DHRITI'S POV :-
As I stepped off the plane, a soft little hand curled around mine—Rooh's. Her grip was instinctive, comforting. Her wide grey eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings, curiosity sparkling in them as she took in the sights, sounds, and bustle of a world she was seeing for the first time. She's the most precious part of my existence—my everything.
I hadn't even known I was pregnant when I left. And now, here she was, two and a half years old—so full of life, wonder, and questions. A little whirlwind of joy and mischief. She was curious about everything, ready to discover this world with her tiny steps and boundless imagination.
As I looked down at her, I felt a strange mix of emotions wash over me—gratitude, nostalgia, pain, and a flicker of hope. She's the reason I'm back. I came back for her, to give her what she's been unknowingly yearning for—roots, belonging, maybe even love. A home.
It's been three long years since I left this city—this country. I ran away from the pain, the betrayal, the chaos that tore my world apart.
I left behind everything I had ever loved, including him. My home. My Aadi.
But now I'm here again, standing on familiar soil with a suitcase full of memories and a heart weighed down by emotions I haven't yet sorted. Everything has changed—this place, the people I once knew, and most of all… me.
Time has a way of sculpting us, and the last three years have molded me into someone I'm still learning to understand. I'm no longer the same girl who once crumbled under the weight of expectations and heartbreak.
"Mumma, Mumma… whele are we?" Rooh's soft voice broke through my thoughts. She looked up at me, her face a perfect mix of innocence and excitement, still clutching my hand tightly.
I crouched down so we were face-to-face, kissed her cheek gently, and she giggled—her laughter like music I didn't know I'd missed so much.
I smiled and said, voice tinged with unspoken emotion, "We're home, angel. Right where we belong."
Her eyes lit up like stars, her excitement infectious. I couldn't help but laugh softly at how effortlessly she brought warmth to my heart.
As we made our way through the airport, I scooped her up into my arms. She clung to me with wide-eyed wonder, listening to the hum of different languages, the echoing announcements, and the rhythm of hurried footsteps all around us. She was excited, yet unsure—a feeling I knew all too well.
The moment we stepped out of the arrival gate, my eyes landed on two familiar faces—my mom and my bhabhi. They were waiting just outside, scanning the crowd, their faces a mixture of joy, disbelief, and emotion. When they saw us, their expressions lit up with pure love.
They rushed toward us, and almost immediately, Rooh found herself in a sea of affection. My mother wrapped her in her arms, showering her with kisses, holding her close as if trying to make up for lost time.
"Dhriti, my child!" my mom cried as she pulled me into a tight hug. That embrace—it filled a void I hadn't even realized had grown so deep. One tear slipped down my cheek before I caught myself.
I had trained myself not to break down, not to be vulnerable. But in that moment, I just let it be.
Three years of being away had left their marks—some visible, most not. The pain I ran from still lingered, but this time, I wasn't going to run again. I had come back to face it all. For myself. For Rooh.
"How have you been, beta? I missed you so much. I missed you terribly, Riti," my mother said, her voice cracking as she kissed my forehead with trembling hands. Her eyes, brimming with tears, mirrored the years we lost.
"I missed you too, mom," I whispered, holding her tightly.
"I'm sorry, bacha. I'm so sorry," she said, suddenly folding her hands in front of me. It broke something in me. She had no reason to apologize—none of it had ever been her fault.
"No, mom, please… don't. It wasn't your fault." I reached out to stop her, but before I could finish, Rooh chimed in with her sweet innocence.
"Naani, don't cly… Mumma says big girls don't cly."
She tugged at her grandmother's dupatta, gesturing for her to bend down. When mom did, Rooh gently wiped her tears and kissed her eyes. A soft chorus of "awwws" from the bystanders around us followed, but I was too busy smiling through my own tears.
My daughter—my brave little girl—was the perfect blend of warmth and strength.
And she reminded me so much of him… of Aadi.
Just as I was caught in that thought, my bhabhi pulled me into a warm hug.
"I missed you so much, Dhriti," she said, her voice thick with emotion. A lone tear rolled down her cheek before she quickly brushed it away—always the composed one.
"I missed you too, bhabhi," I said softly.
"How's Vaani doing? Did she come along with you?" I asked, glancing around.
"You know how Papa and your bhai would react if they found out we were meeting you," she sighed. "God knows what they'd do."
I nodded. "It's alright, bhabhi. I understand," I said, adjusting Rooh in my arms.
Mr. Sharma and his beloved son—my so-called father and brother. The men who tore my world apart and turned my peaceful life into ashes.
My mother… she's always been my constant, my anchor. But even with her, I've built walls over time. Not because I stopped loving her, but because it hurt too much to let her in and pretend everything was okay.
My father, Mr. Yogesh Sharma—a renowned politician and businessman. We were close once. He used to be my hero. But that night… the night that changed everything… he lost the right to be called a father. That title no longer belongs to him in my heart.
And my brother, Mr. Purav Sharma a man who wears two faces. To the world, he's a powerful politician. Behind closed doors, he's a name feared in the underworld. To me? He's a ghost. A nightmare I refuse to acknowledge. As far as I'm concerned, he doesn't exist. Not anymore.
"Where will you stay, Riti?" my mother asked, her voice soft but laced with concern. Her question caught me a little off guard—not because it was unexpected, but because of the emotions it stirred.
"I've already bought an apartment for Rooh and me, Mom. You don't need to worry," I replied gently, trying to reassure her. But I didn't miss the flash of pain that crossed her face, the hurt in her eyes. It stung, more than I'd anticipated.
I offered a faint smile and glanced at the cab waiting for us outside. "I think it's time for us to leave. Our ride's here. Take care, Mom. Take care, Bhabhi. We'll see you soon."
With Rooh asleep in my arms, I turned toward the waiting cab, grateful for the momentary reprieve. If she were awake, she would've asked the questions I wasn't ready to answer—about why we weren't going home with her nani and mami, about why we had to stay elsewhere. But for now, she was quiet, her little hand curled into the fabric of my kurti, her face resting peacefully against my shoulder.
As the cab pulled away from the airport, the weight of the city pressed in on me—memories flooding back in waves, sharp and tender all at once.
The ache in my heart hadn't faded over time; if anything, it had grown more pronounced. Even after three years, the pain of leaving still lingered—raw, unresolved.
When we arrived at the apartment building, I stepped out of the cab and carefully balanced Rooh and our luggage. The entrance door swung open before I could even knock.
There she was—Maahi. My best friend. My constant. The one who had stood by me through every storm life had thrown my way. Her presence brought a comfort words couldn't quite describe.
"Ahhh, finally! My two beautiful ladies have arrived!" she beamed, pulling me into a warm hug before scooping Rooh into her arms. Even in sleep, Rooh smiled as Maahi peppered her face with kisses.
Once we were inside and settled, I took a much-needed shower while Maahi made us both a cup of coffee. The air was filled with the warm, comforting aroma as we sat on the couch, the silence between us saying more than words could.
Maahi broke it gently. "Are you sure you want to speak to him?"
I looked up, startled slightly by the shift in her tone. Her expression had grown serious—soft, but firm.
"I have to," I said, my voice quiet but steady. "I don't really have a choice, Maahi. I need to do this. For Rooh."
She nodded slowly, but the concern in her eyes deepened. "Riti… he's not the same anymore. Not since you left."
I swallowed hard, dreading what I already knew in my heart.
"He's changed," she continued. "He's become cold. Distant. It's like… he's built a wall around himself. The warmth he used to carry? It's gone. He's angry, Riti. And hurt. Your leaving—your silence—it changed him."
Her words pierced me deeper than I expected. I felt my heart sink, guilt washing over me in waves. I had left at the worst possible time. I had abandoned the one person who had loved me beyond reason. How could I expect him to still be the same man?
"I know," I murmured, barely holding back the tears now brimming in my eyes. "I know I've wronged him. I left him when he needed me the most. I don't blame him for changing. But Maahi… I've already lost him once. I don't think I can survive losing him again—not without trying."
She reached over and took my hand, her voice gentle. "Rethink this, Riti. The reasons you ran from this city—they're still here. The people who hurt you, the ones who tried to break you… they haven't gone anywhere. And they're not going to make this easy for you."
I nodded slowly. "I know. I'm not naïve, Maahi. I'm scared. But I'm also done running. I need to face this—for myself, for Aadi and for Rooh. She deserves to know where she comes from. She deserves to know her father."
Maahi pulled me into a hug then, wrapping me in the kind of comfort only a best friend could offer. "You're not alone, Riti. I'm here—always. And no matter what happens, we'll figure this out together. But for now, it's late. You should get some rest."
She gave me one last squeeze before we both headed to our rooms.
In the quiet of the night, I entered the room where Rooh lay fast asleep, her face bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. That little smile on her lips it was his. The same tilt, the same calm curve. The resemblance between them was uncanny. Same smile. Same eyes. Same everything.
I gently bent down, kissed her forehead, and slipped under the covers beside her. I held her close, her tiny hand clutching my shirt in her sleep.
"Soon, my little angel," I whispered into the silence. "Soon, you'll meet your father. I don't know how it will go, but I hope he listens. I hope… he sees you. I hope he still has room in his heart for us."
And with that thought, I let sleep take me—my mind heavy with hope, fear, and the weight of a thousand unsaid words.