After I cried hard, hugging Manya, suddenly I felt something warm.
My body froze.
My water broke.
"Ah… ah… call the doctor. It's hurting," I screamed, clutching my stomach.
Manya panicked and ran to call the doctor. Nurses rushed in, and I was taken to the emergency ward. In the chaos, Manya called Sarthak in a hurry. Everything moved fast after that. The lights. The bed. The pain. Then—darkness.
Two hours later, I opened my eyes.
Sarthak was standing beside me, crying.
Fear shot through my chest. I touched my stomach and screamed, "My baby… my baby is gone!"
I started crying uncontrollably, grabbing Sarthak's shirt. "You bastard, it's all your fault!"
He smiled.
That smile snapped something inside me.
I slapped him hard. "You're laughing? Our baby died and you're smiling? How can you be so heartless?" I cried, shaking.
Just then, Manya entered the room. "Brother, what happened? Who slapped you?"
"No one," Sarthak said quickly. "She's just angry because she thought the baby died."
Confused, I looked at Manya.
And then I saw her.
My baby girl, sleeping peacefully in Manya's arms.
My breath hitched. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but this time they weren't painful.
She had lived inside me for eight and a half months.
My baby.
I loved her more than anything. More than anger. More than pain. More than Sarthak.
My dream had come true.
For her, I could forgive him.
She was so small. So perfect.
My mother came running inside and hugged me tightly. "You're okay, my darling," she cried.
I smiled through tears. "Don't cry, Mom. I'm a mother now."
She stood up, took the baby in her arms, and cried again — this time smiling. Her happiness filled the room. She brought the baby to me.
Her hands were tiny. When she grabbed my finger, my heart melted completely.
Sarthak looked at her and carefully took her in his arms. He was smiling but scared, afraid to even move.
I laughed softly and slapped his shoulder. "Why were you crying so much earlier?"
"I was sad that you had to suffer this much," he said quietly.
I laughed again.
Then Manya walked in with a camera. "Smile! Bro, sit beside her. Sammy, hold the baby."
We did as she said.
"Smile now… cheese… cake!" she laughed. "I became an aunt!"
Everyone laughed. Photos were taken with everyone — Lavanya, Advait bhai, Aarav, bhabhi, Anvi, uncle, mom, dad, Lavanya's parents, my friends.
A new member had come into our lives.
Everyone was happy.
Everyone… except a part of me.
Because while holding my happiness in my arms, I was still wasting my life chasing my brother's killer.
My brother was my happiness too.
If they hadn't killed him, he would have lived. He would have loved. He would have married the girl he liked.
Yes — he liked someone.
And she liked him too.
She isn't married even now.
She lived for him. She helped me find the truth.
My brother's friend. His childhood sweetheart.
Martika.
The girl who never changed.
The girl who still loved him.
The girl whose father killed my brother — and also Sarthak's parents.
I found the truth when I was wandering in my brother's room.
Whenever I missed him, I went there. His room was untouched. The biggest room in the bungalow — because he was my parents' first child.
Bookshelves full of books. Every genre. Every book he loved. Some he never got to finish.
A big family photograph on the wall. He loved clicking photos and making collages.
His bed. His toys.
Everything was frozen in time — exactly as it was 23 years ago.
I was around twenty back then.
One day, while taking a book from the shelf, his diary fell to the floor.
I bent down to pick it up — and a photograph slipped out.
Martika and my brother.
She was smiling.
I had never seen her smile like that.
I opened the diary.
23rd July, 2002
Dear Diary,
Tomorrow is Martika's birthday. She's turning thirteen. I'm so happy.
I'm going to tell her that I love her. Not like a sister — I love her.
Papa says boys should propose. He proposed to Mumma when they were twenty-five.
Our birthdays are twenty-one days apart, just like theirs.
I'm so excited. Good night.
I turned the page.
24th July, 2002
Dear Diary,
Today was Martika's birthday.
I told her how I feel. She said she loves me too.
We promised we'll marry when we grow up.
I'm so happy.
But today I saw Mr. Pratap talking to someone. He said he's going to kill Mr. and Mrs. Shukla tomorrow.
I ran to warn Mr. Shukla, but he followed me. When I reached, he disappeared.
Tomorrow, Martika and I are going to the amusement park on our first date.
I'll pick her up.
Good night.
That was the last thing my brother ever wrote.
They were together for only one day.
And he was killed.
He was innocent.
Martika never knew the truth.
She cried harder at his funeral than any of us. Their love was raw, young, and pure.
Her father killed her happiness.
She laughed once — in that photograph — and never again.
She buried her pain inside herself.
She didn't even cry at her father's funeral.
She hated him.
And after Sarthak and Aarne's engagement banquet, she lost everything.