The door opened before she could knock. An older man stood there, hair greyed, eyes sharp with surprise.
For a long breath, he simply stared.
"Khushi?" His voice cracked, as though the name itself was dust he hadn't dared to utter in years.
Her lips trembled. "I am Khushi."
And then Ron stepped forward, his voice steady, carrying weight.
"And I am Ron."
The man's face drained of color.
His grip tightened on the wooden doorframe, his eyes wide with horror.
"No. No… don't you dare speak those names.
Sonali's children died. I lit the lamp for them, I scattered there ashes, I wept over their deaths.
Don't play with me.
Who are you? Who sent you?"
His voice rose, cracking under the weight of years of grief.
Khushi's throat clenched, but she stepped closer. "Mama, it's me. I was the little girl who stole batata vadas from your tiffin when you tried to hide them.
I was the child who followed you everywhere, calling you my second father. I am that Khushi."
His knees shook, but he shook his head violently.
"No… ghosts don't come back. The dead don't return."
Ron's eyes blazed, his voice cutting through the air like steel. "Then tell me how I remember the day you bought me my first cricket bat.
Aai was angry, but you told her, 'Every boy needs a bat, even if he breaks windows.'
Tell me how I remember falling asleep on your lap while you sang old Lata Mangeshkar songs when Aai was in the hospital.
How could I know that if I wasn't Ron?"
The man's lips parted, trembling, as his chest heaved. "Stop… stop this madness."
Khushi's tears blurred her sight, but she pulled a bracelet from her purse...the old one he had given Sonali on her birthday , engraved with her initials.
She held it out with shaking hands.
He saw it, and his whole body froze. His knees buckled, and with a strangled cry, he collapsed to the floor. His hands covered his face, his shoulders shaking violently as sobs broke from him, raw and desperate.
"Sonali… Sonali, you were right. You said your children carried a light that even death couldn't put out.
You said if God was merciful, they would find their way back. I thought you spoke in riddles, but… but here they are.
They came back.
They came back!"
Khushi fell to her knees beside him, gripping his trembling hands.
Her voice broke as she whispered, "Mama, Aai sent us back. She didn't want Sanjay's lies to win. She gave us another chance."
Ron leaned forward, his voice low but unyielding.
"We were reborn, Mama.
With different faces, different lives… but the same souls.
We carry her blood, her pain, and her fight. We are Khushi and Ron.
And we've come to finish what she couldn't."
The man stared at them through his tears, his face a storm of disbelief, grief, and wonder.
"Reborn…?
My Sonali's children, reborn?" His voice cracked, softer now, like he was afraid the dream would vanish if he said it too loudly.
Khushi pressed her forehead to his trembling hands.
"Yes, Mama. Aai never left us. She guarded us, and she led us back here. We've carried fifteen years of silence, but today… today we've come home."
And for a long, unbearable moment, the house was filled with nothing but the sound of an uncle's sobs echoing against the walls, grief finally breaking into a fragile, miraculous hope.
The silence deepened, and in that silence lay a thousand unsaid truths.
Khushi took a step inside, her voice low but firm. "Aai left something with you.
A letter.
She told us you would know what to do."
He stared at her, grief and guilt flickering across his face.
His hand trembled as he motioned them inside.
"Come.
There is something I have kept hidden… something I swore I would give only when the time was right."
The room smelled of old paper and memories.
He disappeared into a back chamber, the creak of drawers echoing, until he returned with a small tin box.
He set it on the table with reverence, as though it contained more than just paper as though it contained Sonali herself.
Khushi's breath caught as the lid opened. Inside lay an envelope, yellowed with time, sealed with her mother's handwriting.
Ron reached forward, but his fingers stopped just short of touching it.
Khushi's hands trembled as she lifted it, the ink faded but the letters still alive. Her name was on it.
Khushi.
And beside it Ron.
Her chest tightened, tears pricking her eyes.
The letter weighed more than any paper ever could.
It was her mother's voice reaching out across eight years of silence.
But before she could tear it open, the sound of footsteps outside broke the moment.
Heavy, deliberate, wrong. Karan stiffened, moving to the window.
A black car sat parked outside the gate.
Unknown men leaned against it, eyes scanning the house.
Watching.
Waiting.
Khushi clutched the letter to her chest, her heart thundering.
The secrets weren't safe anymore.
And the past wasn't done with them yet.