Arnav froze, shock overtaking him. The sting was nothing compared to the weight of her gaze, her tears, the fierce tremor in her voice.
Vedshree's tears streamed freely now. "You are my son, Arnav! My son!" Her voice cracked, carrying all the anguish, the helpless nights, the dread she had carried alone. "Do you hear me? No matter what is inside you, you are not a witch's son… you will never think about leaving this house again,do you think that we will ever be able to live happily if you go from here, you will be killing us all with your absence. you call me your mother—then you will stay with your family, with the people who love you!"
Vedshree Cries
Arnav's chest heaved. He bowed his head slightly, eyes wet, shimmering with unshed tears. "I… I'm sorry, Mom. I… I didn't mean to hurt you or anyone." His voice was fragile, almost broken.
Vedshree cupped his face, her hands firm yet trembling with emotion, grounding him. "I don't want apologies. I want you here. Alive. Whole. Knowing that this is your home. You are not alone. And you are not defined by the fear inside you."
A long silence fell. The fear that had gripped the room seemed to loosen its hold, almost imperceptibly, letting relief wash in slowly like sunlight after a storm.
Ranav and Arav exchanged a glance, watching their Bhaiya absorb the words. The love surrounding him, the weight of his family's concern, pressed against the anxiety and guilt that had driven him away.
For the first time that day, Arnav let himself breathe slowly, each inhalation steadier than the last. Perhaps… just perhaps… he could stay. Without fear. Without running. Without the constant terror that he might hurt those he loved most.
Vedshree stepped closer, her hands gripping Arnav's shoulders gently but firmly. Her voice, trembling yet unwavering, cut through the silence of the room.
"Arnav… swear to me," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his, "swear on my life that you will never… never think of running away again."
Arnav's chest heaved. The weight of her words, of her fear and love, pressed down on him. He looked into her eyes, seeing all the sleepless nights, all the prayers, all the worry she had carried silently.
"I swear it, Mom," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I… I promise."
Tears welled up in Vedshree's eyes, and without thinking, she pulled him into a tight, trembling embrace. Arnav hesitated for a heartbeat, then wrapped his arms around her, letting himself be grounded, letting himself feel the safety he had denied himself all these hours.
Ranav and Arav moved closer, their hands resting on his back in quiet solidarity. Suman stepped forward, placing her hands gently on Vedshree's shoulder, while Vanraj and Sanjeev joined the circle, their eyes glistening with relief.
Bani Dadi's soft voice broke through, choked with emotion. "Beta… you're home. You're safe."
Slowly, the entire family enveloped him in a warm, protective embrace. The fear, the tension, the terror of the afternoon—all of it seemed to soften in that small moment of shared love.
Arnav buried his face in Vedshree's shoulder, taking in the scent of home, of family, of belonging. For the first time that day, he allowed himself to feel whole.
No running. No fear. Only the quiet, unspoken promise of love holding him steady.
Pranati's eyes flew open. The memory—or was it the nightmare?—clung to her like smoke.
She saw herself standing in a high-rise building, screaming as her voice bounced off concrete walls. The ground trembled beneath her feet. Windows shattered, glass raining down like jagged rain. Walls cracked, debris splitting apart and collapsing, the air thick with dust and the acrid smell of smoke.
Her heart hammered so fast it felt like it might burst.
Then—a heavy chunk of concrete plummeted toward her. Her arms flailed. "Aahhhhhhh!" Her scream tore from her throat as she twisted, but the debris seemed endless, the world crumbling around her.
And then—she gasped.
Cold, sterile light replaced smoke and ruin. Machines beeped steadily. A thin sheet covered her legs. The faint scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils.
Pranati's hands shook as she clutched the bedsheets, sweat matting her hair to her forehead. Her breaths came in harsh, uneven bursts.
She blinked, disoriented, realizing she was in a hospital bed. The nightmare still lingered in her chest, pounding, as if her heart refused to stop racing.
Somewhere in the room, a quiet monitor beeped, rhythmic and reassuring—but it did little to calm the storm in her mind.
Her hands trembled as she looked around, trying to ground herself. "It… it wasn't real," she whispered, though the echo of her scream still rang in her ears.
And yet… deep down, a flicker of unease lingered. Something about the dream felt too vivid, too alive, too prophetic.
Pranati shivered and pressed her face against the pillow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Oh rabba… what's happening to me?"
The room remained silent, the hum of machines her only companion.
To be continued...