The palace gates opened slowly.
The car stopped at the entrance, its engine fading into silence.
Rajeshwari stood waiting at the steps, an arti thali in her hands. The diya flickered in the evening air, casting soft light over her tear-stained yet steady face.
Ranvijay stepped out, his movements restrained, pain carefully hidden behind control.
Myra followed immediately.
She moved to his side and held him, her arm supporting his weight without hesitation. Her grip was firm protective yet her face remained blank, carved of stone. Only her eyes betrayed her, heavy with regret, guilt, and something too broken to name.
Rajeshwari's breath caught at the sight of them together.
She stepped forward and lifted the thali, performing the ritual for both of them, circling the flame before Ranvijay… then before Myra.
"You both returned," she said softly, her voice trembling. "That is all that matters."
She placed a tilak on Ranvijay's forehead, then another on Myra's gentler, lingering.
Myra did not react.
She neither bowed nor stepped back.
She only tightened her hold on Ranvijay when he swayed slightly, instinct overriding every wall she had built.
Rajeshwari placed her hand over theirsmother, son, daughter-in-law binding them in a moment that needed no words.
"Come inside," she said quietly. "This house has been waiting for you."
Together, they crossed the threshold.
Behind them, the palace doors closed sealing not love or hatred, but a silence thick with things yet to be forgiven.
The palace did not welcome them back.
It observed them.
Ranvijay lay against the pillows, his body still weakened, the bandages hidden beneath crisp sheets. His face remained unreadable controlled, sharp, untouched by pain in a way that unsettled everyone who entered the room.
Except Myra.
She did not look at him.
Not once.
She moved with precision, not care. As if every step was measured to keep herself intact. She placed the medicine on the table, adjusted the IV, checked the bandage without letting her fingers linger.
Her touch was clinical.
Punitive.
Ranvijay watched her from beneath half-lidded eyes.
This was not distance.
This was penance.
"Sit," he said quietly.
She did not respond.
"Myra."
Her hand paused for a fraction of a second not because she was startled, but because his voice still had the power to reach places she was trying to bury.
"I'll stand," she replied. Flat. Empty.
He said nothing after that.
Because pushing her now would make her disappear completely.
Night settled heavy.
She took the chair beside the bed not close enough to touch, not far enough to rest. She stayed awake. Always awake. Watching his chest rise and fall like it was a responsibility she could never put down.
As if keeping him alive was the only redemption left to her.
Once, while adjusting the bandage, her fingers trembled.
Not from fear.
From memory.
Her breath hitched.
Ranvijay noticed.
He caught her wrist firm, grounding, unmistakably him.
She stiffened instantly.
"You don't get to punish yourself like this," he said.
Her eyes finally lifted.
They were hollow.
"You don't get to decide that," she replied. "Not anymore."
The words were not angry.
They were verdict.
She pulled her hand away and turned her face aside. Her jaw tightened as if she were holding herself together with sheer force.
"I accused you," she said suddenly. "I looked at you… and I saw my mother's killer."
The air shifted.
Ranvijay did not move.
Did not deny.
Did not console.
"And I meant it," she continued, voice breaking despite her control. "I meant every word. I hated you. I wanted you to suffer."
Her nails dug into her palm.
"I don't know how to live with that."
Silence.
Then Ranvijay spoke low, restrained, dangerous in its calm.
"You don't get absolution just because you regret it."
Her breath caught.
"But," he continued, eyes locking onto hers, "you also don't get to destroy yourself in my name."
Tears slid down her face without sound.
She turned away, covering her mouth, shoulders shaking as her body betrayed her resolve.
Ranvijay did not reach for her.
Because if he did she would break beyond repair.
And he needed her alive.
Not forgiven.
Alive.