Author's Pov
The door closed behind her.
Too softly. Too final.
Arjun didn't realize he was still staring until Bindu came near him cleared her throat beside him.
"She didn't shout because she's rude," Bindu said quietly. "She shouts when she's scared."
Arjun didn't reply.
He already knew.
He replayed the moment again—her voice sharp, eyes burning, hands trembling even while she stood tall. People who were arrogant didn't shake like that. People who were protecting something broken did.
And he had poked it.
The word echoed in his head.
Sweetie.
He exhaled slowly.
Idiot.
People assume fear has an age limit.
That once you cross childhood, certain things stop scaring you—dark rooms, loud thunder, sharp needles.
But fear doesn't check birthdays.
It only checks memories.
And Ishaan had plenty.
Everything except—
"I am NOT doing this."
She closed her eyes.
Slowly.
"Ishaan," she said calmly, not turning around, "aaj drama ka quota already khatam ho chuka hai."
( You have already completed the quota of today's drama )
Behind her, Ishaan stood frozen near the door, hands clenched, eyes locked on the tray.
"That needle is HUGE," he accused.
"Woh mujhe dekh ke has rahi hai."
(She is mocking at me )
Ved snorted. "Needle ko feelings aa gayi, bhai."
( Needle has started to get feeling for you ,bro )
"Chup," Ishaan snapped. "Tum logon ko darr nahi lagta?"
( Shut up, aren't u people afraid of it ?)
Sid shrugged. "Lagta hai. Bas hum accept nahi karte."
( We do . But not enough to accept it )
Zee leaned in. "Bro, captain bhi karwa raha hai. Tu toh phir bhi baby—"
(Bro even the caption did it without a word..let you are her baby)
"BIG BABY," Ishaan corrected loudly. "Ri di ka."
Riya turned.
One look.
Everyone went quiet.
She walked straight up to Ishaan, made him crouched in front of him so they were eye level.
"Look at me," she said softly.
He did. Immediately.
"You trust me?" she asked.
He nodded. Fast. "Haan." (Yess)
"Main hoon na?" she murmured. "Kuch nahi hoga."
( I am there I won't let anything happen to you )
"But—" his voice cracked, unintentional, "needle—"
Riya reached up and gently covered his eyes with her palm.
"No watching," she said. "Rule number one."
Her other hand squeezed his arm lightly. Reassuring. Steady.
"Deep breath," she whispered. "Jaise main bolti hoon."( Do as I say)
He inhaled shakily.
"Good," she praised. "Ab count karein? Ya gaana?"( Now should we count or song )
"Gaana," he muttered.
She smiled. "Obviously."
She began humming—soft, off-key, familiar.
The room stilled.
Even the boys stopped joking.
Author's POV
Some people don't heal you with medicine.
They heal you with presence.
The needle went in.
And out.
"All done," Riya said gently.
Ishaan blinked. "Ho gaya?"( Done ?)
She nodded. "Dekha? Hero. And you are alive.."( Yup , done)
The boys burst out laughing.
Sid clapped. "Youngest but bravest!"
"Shut up," Ishaan muttered then
He hugged her instantly.
Like, full-force.
"YOU PROMISED," he mumbled into her shoulder.
Behind them—
Arjun stood silently.
Watching.
Something twisted gently in his chest.
Not jealousy.
Not attraction.
Recognition.
He remembered his stepmother—how she had held Ishaan the same way, years ago. How she had chosen them, both of them, without ever asking for something in return.
And now—
Riya.
Different face. Same instinct.
Care, without conditions.
He looked away before anyone noticed.
The check-ups went smoothly after that.
No chaos.
No panic.
Even the coach and manager complied without argument.
When it was Virat's turn, Riya took extra time—checking vitals, adjusting medication, explaining calmly.
Finally, she straightened and looked at the coach.
"Sir, main Virat ko aaj ghar le jaana chahti hoon."
(Sir I want Virat to take home )
The room quieted.
"For proper rest," she added. "Hospital aur base camp dono se better care milega ghar pe."
( For proper rest. For better care)
The coach exchanged a glance with the manager.
"Permission granted," he said. "Family first."
Virat looked relieved.
"Thanks, Di," he said softly.
As the team packed up, Riya added casually—
"Reports kal tak aa jayega . Main base camp aa jaungi."
( Reports will come by tomorrow. I myself will bring it to the base camp.)
Instant reactions.
Ved smirked. " itne jaldiiii?"( Too fast)
Sid teased, "patient chhod ke humein miss kar rahi ho?"( Are missing us more than your patients)
Zee added, "Ya kisi ko?"( Or is it some else)
Ishaan was now clinking to Virat like he was hi personal teddy bear 🐻
She shot them a look.
"Manager sir ne bola hai," she said flatly. "Aur tum log practice pe dhyaan do. Mujhe dekhne ka shauk baad mein."
She said sounding tried...
( Sir said that's the reason and don't get addicted to see me..focus on your practice)
They laughed.but they understood she also is tried it's just she say but even she is human...
But the teasing didn't stop.ofc it wouldn't
Way back to home...
Virat slept through the drive back home.
His head slowly slid from the window and came to rest against her shoulder. Riya didn't move
. She adjusted herself instead—because she was smaller, because he was heavier, because this was routine.
She rested her cheek lightly against his hair.
Bas thoda aur, she thought. Ghar aa jaane de.( The home is near)
The gates opened.
The moment they stepped inside—
"Virat aa gaya?"( Is virat here)
"Kya bola doctor ne?"(What did dr said)..
"Ab theek hai na?"( All well na now )
The living room filled instantly.
Chacha, Chachi, Mumma, Aarav—everyone was there. Dadi stood up first. Dadu followed, slower but smiling.
"He's fine," Riya said calmly. "Thoda rest chahiye bas."( Just needs rest)
Virat tried to speak. Riya pressed his arm lightly.
"Chup. Room."( Quite. Room)
No one argued.
They guided Virat away, voices lowering, fussing over pillows and blankets. Someone complained about AC temperature. Someone else argued about soup versus khichdi.
Riya turned, ready to slip away—
"Riya."
Her mother.
That tone meant don't even try.
"Baitho."( Sit)
Riya sighed and sat on the sofa.
Her kurti was wrinkled now—soft pastel blue, hospital ID still hanging from her neck, like she'd forgotten she was wearing it. Her hair was in a low messy bun, a few strands sticking to her temple.
Her mother crossed her arms. "Kal se ghar nahi aayi ho."( You didn't came home since yesterday)
Riya stayed quiet.
"Sach bolna," her mother continued, "khaya hai?"( Tell me the truth, did you are ?)
"I—"
"Jhooth mat bolo."( Don't you dare lie)
Her grandmother was already bringing a plate.
"Bas thoda," Dadi said, settling beside her. "Zyada nahi." ( Just little. Not more )
Her grandfather clicked his tongue.
"Doctor sahiba khud patient ban rahi hai," he joked lightly. "Aur phir humse kehti hai rest lo."
( Doctor sahiba is now herself being patient... And then she say us to take rest)
Riya smiled weakly.
"Badi beti ho," he added, softer now. "Har waqt strong rehna zaroori nahi hota."
Her chest tightened.
( You are eldest daughter. It's not necessary everytime to be strong)
Dadi fed her the first bite. Her mother watched silently.
From the doorway, her father's voice cut in—
"Virat toh aa gaya," he said. "Game khel ke bhi aa gaya hoga, ya bas khatam khelnaya bas khatam khelna"
( Virat came. Will he play further now ?)
The room went still.
"Bas karo," her mother snapped instantly. "Uska health pehle hai."
( Enough, his health is more important)
"Main mazaak kar raha hoon," he replied, smirking
( I am just joking)
"No, you weren't," Riya said quietly. Yet voice laced with pain..
Her father didn't respond.
She stood up. "I'm late."
Her mother sighed, tired but understanding.
"Ja," she said. "Par khaana skip mat karna."
Riya nodded.
( Go. But don't you dare skip food )
She changed quickly—black jeans, white shirt, sling bag, hair retied neatly. She didn't bring her car today.
Reaching the hospital, she forgot everything it was just her patient and her..
Doctor mode onnnn...
Outside the hospital later, she stepped out, already dreading—
Karan.
The thought alone made her walk faster.
God, if he sees me—
She was about to call Anish when she saw it.
A red Aston Martin.
Her steps slowed.
No.
She walked past it deliberately.
"Riya."
She turned.
Arjun stood there, one hand on the open passenger door.
"I'll drop you."
She hesitated.
"No."
He didn't answer.
Behind them—
"Doctor—" Karan's voice echoed.
That was it.
Riya came back and the slipped into the passenger seat instantly.
Arjun closed the door gently, walked around, and got in.
The engine started.
She exhaled.
Then she asked," was any body not well?"
Thinking she hasn't got a call from Zee or Sid or Ishaan
She messaged Sid asking how's everyone and did they had their dinner or not ?...
And is everyone fine..cause after blood test Ishaan was doing drama of fainting but still she asked to him..
He just shook his head and she continued ,"why was he here?"...
He didn't say anything cause he couldn't say..kya bolta wo ?
( What could be say?)
"Thank you," she muttered.
Silence.
Then, quietly—
"I'm sorry."
She stilled.
"For the highway," he said. "And for calling you sweetie."
She stared out the window.
"Thank you for the lift," she replied calmly.
It hurt more than anger.
The city lights blurred past.
Neither spoke again.
But something had already shifted.
Arjun — POV
I don't know when it started.
That restlessness.
I was at the base camp—headset on, fingers moving out of habit, the screen glowing in front of me—but my mind wasn't there. Every move felt mechanical. Every win , every kill...felt hollow.
I kept glancing at the time.
For no reason.
Or maybe for one reason I wasn't ready to name.
"She should be done by now," I caught myself thinking—and froze.
Why did I even know that?
I pulled the headset off, stood up abruptly. Coach looked up, confused.
"I need air," I muttered. "Headache building."
It wasn't a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
I grabbed my keys, didn't wait for permission, and drove.
I didn't decide where I was going. My hands did.
By the time I realised, I was already outside her hospital. Why the hell am I here?
I sat there for a minute. Then two.
What am I doing here?
I didn't have an answer.
Then she walked out.
And everything inside me went quiet.
She looked exhausted—like someone who hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't stopped carrying the weight of everyone else's needs. White shirt, dark jeans, hair tied up carelessly, strands falling free like she'd given up trying to control them.
No rush. No drama.
Sleeves rolled up just enough to show tired wrists marked by watch lines and sanitizer stains. Her hair was tied into a loose bun, strands escaping, framing her face like they didn't want to stay disciplined anymore.
She looked… done.
Not weak. Just worn.
She was pretending again.
I could see it now.
Why could I see?
I got out of the car, opened the passenger door, and waited.
Like some idiot hoping she'd choose me.
She didn't even look at me at first.
I deserved that.
Then,
She noticed me.
Ignored me.
That hurt more than I expected.
She walked past, phone already in her hand, probably about to call someone—Anish, maybe. Anyone but me.
Then I heard it.
"Doctor—"
Karan.
I saw the shift instantly. Her shoulders stiffened. Her spine straightened. That soft tiredness vanished behind a wall she knew too well.
The tiredness disappeared. Replaced by alertness. By that practiced calm she wore like armor.
She turned sharply—and walked straight back.
Not to me.
To the open passenger seat.
She slid in without a word.
Fast. Controlled.
Like she was choosing the lesser evil.
I closed the door gently, as if any noise might break something fragile.
When I got in, she sat perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed ahead. Not angry.
Distant.
I drove.
The road blurred. Silence settled.
When I started driving, the silence felt heavier than any argument.
"Is someone unwell?" she asked finally, voice neutral.
I shook my head. "No."
Truth was—I didn't know why I came.
Guilt, maybe.
Or something worse.
"I'm sorry," I said.
She didn't respond.
"For leaving you on the highway," I continued. "That day."
I remembered how she'd stood there—small against the endless road—pretending it didn't matter.
It had mattered.
"And for calling you… that."
Her jaw tightened.
She didn't look at me. "Thank you for the lift."
That was all.
No anger.
No softness.
Just distance.
When I dropped her home, I stayed.
I watched her walk in. The mansion lights swallowed her whole.
Only when the Gates closed did I leave.
And as I drove away, one thought kept circling my mind—
It's barely been a month.
So why does it feel like I've known her pain for years?
Why does it hurt me to see her pretending she's fine?
Why did it hurt?
It's barely been a month.
She doesn't even talk to me the way she talks to the others.
And yet—
I remembered her in the graveyard.
The way she cried—loud, not dramatic—just… broken. Asking questions to someone who would never answer.
"Clara."
That name still echoed.
I remembered how she handled Ishaan. Like he was her own. Singing softly, calming him, calling him her big baby.
The way he relaxed around her like he'd known her forever.
I remembered how everyone listens to her.
Not because she demands it—because she belongs there now. Somehow. Unknowingly.
She's their light.
And yet I can see it—the darkness she hides so carefully.
She pretends to be strong.
But she's not okay.
And I don't know why I can see that when others don't.
I don't know what this feeling is.
It's not love.
It's not obsession.
It's just this pull. This need to make sure she's safe. To stand somewhere between her and whatever keeps hurting her.
Her presence calms me.
And that scares me.
Because I don't know what we are.
Or what we'll be.
All I know is—
If the world ever comes for her again,
I want to be there.
Even if she never asks.
Author's pov
The Hall
Riya had barely taken two steps inside when her grandfather looked up from the sofa.
"Arre, meri rani betiya aa gayi?"
(Oh, my princess is home?)
She smiled despite herself.
"Abhi toh raat ho gayi, Dadu," she said. "Aap dono soye kyun nahi?"
(It's already so late, why didn't you both sleep?)
Her grandmother snorted softly.
"Is ghar mein jab tak tu nahi aati, neend kisi ko nahi aati."
(In this house, no one sleeps until you come home.)
Her grandfather folded the newspaper, stood up slowly, and gestured toward the chair.
"Aa, baith. Aaj baal sukhe lag rahe hain."
(Come, sit. Your hair looks dry today.)
"Dadu—" Riya protested weakly.
"No arguments," her grandmother cut in.
"Din bhar duniya ka bojh utha ke aati hai, thoda sa tel lagwa legi toh kuch nahi ho jayega."
(You carry the weight of the world all day. A little oil won't harm you.)
Riya sat.
Just like she always did.
Her grandfather warmed the oil between his palms and began gently massaging her scalp—slow, practiced movements, full of care.
His touch was firm but loving, the same way it had been since she was a child.
"You know," he said casually, "tere bhai hote toh aadhe ghante mein bhag jaate."
(If it were your cousins, they'd run away in half an hour.)
Riya laughed softly. "Aur aap unke peeche bhi nahi jaate."
(And you wouldn't even go after them.)
He smiled, unashamed.
"Unke liye main dada hoon. Tere liye… main ghar hoon."
(For them, I'm a grandfather. For you… I'm home.)
Her grandmother's voice softened.
"Tu sabke liye strong banti hai, Riya," she said.
(You act strong for everyone.)
"Par yahan strong rehne ki zarurat nahi."
(But here, you don't need to be strong.)
Riya closed her eyes.
For a moment, she let herself lean into it—the oil, the warmth, the familiar voices.
"How was Virat?" She asked gently.
"Better," dadi ji replied. "He'll recover."
Her grandfather hummed.
"Tu thak gayi hai," she said.
(You're tired.)
"I'm okay," Riya lied.
"Khana kha le ." Dadi said...( Have dinner)
" Kha kar aayi hu dadi." She said another lie..( I already had my dinner)
Her grandparents knew but didn't force knowing she will not eat
Her grandfather paused for just a second, then resumed oiling her hair.
"Jhooth bolna bhi humse hi seekha hai," he said lightly.
(You learned lying from us too, huh?)
Riya smiled, eyes stinging.
"Ja," her grandmother said after a moment.
"Room mein jaa. Kal bhi din lamba hoga."
(Go. Tomorrow will be a long day too.)
Riya stood, kissed both of them.
"Goodnight," she whispered.
They watched her walk away.
In her Room
Night always did this to her.
Daylight let her pretend.
Night didn't.
Riya locked the door and stood there, unmoving, as if the room itself might accuse her of lying.
"I'm fine," she whispered, out of habit.
The room didn't believe her.
She walked to the shelf.
Three photo frames.
Her hands started shaking before she touched the first.
The third photo — the most crowded one.
All of them.
Bindu bent close to Clara's baby bump, laughing, one hand placed gently as if the baby could hear her.
Clara stood there glowing, one arm around Riya's shoulder, the other raised mid-gesture—clearly scolding Rayan.
Rayan had his fingers tangled in Clara's hair, grinning unapologetically.
Yashveer stood behind Riya, deliberately messing with her hair.
Her own expression in the photo—irritated. Complaining.
"Don't touch my hair!"
The echo of her own voice rang in her head.
Bindu's laugh.
Clara's mock scolding.
Rayan's teasing, "Arre kuch nahi hota."
Yashveer whispering, "Cute lag rahi ho."
Riya's knees weakened.
She remembered the exact moment.
The sunlight.
The noise.
How alive everything had been.
Her fingers traced Clara's face.
"You were so happy," she whispered.
"So sure."
Riya's breath hitched.
"You were glowing," she whispered to Clara's picture.
"I never told you that enough."
Her throat closed.
"Rayan ka kya hoga ab?"
"How do people survive after this?"
She turned the frame face-down quickly.
She couldn't look anymore.
The first photo — four of them.
Clara, baby bump visible now.
Rayan's arm protectively around her waist.
Yashveer and Riya standing close, like the future was already planned.
"I remember this too," Riya murmured.
Clara had complained about swollen feet.
Rayan had kissed her forehead.
Yashveer had joked about names.
"And you said…," Riya's voice trembled,
"you said the baby would look like him."
Her fingers curled. His voice ringing in her head..
"You were supposed to grow old," she whispered harshly.
"You were supposed to fight with him over silly things. Over breakfast. Over music."
Her eyes burned.
"You weren't supposed to leave."
She pressed the frame against her chest.
The second photo — just the two of them.
Her and Yashveer.
No one else.
No noise.
No crowd.
No hospital.
No world.
Only him looking at her like she was home.
She sank onto the bed, clutching the frame to her chest.
Just his forehead resting against hers, his smile tired but warm.
Her eyes half-closed, safe.
That smile destroyed her.
She sank onto the bed, clutching the frame tightly.
"I'm still wearing it," she whispered.
Her fingers found the thin bracelet on her wrist—the metal worn smooth with time.
His bracelet.
He had fastened it himself.
"Isse mat utaarna," he had said lightly.
"Cause you are mine and I am yours."
A sob tore out of her.
"I didn't take it off," she cried softly.
"Not once."
She hugged the photo to her chest like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
"I'm doing everything," she whispered brokenly.
"I take care of everyone. I hold them when they break."
Her shoulders shook.
"But when I break," she gasped,
"there's no one left to hold me."
Her tears soaked the pillow.
"I hate that people think I'm strong," she cried.
"I hate that I have to be."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Why did you leave me?"
No answer came.
Only memories.
Only silence.
She curled into herself, bracelet digging into her skin, photo pressed against her heart—
clinging to love the way people do when it's all they have left.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
She fell asleep like that.
Still holding him.
Still remembering...
Still waiting...
But she didn't knew life has decided a new Chapter a new path for her ....
And a new person she was unaware of.....
---------------------------------
This is the last update on this chp for the year 2025...
see you all with next update in 2026...
Happy New year's eve 🥳
stay happy say healthy and care for your loved ones 💓
And Happy New Year In Advance 💓🥳
May this year bring you peace and every good thing you all deserve 💝 🧿...