Aryaman paced the hall, glancing again and again at Nakshatra's door.No sound, no movement.The door was shut, the curtains drawn.The silence only irritated him more.
Behind him a voice called,"And why is my young prince up so early? It's Sunday—didn't you finish your sleep?"
Aryaman turned."Dadu…"
"What's wrong, son?"Grandfather sat him down.
Aryaman poured out everything that had happened the day before—how Nakshatra had been locked in the bathroom, how he'd searched for her, what he'd seen outside, and how strangely she'd acted afterward.
Dadu listened without a flicker of emotion. Then, smiling faintly, he said,"So why are you worried? She's just a servant. Does a master ever fret over a maid?"
Aryaman was silent for a moment, then murmured,"But she lives with us, Dadu…"
"So what? A servant's still a servant. No need to concern yourself."The coldness in Dadu's voice was unmistakable.
Aryaman exhaled."Hmm… you're right, Dadu. Why should I worry?"
He rose."I'm going out."
"Go, enjoy yourself."Dadu smiled.
Yet the moment Aryaman left, Dadu's gaze drifted to Nakshatra's room.
A little later, Nakshatra stepped out.Dadu's hard stare met hers. She straightened at once."Good morning, Dadu."
His reply was sharp, detached:"I'm not your Dadu, girl. Call me Mr Rana."
"Good morning, Mr Rana."Nakshatra's voice was icy calm. She turned to go, but Dadu seized her arm.
His grip was iron; Nakshatra winced.
"How many times have I told you to stay away from my grandson? Always finding excuses to get close—little wild thing. Heaven knows where my son picked you up…"
Nakshatra answered nothing.After a stream of abuse, Dadu jerked his hand free and walked off, wiping his fingers with a handkerchief.
Govardhan hurried over."Bitiyā…"
Nakshatra rubbed her arm as though nothing had happened."Is breakfast ready, Bhaiya?"
"Yes… I'll serve it."
She ate silently.When she finished, Govardhan set a box before her."Master sent this for you."
"What is it?"She showed no curiosity.
"I don't know."Govardhan bowed.
Nakshatra washed her hands, opened the box.Inside lay a brand‑new laptop.
Her eyes lit up.A week earlier Aryaman had smashed her old laptop in a rage—and she hadn't complained—yet Siddharth had still sent her a replacement.
She went to her room and called him."Hello, Uncle."
"Hello, dear. How are you?"His voice was, as always, warm and soothing.
"I'm fine…" she smiled.
"How's the laptop?"
"It's awesome, Uncle. Thank you so much!"
"You're welcome… Where's Arya?"
"I think he's out, Uncle."
"Okay. What are you doing now?"
"Nothing yet… planning to watch a movie."
"Nice. Enjoy. Need anything? Shimla has good stuff…"
"No, Uncle."
"Fine, I'll bring something I like. Enjoy your film."
"Okay. Bye."
Nakshatra ended the call and queued up a movie.
When Aryaman came home, he paused at her open door—then Dadu's words echoed: "She's only a servant… why care?"His face emptied; he turned and walked to his own room.
Two Weeks Later
Siddharth returned to the cottage laden with gifts.
Aryaman's face glowed as he opened each box."Wow, Dad! This jacket is perfect… and these shoes…"
Nakshatra sat nearby, smiling quietly, unwrapping her presents—a special camera, a set of books, a beautiful sweater.
Dadu sat to one side, face tilted, eyes full of contempt.
As soon as Siddharth entered his room to change, Dadu followed.
"Siddharth, when are you throwing that girl out of this house?"
Siddharth sighed, exhaustion in his voice."Dad, please—not now. I'm tired, and you won't even let me breathe."
"And what about my breathing, Siddharth? I'll never know peace while she's here."
Siddharth's face hardened."Not 'that girl'. Her name is Nakshatra. And she's staying—here, in my home."
"Siddharth!" Dadu roared.
Siddharth cut him off, voice cold."Your flight to Delhi is next week. The ticket is booked."Without another word he took his clothes and walked into the bathroom.
Dadu stood stunned.He muttered,"You'd throw your father out… for that girl?"
Only the sound of running water answered.
Fuming, Dadu stormed out.In the corridor he collided with Nakshatra, gifts in her arms.Everything scattered to the floor.
Nakshatra knelt to gather them—Crack!
A vicious slap landed on her cheek, blooming red.
Dadu glared with loathing."Bad luck incarnate…"He stalked away.
Nakshatra silently picked up her things and slipped to her room, no complaint in her eyes—only a deep stillness.
The days passed the same—Aryaman prodded, taunted, blocked her path;Nakshatra ignored him, wrapped in a blanket of ice, utterly silent.
The Storm in the Study
One night Siddharth came home furious.In his study the anger exploded: books, files, papers hurled to the floor; cupboard doors slammed; he dropped into a chair, clutching his head.
Govardhan hurried in with tea and shooed the children to their rooms.The study lay in chaos.
He set a hand on Siddharth's shoulder."What's wrong, sir?"
Siddharth rose, walked to the window. From there he could see Nakshatra's balcony—she stood motionless, face tipped to the sky, staring at the moon.
"He will take her…" Siddharth's voice shook.
Govardhan said nothing. He alone knew the house's true secrets—things his eyes had witnessed and his lips had buried.
"Why not send them to a boarding school, sir…" he ventured softly.
"Every month?" Siddharth snapped."Every month the same ordeal? You remember how she saved herself last time…"
"Bitiyā knows her condition, sir… she has courage."
"But how long, Govardhan? How long can she keep saving herself? How long can we hide the truth—from the world… and from her?"
"As long as we can, we will hide it," Govardhan answered quietly.
Siddharth placed a hand against the windowpane.
At that precise moment—as if tugged by an invisible thread—Nakshatra turned and looked straight at that window. Their eyes met—Siddharth whirled away, hiding the tears in his own.
But it was too late.
Nakshatra had seen.