Happy Readingđź“– đź’•
Author's POV
Flashback Scene
The day Ranveer returned from his trip was supposed to be ordinary. He had been away for work, his phone off for hours, unaware that his world was about to collapse. The car slowed in front of the grand gates of their palace, but even before stepping inside, he felt something was wrong. The usually warm, glowing mansion looked heavy, draped in silence, its windows dim, as if the walls themselves were mourning.
He pushed open the door, suitcase dragging behind him, and what greeted him froze him on the threshold.
The living hall—usually alive with laughter, chatter, and the aroma of tea—was a shrine of sorrow. In the center stood a framed photograph of Isha, garlanded with fresh marigolds, lit by the trembling flames of dozens of candles. The air was thick with incense, its smoke curling upward like prayers that carried grief to the heavens.
And then he heard it. The sound of muffled sobs.
Shivansh's mother sat crumpled on the sofa, clutching her pallu as if it were her last lifeline. His father's eyes, usually stern and steady, were rimmed red, his hand pressed firmly on his mother's shoulder to hold her together. Prisha sat on the floor with folded knees, tears streaming, her face buried in her palms. Ishika clung to Arjun, sobbing uncontrollably, her body trembling with each breath.
Isha's parents were there too. Her mother was inconsolable, her wails filling the room with unbearable agony, while her father sat quietly beside her, a broken man trying to be strong for his wife, yet his eyes betrayed oceans of pain. Their hands clutched Isha's dupatta—the only thing left of her, folded neatly in their laps.
Everyone was drowning in grief. Everyone… except one.
Ranveer's eyes searched the room and landed on someone sitting in the corner—still, unmoving, and strangely calm. Their face betrayed no tears, no breaking down, only a cold, almost theatrical kind of sadness, as if they were performing the motions of grief rather than feeling it. Their dry eyes unsettled him.
But before Ranveer could ask, his gaze was drawn elsewhere—to his brother.
Shivansh.
He was on his knees near Isha's photo, his face hidden in his palms, his body trembling violently. His eyes were swollen, his voice hoarse from hours of crying. He whispered her name again and again, as though chanting it might bring her back:
"...Isha… Isha… please, come back… Isha…"
Ranveer's heart tore. But even amidst the unbearable grief, he felt a strange certainty deep inside him: his brother could never betray Isha. Whatever had led to this tragedy, Ranveer knew Shivansh loved her beyond reason. He couldn't believe the whispers floating around—that Shivansh was at fault, that Isha left because of him. No. Ranveer refused to believe it.
That faith, unshaken, made him the only one who dared to kneel beside Shivansh, put an arm around his trembling shoulders, and whisper, "Shiv, I know you didn't do anything wrong. I know."
Shivansh turned his broken face toward him, eyes hollow, and clutched his brother's arm like a drowning man clings to driftwood. "Ranveer… she's gone… she left me… I killed her…"
"No," Ranveer said firmly, swallowing his own tears. "Don't say that. You didn't. You loved her. I know you, shiv. I will never believe you could hurt her."
Those words were all Shivansh had to hold onto that day.
Hours passed. People came, offered condolences, and left. The house filled and emptied like tides of sorrow, yet the picture of Isha, glowing in the flicker of candles, remained still, mocking them with her smile frozen in time.
As the evening drew to a close, Isha's parents stood to leave, supported by her friends, their steps heavy, their hearts heavier. Prisha and Ishika hugged them tightly, crying all over again.
And then Ranveer noticed something.
Dhruv.
He had been silent all day, his face pale, his eyes swollen but dry now, as though his tears had run out. When Isha's parents rose to leave, Dhruv stood too. He picked up Isha's dupatta from her mother's lap and gently folded it, then returned it to her with reverence. Without a word, he followed them out the door.
"Dhruv? Where are you going?" Ranveer asked, his voice catching.
Dhruv didn't turn back. He just paused at the threshold, his voice low, steady, but filled with bitterness. "I promised Isha I'd take care of her family. From today, they are my family. Don't look for me, Ranveer. Don't… don't expect me back. I don't want to see anyone connected to him." His eyes flicked toward Shivansh, filled with a cold hatred Ranveer had never seen before.
And then he walked out.
The sound of the door closing behind him was like a nail being driven into the coffin of what was left of their family.
Ranveer stood frozen, torn between chasing after him and staying by his broken brother's side. In the end, he stayed.
That was the last time Dhruv ever set foot in their house.
Flashback end..
The silence of the room was thick, heavy like an old wound that never healed. Ranveer sat on the edge of the leather chair near the long desk, papers spread in front of him but his eyes were blank, staring at nothing. He was not in the present moment. His mind had drifted far back—to that day. The day that broke them all.
The day he returned from his trip, only to find the house drowned in mourning.
He remembered walking in through the wide wooden doors. It had been raining outside, his shirt damp, his shoes still carrying traces of mud. At first, he thought it was some ritual happening—lamps lit, incense smoke coiling in the air, garlands on the walls. But then he saw it—her photograph, framed with flowers, kept at the center table.
Isha.
Her face, smiling in that picture, mocked his reality. The bright marigold garlands around the frame only deepened the weight in his chest.
The hall was crowded. He could still hear the muffled sobs of her friends, the broken cries of her mother clinging onto her father's arm for support. Even Shivam's eyes had been red, his lips trembling with unspoken guilt. Everyone was drowning in grief. Except… one.
Ranveer noticed a person at the far end of the room, seated calmly, almost too calmly. No tears, no visible pain—just a strange, calculated silence, as if they were measuring each reaction rather than feeling it. Ranveer remembered the unease that settled in his chest at that sight. But he pushed it aside, because the grief of the moment was too large to analyze anything.
That day had shattered him. Yet, through the fragments of pain, one thing had remained intact—his faith in Shivam.
Even as Shivansh stood there, broken and changing with every second, Ranveer could not bring himself to believe that his brother would ever betray Isha. That bond, that love—they weren't the kind that could be erased. Somewhere inside, Ranveer knew Shivansh was hurting in ways others could not understand.
He remembered how, when Isha's parents and her friends finally left late that evening, carrying her memories back with them, there was one more person who quietly walked out with them. Dhruv.
Dhruv hadn't looked back. Not once. He just left with her parents, his head low, shoulders hunched, his silence louder than any wail. After that… he never returned.
Not the next day, not in the following weeks.
He stopped answering calls. Whenever someone did manage to reach him, his replies were clipped, two or three words, spoken without emotion before he cut the line. Ranveer could still hear that flat voice in his head: "I'm fine. Don't call again." And then, nothing.
It was as though Dhruv had become a ghost—alive, breathing, but absent.
But one thing he did not abandon was Isha's family.
Ranveer knew, even from afar, that Dhruv had taken over everything—her firm, her responsibilities, her family. What was once just a modest dream of hers had grown, under his hands, into an empire. Dhruv had built it piece by piece, expanding until it stood tall, one of the top business houses in all of India. Branches across the country, even abroad.
The boy who once was just a personal assistant had turned himself into a king in his own right. A silent ruler, not of palaces but of boardrooms, not of rituals but of responsibilities.
And yet… he remained rooted in the same house where Isha had once lived.
He refused to move out. It was as if leaving that place meant leaving her behind. Every wall, every corner still breathed her presence. Dhruv had chosen to live inside that memory, and to take care of her family the way she used to. Their bills, their comforts, their needs—he handled it all. Quietly. Faithfully.
But the cost of that loyalty was a severed bond with Shivansh's family.
Ranveer knew Dhruv never came to them, never spoke to them. Because in his heart, everything tied back to one person—Shivansh. To him, Shivansh was the reason for the chain of tragedies. For him, cutting ties was easier than forgiving.
Ranveer pressed his palms against his forehead now, feeling the old ache rising again. His faith in Shivansh remained, but Dhruv's silence was like a constant accusation ringing in his ears.
And just as his thoughts were drowning him again, his phone buzzed.
The sudden sound broke the thick silence of the study. He glanced at the screen.
Aviyansh.
Ranveer sighed, straightening his posture before answering.
"Hello?" his voice was low, tired.
"Bhai sa," Avyansh's voice came warm, almost hesitant. "Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"Did you… eat something?"
Ranveer let out a small, humorless laugh. "You're starting to sound like Maasa now."
There was a pause. Then Aviyansh said gently, "She actually told me to call you. She said you haven't eaten, and she's worried. She's even sending food your way. So please don't argue. Just eat, bhai sa. It's her order."
Ranveer leaned back, eyes closing. A flicker of warmth tugged at his heart. "Alright," he whispered. "I'll eat."
"Good. And, bhai sq…" Avyansh hesitated again. "Please don't drown yourself too much in all this. At least take care of your health. For Maa sa. For all of us."
Ranveer didn't reply for a moment. He simply hummed, then ended the call with a quiet "Okay."
The room was silent again.
But his thoughts weren't.
He stared at the dark screen of his phone, Aviyansh's words still lingering in his ears, but his heart replaying another memory—his last conversation with Dhruv.
Because he knew something no one else did.
Dhruv had once told him, in a rare, raw whisper, "Isha is alive."
That one confession, half-broken, had changed everything.
Now, sitting alone, Ranveer let the weight of it fall over him again.
The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall. Ranveer sat on the edge of his chair, his elbows resting heavily on his knees, phone clutched tightly in his palm. He had been staring at the contact name on the screen for several minutes now—Dhruv. His thumb hovered above the call button, his breath uneven.
For so long, Dhruv had vanished into the shadows, cutting ties with everyone after Isha's so-called death. No one had heard more than a handful of words from him, and even those were clipped, guarded, like someone putting up walls brick by brick. Yet tonight, Ranveer couldn't hold it back anymore. The weight of the truth—that Isha was alive—burned inside him like fire. And Dhruv needed to know.
Finally, he pressed the button. The ringing tone echoed in his ear. Once. Twice. A third time. Ranveer almost thought Dhruv wouldn't answer. Then—
"...Hello?"
The voice on the other end was low, tired, hesitant. It didn't sound like the Dhruv he remembered, the confident man who once filled every room with his laughter. Now it was… fragile, like something that might break if pushed too hard.
"Dhruv." Ranveer's tone was steady, though inside his chest, his heartbeat thundered. "It's me… Ranveer."
There was a long silence. A shuffle of breath. Then, slowly—
"I know."
Ranveer frowned. I know? He hadn't said anything yet. Something about that answer made him uneasy.
"I… I needed to talk to you," Ranveer continued carefully. "Something has come up. Something important."
Another pause. Ranveer could almost hear Dhruv's heartbeat through the silence, as though the man on the other end was bracing himself. When Dhruv finally spoke, his voice trembled ever so slightly.
"What is it now?"
Ranveer leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. That wasn't curiosity—it was fear. He could hear it beneath the words, like a faint crack in glass.
"I don't want to waste time, Dhruv," Ranveer said firmly. "I'll come straight to the point. It's about… her."
The line went dead quiet. Dhruv didn't breathe, didn't answer, didn't move. Ranveer pressed on, his own voice lowering almost to a whisper.
"Isha."
The name hung in the air, heavy, undeniable.
And then—nothing. Absolute silence. No sound of shifting clothes, no exhale, not even the rustle of static. Dhruv had frozen.
Ranveer clenched his jaw. "Dhruv? Did you hear me?"
There was a sharp inhale on the other end, faint but noticeable. When Dhruv spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, as though he was forcing the words through clenched teeth.
"Why… why are you saying that name now?"
Ranveer's eyes darkened. He had known Dhruv for too long, known his silences, his evasions. And this wasn't grief speaking. This was fear.
"I'm saying it," Ranveer replied slowly, deliberately, "because she is alive."
He expected shock. He expected disbelief, maybe even anger. But instead, what he heard was… silence again. A silence so deep it prickled the back of Ranveer's neck.
"Dhruv," Ranveer pressed, his tone hardening. "Did you hear me? I said Isha is alive. I have proof. People have seen her. I've spoken to someone who—"
"Stop."
The word was sharp, cutting across him like a blade. Ranveer froze, gripping the phone tighter.
"Stop," Dhruv repeated, but his voice was shaky now. "You… you don't know what you're talking about. Don't say that again."
Ranveer's suspicions grew heavier with every second. "Why not? What are you hiding, Dhruv? You're scared. I can hear it. The moment I said her name—your voice changed."
"I'm not—" Dhruv began, then faltered. He exhaled shakily, and for the first time, Ranveer heard it clearly: fear. A fear that wasn't just of the past, but of something very present.
"You know something," Ranveer accused quietly. "You know something about Isha."
But Dhruv didn't reply. Not a single word. The silence stretched, thick and unbearable. And in that silence, Ranveer realized something chilling—Dhruv's silence wasn't just grief, it was knowledge. Knowledge he refused to share.
"Dhruv," Ranveer said again, his tone low, almost a warning. "Isha is alive. And if you know something, if you've known all this time, you'd better start talking."
The only answer he got was a faint click as the line went dead.
Ranveer stared at the screen, the call ended, his own reflection staring back at him. His hand trembled slightly. For the first time, it wasn't just the thought of Isha being alive that haunted him. It was Dhruv's silence. The silence that screamed louder than any words ever could.
Ranveer sat in the dim light of the outside of Shivansh hospital room long after Dhruv had cut the call. The silence in the room was suffocating, his phone still in his hand, his jaw tight with unease. He replayed every second of that short conversation in his mind. Dhruv's hesitant tone, the sudden fear in his voice, the way he froze the moment Ranveer said Isha's name—it wasn't grief. It wasn't pain. It was something more dangerous. Something that smelled of knowledge.
"Why would he silence himself like that unless he knew?" Ranveer muttered under his breath, pacing the length of the room. His fingers raked through his hair. "He knows something. Damn it, Dhruv knows something he won't tell me."
His phone buzzed in his palm just then—a message from Shivansh PA Raghav.
'We're still on it. No leads. The car vanished after turning at a point. Nothing beyond that. We can't trace it.'
Ranveer clenched his teeth and dialed instantly. Raghav picked up on the second ring, his voice tense, exhausted.
" Ranveer sirr, I don't know how else to put it. We lost the trail. The number plates were real but we can't trance them. The cameras caught the car till the point came and then… nothing. It disappeared like it never existed."
Ranveer's voice was low, edged with steel. "That's impossible. Cars don't just vanish, raghav. Someone planned this, someone with resources. You can't give up like that."
"I'm not giving up!" Raghav's frustration bled into his tone. "But there's nothing left to chase. No CCTV, no eyewitness, no clue. Whoever it was—they covered every track. Ranveer, I need you here with me. We can strategize better if we're in the same place."
But Ranveer shook his head, though Shivansh couldn't see him. His eyes burned with restless determination. "No, I can't. Not now. Shivansh has me here—I can't leave. If I move, I risk everything. You know that." He exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just… try again. Check the feeds frame by frame. Somewhere, there has to be something. A mistake. Nobody can be that perfect."
There was a pause on the other end, then raghav sighed. "Fine. I'll send you what I have. Maybe you'll see something I missed."
The call ended. Minutes later, Ranveer's phone chimed again—an encrypted file transfer. CCTV footage.
He connected his tab, the corridor room lit only by the glow of the screen. Ranveer leaned forward, eyes fixed, every muscle taut with anticipation.
The grainy black-and-white footage began rolling. A crowded street, blurred figures moving past the lens, a black car inching forward through traffic. His fingers tapped impatiently on the desk as he fast-forwarded, his breath shallow. And then—
"There," he whispered, freezing the frame. A woman stepping out of the car, her face half-hidden behind a surgical mask, oversized hoodie draped carelessly, hands shoved into her pockets.
Ranveer's heart pounded. The stance, the outline—it pulled at something familiar in his memory, yet it felt foreign at the same time. He zoomed in, straining his eyes. Her gait was different, sharper, like someone deliberately trying to mimic someone else.
No, this can't be her…
He pressed play again, following every subtle movement. She walked briskly, head lowered, disappearing past the edge of the frame. Ranveer replayed the footage again. And again. Nothing new.
Then—on the fifth loop—he saw it. A fleeting moment, not even a full second. The woman raised her hand to adjust her mask, and in that split instant, the fabric slipped away from her face.
Ranveer froze the frame instantly. His heart stopped.
There she was. Eyes wide, lips parted slightly as though mid-breath—undeniably Isha.
For a fraction of a second, she had surfaced from the shadows, and then, just as quickly, she was gone again.
Ranveer sat back slowly, his chest heaving. His eyes stung as he whispered the name under his breath. "Isha…"
He ran his hand down his face, shaking his head in disbelief. He had been right. She was alive. Yet… something gnawed at him.
He replayed the clip once more, watching every detail. The way she held herself, the way she walked—it wasn't Isha. Or at least, not the Isha he remembered. Her movements were stiff, deliberate, almost trained. And the clothes… dark, rough, far from Isha's graceful style.
"It doesn't make sense," Ranveer murmured to himself, frustration heavy in his tone. "It's her face, her eyes, but everything else—it's like she's someone else entirely."
The night air outside was heavy, but not heavier than the weight pressing down on Ranveer's chest. He sat in the quiet corridor, tab open, eyes locked on the frozen frame of the CCTV footage Shivansh PA Raghav had just sent him. His fingers trembled as he pressed play again and again, rewinding to that single fraction of a second.
The woman in the video moved briskly, her mask covering most of her face, her steps purposeful. For anyone else, she would have been a stranger. But Ranveer knew better—knew too well. Her frame, her hesitant pause before turning the corner, the way her left hand brushed against the edge of her dupatta—these were things only someone who had seen her for years would notice.
And then, that slip.
That 0.001 second.
The mask shifted, just barely, but enough.
Ranveer's heart had stopped. Isha.
He had slammed his fist on the table, whispering to himself, "It's her… I know it's her." And yet, doubt gnawed at him. The outfit wasn't hers, the walk was off, even her posture seemed… different. Was it a cruel trick his heart was playing on him? Or had Isha truly walked past the camera that night?
He grabbed his phone, his thumb hovering over Dhruv's name again. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a hard exhale, he sent the video.
His message was short:
Watch this. Then tell me what you know.
The second the file was sent, Ranveer leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. His mind was a storm, questions crashing one after another.
Why had she hidden all this time?
Why did Dhruv freeze at her name?
And if it was really Isha… why didn't she want to be found?
Somewhere deep inside, Ranveer already knew—this wasn't just about survival. It was bigger. Darker. And whatever the truth was, both Dhruv's silence and Shivansh's dead ends were proof of one thing:
Someone, somewhere, didn't want Isha to return.
Needing answers, he dialed a number he hadn't called in years.
But today he was calling him twice.
Dhruv.
The phone rang twice before being picked up. The line crackled, silence stretching for a moment too long before a calm but distant voice spoke.
"Hello?"
"Dhruv…" Ranveer's tone was low, weighted with an intensity that could not be ignored. "It's me."
There was a pause. Papers rustled faintly on the other side, as though Dhruv was in his study, trying to busy himself even while speaking.
"What happened? It's late, Ranveer bhai sa."
Ranveer didn't waste time. His throat tightened, but the words came out sharp.
"I saw her."
The silence that followed was unnatural. Not the silence of someone who didn't understand, but the silence of someone who did. Dhruv's breath hitched—barely audible, but Ranveer caught it.
"…Who?" Dhruv asked finally, his voice flat, too careful.
"You know who." Ranveer's eyes burned as he pressed his palm against the table. "Don't act like you don't. I saw Isha."
For the first time, Dhruv's voice wavered. Not loud, but a soft whisper slipped out.
"No… no, bhai sa. That… that can't be."
Ranveer leaned forward, his knuckles white. "Don't lie to me. You think I don't know her? Even in a crowd of thousands, I can tell when it's her. I saw her face. For a second, but it was enough."
On the other side, Dhruv closed his eyes, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair. His study in Delhi was dark except for the faint yellow glow of a lamp. He stared at the books stacked before him, but his mind was elsewhere—caught between the truth he carried and the lie he had to live with.
"Ranveer bhai sa…" he finally said, voice softer now, almost broken. "Sometimes our eyes trick us. Sometimes our hearts… want to see things that aren't there. Isha… she's gone."
"No!" Ranveer's voice cracked, almost desperate. "Don't tell me that. Don't say her name like she's gone. You didn't see how she turned—how she walked. It was her!"
Dhruv swallowed hard, his lips parting as though he wanted to admit it. To tell Ranveer everything. But he stopped himself, a storm brewing behind his eyes.
Dhruv's silence was telling. It was too long, too deliberate. When he finally spoke, his tone was laced with something Ranveer couldn't quite name. Fear. Regret. Or guilt.
"Even if she were alive, Ranveer… do you think she would come back to us? After everything?"
That single line froze Ranveer. He felt a chill crawl up his spine. It was as though Dhruv knew more than he admitted, as though he was hinting at something, but burying it deep under denial.
"Why would you say that?" Ranveer whispered.
"Because some truths," Dhruv replied softly, "are better left unknown."
And then—click. The call ended.
Ranveer sat frozen, staring at the silent phone in his hand. His gut told him what his mind couldn't prove: Dhruv knew something. He wasn't just hiding behind denial—he was hiding the truth.
But until the day Isha herself stood before them, Ranveer realized, the truth would remain buried in mystery.
Ranveer sat back in the dimly lit study, his breathing still uneven from the call. The shadows in the room seemed longer than usual, curling around the corners like unspoken doubts. His phone rested in his hand, the screen still glowing faintly with the paused frame of the CCTV footage Shivansh PA Raghav had sent him. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner and the rhythm of his own shallow breaths.
The video had replayed in his mind even without pressing play. That brief second—just 0.001 seconds—when the mask slipped. That fleeting moment when he saw her face. Isha. The name echoed in his mind like a forbidden prayer.
But he shook his head violently, muttering under his breath, "No… no, it can't be… it can't be her. I saw… I saw her photo that day. I saw everyone crying. I stood there. She was gone. She was gone." His voice cracked with the weight of denial, but his heart betrayed him, racing faster with every denial.
Ranveer pressed his palm against his forehead, almost as if to keep his thoughts from spilling over. The more he tried to dismiss it, the more the memory returned—her eyes in that fraction of a second, her familiar sharp walk, the slight tilt of her head. Yet, everything else—her clothes, her posture—felt alien. Almost like someone trying to be her, but not her.
He dragged a deep breath, leaning forward in his chair. "If it's her, then where has she been? And if it's not, then why… why did my heart stop like that?"
The phone buzzed in his hand again, jolting him. His chest tightened, thinking it might be Shivansh PA, Raghav, again, but it wasn't. The name flashing across the screen was Dhruv. For a moment, Ranveer just stared, his thumb hovering above the green button, unsure. He had already shared the video with Dhruv earlier, testing the waters, hoping for a reaction, hoping for clarity. But what he got back was silence. Just silence.
Finally, he answered. "Dhruv…" his voice was heavy, almost trembling.
There was a pause on the other side, long enough to make Ranveer feel like he was listening to someone's heartbeat through the line. Then, Dhruv's low voice came, careful, measured. "Why did you send me that?"
Ranveer swallowed. "You know why. Don't play games with me. You saw it, didn't you?"
A breath. Then another. Dhruv's tone wavered, betraying the calm he tried to maintain. "Ranveer bhai sa… don't… don't jump to conclusions."
"That's all you can say?" Ranveer's voice hardened. "I said one name, Dhruv. Just one word. Isha."
Silence. Complete silence on the other end. Ranveer closed his eyes, pressing the phone tighter against his ear, almost hearing the way Dhruv's breath caught. For a moment, Dhruv didn't speak. The weight of that silence was heavier than any truth.
"Answer me!" Ranveer's voice cracked, more desperate than angry now. "Don't you dare stay quiet. You saw her too. I know you did."
When Dhruv finally spoke, his words were clipped, strange. "Ranveer bhai sa, sometimes our eyes… they see what our heart wants to see. Don't… don't torture yourself with hope."
But Ranveer caught it. The faint tremor, the quiver in Dhruv's voice. The fear.
"You're lying to me," Ranveer whispered. "Your voice… it's scared. What are you hiding?"
There was a long breath on the line. Then, Dhruv said slowly, "It's… not her. The way she walks, the way she holds herself—it's not Isha. Your heart is making you see her everywhere, Ranveer. I'm sorry."
Ranveer slammed his fist on the desk again. "Stop lying! You think I can't tell? For one second, her mask slipped, and I saw her. Don't you dare tell me I imagined it."
Dhruv exhaled shakily. "I… I can't do this right now." And before Ranveer could speak again, the line went dead.
The call ending left the room heavier than before. Ranveer's knuckles whitened as he clutched the phone, his chest heaving. The silence screamed louder now.
He replayed the video once more, this time on mute. His thumb hovered over the pause button, waiting for the exact frame. There—her face, unmasked for a breath of time. That was Isha. He knew it. But why did Dhruv's voice sound like someone cornered, someone afraid?
He rubbed his forehead again, trying to piece the puzzle together. Dhruv knows something. He has to. But why isn't he speaking? Why does it feel like he's protecting her… or hiding her?
On the other side..
Dhruv sat frozen in his chair, his phone screen casting a pale glow on his tired face. The CCTV video kept replaying, over and over again, as though his soul had latched onto that 0.001 second where the mask slipped from her face. Her eyes. Her skin. Her features. His heart swore it was Isha. But his mind—his broken, shattered mind—argued back, No. It can't be. She died. You saw everything. You felt the void. Everyone cried. You buried her memory with your own hands.
Yet that flicker of recognition was enough to stir chaos inside him. His breaths came shallow, harsh, his chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon. He dragged his hands down his face and pressed his temples, whispering to himself, "It's her. No… it can't be her. But it is her… I know her walk, her eyes, her way of holding her hand—"
The phone slipped from his hand and clattered onto the desk. He leaned back in the chair, eyes shut, but the image was seared into him. That fleeting glance, that silent scream.
And then—knock, knock.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. He flinched, quickly turning the phone face down on the desk. "Who's there?" he called, his voice strained.
He jolted, his heart pounding against his ribs. For a second, paranoia wrapped around him like a vice. He stared at the door, his knuckles whitening on the armrest.
The door creaked open gently, and a familiar voice broke the suffocating silence.
"Dhruv beta… may I come in?"
It was Isha's mother.
Her presence was always soft, like a breeze in summer, but tonight it was heavier—carrying concern, almost maternal authority. She stepped in, balancing a tray in her hands. A plate covered with steel lids, the fragrance of warm food spilling into the study.
She offered a tired but gentle smile.
Ranveer quickly straightened himself, as if caught doing something wrong. He snatched his phone from the desk and locked it, slipping it screen-down.
"Ma, you should've called me," he said quietly, forcing his voice steady.
"Dhruv beta," she said softly, placing the tray on the corner of his desk, "you didn't eat dinner. You came home so late again. I thought… I thought I should bring it here for you."
She smiled faintly, though her eyes betrayed a deep sadness. "I did call you, Dhruv. Three times. You didn't pick up."
He swallowed, words failing him.
"So I thought," she continued, setting the tray down on the corner of his desk, "I'll just bring dinner myself. You didn't eat at outside again, did you? And you came back so late from work…" She looked at him, eyes glistening. "How long will you keep punishing yourself like this, beta?"
Dhruv looked away, blinking rapidly, gripping the edge of the desk as though it could keep him anchored.
"I'm not punishing myself," he muttered, his throat dry. "I just… I just have too much work."
She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm, "Work is never more important than health, Dhruv. Look at you. Pale face, sleepless eyes… Isha wouldn't want this."
The name hit him like a dagger. He bit his lip, trying to hide the storm that surged inside. His gaze flickered for a split second toward the phone lying face-down, the video paused mid-frame. He quickly looked away.
His heart screamed to say something, to ask her, to confess his doubts. But he couldn't. Not yet.
Isha's mother sighed, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. "Dhruv you've taken so much responsibility. Her firm, her work, even us. You've done more than we could ever ask for. But you forget something."
"What?" His voice cracked despite himself.
"That you are not Isha. You cannot replace her by living her life, beta. You must live yours too. Eat, sleep, laugh… at least a little. Or she will never forgive you, you know?"
Dhruv's eyes burned, but he didn't let them spill. Not in front of her. He forced a nod, murmuring, "Okay… I'll eat, I'm fine. "
She gave him a long look, one only a mother could give—gentle yet piercing. "You're not fine. Look at you. You barely eat, you don't sleep. Isha wouldn't have wanted this."
She patted his arm gently before turning to leave. At the door, she paused. "Dhruv… she may be gone, but she wouldn't want you to disappear with her. Take care of yourself, beta."
His eyes softened, guilt pooling in his chest. "I'm fine, Ma. Really."
Satisfied, she gave his arm a squeeze. "Good. Vikram told me to remind you—don't skip meals. He'll scold you if he finds out." A weak smile touched her lips. "Now, eat before it gets cold. I'll leave you to your work."
As she turned toward the door, Dhruv called out softly, "Ma."
She paused, looking back.
"Thank you." His voice was low, weighted, but sincere.
She gave him a sad smile and left, closing the door gently behind her.
Silence fell again. The kind that presses against your ears.
When the door closed behind her, the silence returned. Dhruv looked at the untouched plate of food, then slowly back at the phone. He reached out, playing the video again.
Dhruv's eyes fell back to the tray. The food sat there, steaming, untouched. He stared at it for a long while, as though it belonged to another world. Then slowly, almost unwillingly, his hand moved—not to the food, but to the phone lying beside it.
He picked it up, unlocked it, and the video filled the screen again. The paused frame where the mask slipped. That fraction of a second. Her eyes, her face.
He whispered her name, voice breaking, "Isha…"
His spoon clattered back into the plate. He couldn't eat. Not tonight. Not when his soul screamed she was alive.
For the first time, he whispered aloud, his voice trembling, "If you're alive, Isha… why are you hiding from us?"
And somewhere deep down, he knew—he had the answer.
Back to Jaipur..
The cabin was too quiet. Too painfully quiet.
Ranveer sat on the long sofa pushed against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The ticking of the clock above the door was the only sound, besides the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor connected to Shivansh.
He lifted his head slowly and looked at the man on the bed. Shivansh—his brother, his king, his responsibility—was lying pale and motionless, plaster on leg, bandages across his forehead. The same Shivansh who once stood like an unshakable wall, who never bent in front of anyone, was now still, broken, vulnerable.
Ranveer's chest ached.
He had seen Shivansh fall once before—when he lost Isha. But this… this was different. This time it was his body, his very life, that hung by a thread.
Ranveer rubbed his tired eyes and forced himself to focus. On the table before him lay scattered pieces of what he had been connecting all night:
The cards he had picked up from the ground when Shivansh's car was struck.
A CCTV footage showing the face of the woman they can't forget.
An audio recording on his phone—Dhruv's voice, cracking, breaking the moment he heard isha name.
An audio recording on his phone--shivansh's voice, cracking, breaking, Wispering the moment of crash.
Ranveer clenched his jaw. Isha. Even now, after five years, her name still burned in the silence between them.
He pressed play again, torturing himself with it.
Shivansh's voice echoed through the small cabin—rough, hoarse, trembling:
"I LOVE YOU,
I LOVE YOU JAANA,
I NEVER LOVE SOMEONE ELSE OTHER THAN YOU,
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH."
The audio ended, leaving Ranveer hollow.
He dropped the phone, exhaling shakily. "Damn it, shiv, you were never meant to fight this alone."
His eyes drifted back to the hospital bed. The image of Shivansh collapsing replayed in his mind—the way he had run, full of stubborn fire, straight through the palace gates, and the very next moment, the screech of tires, the crash, the blood. Ranveer had screamed his name, but by the time he reached, Shivansh was already unconscious, covered in broken glass.
Ranveer tightened his fists. That wasn't an accident. Not anymore.
He reached for his phone again, his mind racing. I need Aarya. He'll know what to do. He'll trace them.
Just as he was about to dial, his screen lit up with Aarya's name.
Ranveer answered instantly, his voice sharp. "Aarya?"
The man's voice came fast, heavy with urgency.
"Sir, we've got the truck driver. The one who rammed into Shivansh sir's car. He's in our custody."
Ranveer shot up from the sofa, his heart pounding. "Where?"
"On the outskirts. He confessed he was paid. Not random. Not accident."
Ranveer's grip tightened on the phone. "By who?"
There was a pause. Then Arya's voice dropped lower.
"By randheer, he turned our project manager ravi offering him money, randheer get to know that his sister is admitted in hospital, so, he offer him money to get to know our project and he did but sir get to know about this and he punished him and then randheer get to know about ravi, they decide to kill sir and they were been watching. They knew his routine. They monitored his route. They knew exactly when he would leave the penthouse. They chose yesterday, they know he will go to the warehouse. He never changes his route to the airport. That's how they trapped him."
Ranveer's stomach sank. He glanced back at Shivansh, who lay helpless under the thin hospital blanket. So they were watching you… all this time.
His voice was low but firm. "Don't let the driver go. Keep him alive. I'll be there myself. Just… just hold him until I come."
As he ended the call, Ranveer leaned back against the wall, his mind burning.
Pieces were fitting together. Shivansh had been the target not just because of money or project—but because he was weak right now. The news of Isha's alive had already shaken him. He was vulnerable. And vultures always circled when they smelled blood.
And yet… there was something else gnawing at Ranveer's mind. Something darker.
Could it be connected? Could Shivansh's enemies have known about that too? Could they have used that secret as leverage to tear him apart?
Ranveer rubbed his temples, his thoughts racing wildly. Was it really about the project? Or about Isha? Or about the isha no one talks about aloud?
He looked at his brother again, his throat tightening. Shivansh's face was pale, but even in unconsciousness, there was a tension in his brow, as if he was still fighting wars in his dreams.
Ranveer whispered under his breath, voice cracking:
"Don't you dare leave me, shiv. Not like this. Not when Isha's truth is still hanging between us. Not when there are enemies in the shadows who want your blood."
He pushed off the wall, pacing the cabin. Every step was heavy, restless. The walls felt too small, the air too suffocating. He wanted to smash something, to scream, but instead, he picked up the CCTV photo again and stared at the blurred truck.
"This isn't over," he muttered. "Whoever thought they could break Shivansh Raghuvanshi—they've never seen what happens when the family fights back."
But even as he said it, his chest ached. Because he knew the truth.
Shivansh wasn't fighting anymore. He was drowning—in guilt, in loneliness, in the ghost of a woman who still haunted every corner of his world.
And if Isha truly was alive… then everything Ranveer believed, everything he had promised to protect, was about to collapse.
The silence in the hospital cabin was too heavy, too sharp, as if even the walls had absorbed the pain of the past hours. The dim light above Shivansh's bed hummed faintly, throwing pale shadows across his face. His body looked fragile under the layers of bandages and the hum of the machines monitoring him.
Ranveer stood near the foot of the bed, staring at his younger brother with clenched fists. His voice had already cracked too many times tonight — first when he had heard his brother's trembling voice through that recording, and then when the truth began falling into place like scattered pieces of a puzzle no one wanted to solve.
Now, another decision lay heavy on his shoulders.
"Call Aviyansh," Ranveer's tone was low but firm, his gaze still fixed on Shivansh. "He needs to be here."
The silence stretched. Ranveer PA who just came to drop ranveer food is standing by the door, hesitated before replying softly, "Sir… you know Aviyansh sir won't come. He—he has refused before. He was not at the palace that's why I came sir."
Ranveer finally turned, his eyes sharp. "Then we will make him come."
—
Same time on the other side, in another corner of the hospital, a phone rang. The number flashing on the screen was enough to freeze Aviyansh mid-step. He stood by the corridor window, his hands buried in the pockets of his pent, his jaw tight as he ignored the first two rings. But the third time, he pressed the button.
"Avi." Ranveer's voice came steady, layered with urgency.
"I told you," Aviyansh cut him short, his voice colder than the winter wind outside. "I don't want to see him. Don't call me for this again."
Ranveer closed his eyes, breathing deeply, controlling the storm inside him. "You don't understand. He might wake up—"
"I don't care if he wakes up!" Aviyansh snapped, louder than he intended. His breath quickened as his fingers tightened around the phone. "That man… what he did… I cannot forgive. You want me to sit by his bed and pretend to care? I can't. I won't."
"He's your brother," Ranveer said softly, but there was steel under his calm tone.
"Brother?" Aviyansh let out a bitter laugh. "Brothers don't destroy someone's life. Brothers don't leave scars so deep you can't even close your eyes without seeing them again. He—he destroyed everything, bhai sa. Everything I had faith in."
Ranveer's silence on the other end was heavier than words. Then, finally, his voice came, quieter, more deliberate.
"It's not about forgiving, Avi. It's about truth. If you don't come now… if you don't hear with your own ears… you may never know what really happened."
There was a pause. Aviyansh's breath came heavy, sharp, almost ragged. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window. "And what if I don't want to know? What if the truth doesn't change the pain? What then?"
"Then at least you'll stop running from it," Ranveer said firmly.
Another long silence. Only Aviyansh's breathing could be heard, uneven and conflicted. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his voice broke, softer now.
"…Fine. Twenty minutes. Don't expect anything else from me."
Ranveer's shoulders eased for the first time that night. "That's enough. Just come."
Ranveer knows that aviyansh was near them but he chooses to ignore that he knows aviyansh care about Shivansh but he also love isha, what Shivansh did he can't forget. That's why he is reacting like this.
—
Twenty minutes later, footsteps echoed down the sterile hospital corridor. Aviyansh entered the cabin, his tall frame stiff, his face pale but unreadable. His eyes flickered toward Shivansh once, then away, as though even that brief glance burned.
He gave a small nod to Ranveer, silent, then moved to the sofa, sinking into it with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Ranveer didn't press him further. He only placed a hand briefly on his shoulder before whispering, "Wait here. I have something else to take care of."
—
Minutes later, the night swallowed Ranveer as he stepped out of the hospital and into the car waiting for him. The city lights blurred through the window as his mind replayed the last few hours—Shivansh's accident, the truck, the faces in the CCTV, the phone call.
The car pulled up outside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Jaipur. The moment he stepped inside, the heavy smell of iron and rust filled the air. A dim bulb swayed above, casting long shadows across the cracked floor.
In the center, tied to a chair, sat the truck driver. His face was bruised, his eyes wide with fear. Two men from Ranveer's security team stood guard on either side.
"Sir, we caught him trying to escape the city," one of them reported.
Ranveer's gaze hardened as he stepped closer. "And the one who ordered him? What is the name of him? "
Another voice answered from the corner. It was karan, his most trusted aide. " Randheer sir, We have the lead. The one who paid him is inside as well."
Ranveer's jaw tightened. The enemy. The one who had dared to send death racing toward Shivansh on wheels.
"Bring him forward," Ranveer ordered, his voice deadly calm.
A second man was dragged into the dim light—this one older, his face hidden behind sweat and fear. Ranveer's eyes narrowed, his fists curling slowly at his sides.
"If it wasn't possible…" the man muttered, his voice trembling, "if it wasn't possible to stop him, we… we would never have tried this. But someone wanted him gone. Someone paid. We only—"
"Enough." Ranveer's voice cut sharp, echoing against the cold metal walls. "You will tell me who. Right here. Right now."
The man swallowed hard, his body shaking. The guards tightened their hold as Ranveer's shadow fell over him. The weight of the night pressed down heavy, and everyone in that warehouse knew one thing—whatever secrets were about to be revealed, they could change everything.
The warehouse was dimly lit, the smell of iron and damp cement heavy in the air. A single bulb swung back and forth, throwing harsh shadows across the concrete walls. Ranveer stood in the center, his eyes dark and merciless, while two men knelt in front of him—hands tied, faces bloodied from the earlier beatings.
Of the two, one—a middle-aged man with hollow eyes—kept repeating his innocence. Ranveer's gaze lingered on him for a moment and then shifted.
"You…" he pointed at him sharply, "maybe you are not the mastermind. I'll decide that later." His voice was cold, sharp enough to make the guards behind him stiffen. "But this one—" he stepped toward the other pair, his boots echoing in the silence—"these one thought they could play games with us."
The first of the looked up, fear mingling with defiance. The second kept his head bowed, trembling.
Ranveer crouched low, staring into the defiant one's eyes. "Tell me," he hissed, "why did you do it? Speak!"
When the man refused, Ranveer's hand shot out, gripping his jaw so hard the man winced. He nodded to his guard. "Show him what happens when silence becomes arrogance."
The guard didn't hesitate. A sharp blow to the man's ribs made him groan, collapsing sideways. Another guard poured water over his head, then yanked him back upright.
Ranveer stood, his voice calm, controlled—deadly calm. "I don't like wasting time. Speak… or I'll make you beg me to end this night."
The man gasped, chest heaving, but before he could respond, Ranveer turned to the trembling one. "And you," he said softly, almost kindly. "Do you want to save yourself? Or do you want to rot with him?"
The trembling man shook his head rapidly. "I—I don't know! I only drove the truck, sahib! They told me to block the road, to delay him. I didn't know it was him—I swear on my children I didn't know!"
Ranveer's eyes narrowed, calculating. "Children?" he repeated, voice suddenly sharp. "Did you think about them when you risked another man's life? Did you think about what happens when someone doesn't return home?" His fist came down on the table, the sound echoing like thunder.
The trembling man burst into tears. The defiant one cursed under his breath, earning another blow from the guard.
Ranveer stood tall, pacing, letting the weight of silence choke them. He was about to press further when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He answered sharply. "Yes?"
On the other end, Arya's voice was tense. "Ranveer… Aviyansh sir just called me. Bhai is moving. There's a chance he's waking up."
Ranveer froze. His eyes flicked toward the men, then back at the floor. His jaw tightened.
"Are you sure?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the storm brewing inside.
"Yes," Arya confirmed. "The doctors are rushing. It could happen any moment."
Ranveer exhaled heavily, glancing once more at the broken men before him. "Listen carefully. Don't let anything happen inside the cabin until I arrive. If Aviyansh panics, calm him. If Shivansh opens his eyes… make sure he doesn't strain himself. Do you understand?"
"Yes. But these men—"
"Handle them," Ranveer interrupted, voice iron again. "No one leaves until I come back. Keep them breathing… but make sure they remember every second of tonight." He cut the call, pocketed the phone, and signaled to his guards.
"You," he pointed at one guard. "Keep them tied. Don't let them sleep. They'll wish they could. You," he pointed to another, "prepare the files. I want their every movement traced. If one word comes out that doesn't match… break them."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, coat swaying as he stormed out of the warehouse.
---
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and quiet tension. Ranveer's footsteps echoed as he entered the private floor. Guards nodded, stepping aside. When he pushed open the cabin door, his heart skipped.
Inside, Aviyansh stood near the bed, panic in his eyes. Shivansh lay against the pillows, his chest rising and falling unsteadily, lips moving faintly as if fighting through a nightmare.
"bhai sa—" Avyansh began, but Ranveer raised a hand.
"Don't… don't say anything yet," Ranveer muttered, his own throat tight. He stepped forward, gaze locked on his brother.
For a moment, he only stared—the sight of Shivansh hooked to IVs, monitors beeping steadily, cut Ranveer deeper than any enemy could.
Then Shivansh's hand twitched. His lips moved again, this time clearer.
"Isha…"
The name hung in the air like a fragile echo. Aviyansh froze. Ranveer felt his chest tighten painfully.
Avyansh looked at him, helpless. "Bhai…"
Ranveer forced himself to move closer, sitting at the edge of the bed. He leaned down, speaking softly but firmly. "Shivansh… listen to me. You don't need to fight right now. She—she would never want to see you like this. You hear me? She'd want you strong. She'd want you alive. So stay calm. Stay here."
Shivansh's brows furrowed, as if he heard, but his body resisted, struggling.
Ranveer gripped his hand, voice breaking despite his effort to stay composed. "You're not alone. I'm here. Aviyansh is here. And she…" He swallowed hard. "She will come back. But for that—you have to live."
The machines beeped steadily, and slowly, Shivansh's body began to relax. His lips still trembled, but the strain lessened.
Ranveer sat back, exhaling deeply, a hand covering his face for a moment before he straightened again.
Aviuansh whispered, almost afraid to disturb the fragile calm. "Bhai sa… do you think… he really felt her?"
Ranveer didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on Shivansh, whose chest rose and fell slowly now. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, resolute.
"Yes," he said. "Even from wherever she is… her name is still his strength."
And as the cabin sank into silence, Ranveer felt the weight of both hope and fear pressing against his chest—because if Isha was truly alive, then the storm had only just begun.
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