Sunlight filtered weakly through the tall windows of the Raizada Villa, but it did little to chase away the unease that clung to the walls. Vedshree stood before the idols of Lord Shiva and Parvati, her hands shaking as she tried to light the akhand jyot. The flame flickered, refusing to steady, as if the air itself had grown heavy with foreboding.
Suman and Bani Dadi approached quietly, their faces pale. The villa bustled in preparation for Arnav's birthday, yet the shadows seemed thicker here, closer, carrying whispers of things unspoken.
"Vedshree," Suman asked softly, her voice tight with concern, "why do you look so frightened?"
Vedshree's fingers tightened around the lamp. Her voice was low, trembling with fear and fury both. "It's not me I fear for… it's Arnav. Today, everyone is busy with decorations, laughter, preparing for his birthday… but I can't forget what today means. He turns twenty-six. Twenty-six years…"
Her voice cracked. "And the bracelet Divya gave him… it won't be enough to hold his powers now. The evil… the witch's eyes… Mohana… what if she senses him? What if she comes?"
Bani Dadi's lips pressed into a thin line, and Suman stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on Vedshree's shoulder. "Don't let fear overtake you. Tabeezi has said it clearly: Arnav must be married to a Rivanshi. That is the way to protect him, to anchor his powers."
Vedshree's eyes darkened, haunted by memories of loss. "We lost so much already… brother-in-law Rajeev, Divya, Avinash… all because of Mohana. I cannot… I cannot lose him too. Not Arnav."
Suman's voice was steady but urgent. "We will find the Rivanshi. There is someone we already suspect… our dear Ruby. She might be the one to guide him, to keep him safe."
For a long moment, silence hung over the hall. Only the struggling akhand jyot flickered, its flame wavering against the sunlight streaming through the windows. Vedshree's gaze lingered on the idols, lips moving in a whispered prayer—not for herself, but for her son.
Even in the bright daylight, a shadow seemed to linger at the edges of the room, as if watching, waiting.
Meanwhile, in the narrow lanes of the chawl, Pranati stood near the doorway, rummaging through her bag for the third time. Her movements were quick, anxious. The clock on the wall ticked loudly—too loudly.
"Keys… where did I keep my keys?" she muttered, panic creeping into her voice. She was already late. Clients would start calling any minute.
"Mom?" Pranati called out. "Mom, have you seen my scooter keys?"
Jaspreet Kaur—Jassi to everyone in the chawl—appeared from the inner room, leisurely wiping her hands on her dupatta. She raised her palm slowly.
The keys dangled from her fingers.
Pranati's shoulders sagged in relief. "Oh thank God. Please give them to me, Mom. I'm getting late."
Jassi didn't move.
Instead, she tilted her head, eyes scanning Pranati from head to toe—her simple kurti, tied-back hair, the delivery bag slung over her shoulder.
"You run around all day," Jassi said coolly, "for peanuts."
Pranati stiffened. "Mom—"
"You know," Jassi continued, cutting her off, "if you had listened to me, you wouldn't have to struggle like this. Look at you. You're beautiful. Fair-skinned. People would pay just to look at you dance."
Pranati swallowed. "We've already talked about this."
"You could earn in one night what you earn in a whole month with this… delivery nonsense," Jassi scoffed, shaking the keys slightly. "Follow my footsteps. Dancing feeds families but clearly you have a problem with dancing."
Pranati's voice trembled, but she stood her ground. "I don't have a problem with dance."
Jassi raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Dance is a sacred art," Pranati continued softly. "It's devotion. Expression. If I use it to earn dirty money, I would be disrespecting it."
The air changed.
Jassi's face hardened. "So now my money is dirty?"
Pranati froze. "That's not what I meant—"
"So you're saying," Jassi snapped, "that I fed you with filth? That I raised you on sin?"
She stepped closer, her voice sharp like a blade. "I took you in when you were nothing. An orphan thrown away at an orphanage. I thought you'd grow up and fulfill my dreams. My needs."
Pranati's eyes welled up. "I do fulfill everything, Mom. I run this house with whatever I earn. Every bill, every ration—"
"Oh, so now you're doing me a favor?" Jassi laughed bitterly.
"No—Mom—please," Pranati pleaded. "That's not what I meant."
But Jassi had already turned away, covering her face dramatically. "I never knew you were this ungrateful," she cried aloud. "God, why did you give me such a daughter?"
She spun back suddenly and flung the keys onto the floor.
"Maybe your real parents knew exactly what you'd become," Jassi spat. "That's why they abandoned you at the orphanage."
The words hit harder than a slap.
Jassi stormed into the room, slamming the door behind her.
The chawl fell silent.
Pranati stood frozen for a moment, tears blurring her vision. Slowly, she bent down and picked up the keys. Her fingers trembled as Jassi's words echoed in her head—each one cutting deeper than the last.
She wiped her tears quickly.
Work was waiting.
Pain could wait.
She stepped out, locking the door behind her, carrying both her delivery bag… and a heart made heavier by wounds that never healed.
To be continued…