh. Not by him. Not by anyone else. I won't let them."
It was a vow now. A whispered oath stitched in steel.
"I promise—I'll find you no matter where you are. I'll bring you back to your children. You'll have everything you deserve. But not beside him. That place is gone."
She reached out, letting her hand hover over Navya's blanket. Just the faintest brush of her fingers—like she was afraid of loving them too much.
"You made a mistake—trusted the wrong man. But I'll correct it—because you still had faith in me. Because you told Vidya to find me and made me their shield."
She blinked back tears, swallowing the tremble in her voice. She closed her eyes, steadying herself.
"So I'll be that. I'll do right by you, even if it means lying to everyone. Even if it means setting the whole truth in fire."
Finally, she sat down again—just at the edge of the bed. Her shadow stretched across the twins, not as a threat, but as a silent promise.
"Someday," she whispered, "I'll fix everything. They'll call you Maa, the way they were meant to.
They'll know who loved them first… and the most."
Aria Maheshwari would mourn her best friend.
She would raise Ruhani's children like they were her own.
And she would watch Ahaan Rajvanshi with eyes that missed nothing.
Not as a friend.
Not as a lover.
But as the woman who knew there was something more.
Because buried in the quiet control of Ahaan's every move...
...was the key to the truth.
And Aria Maheshwari would find it.