The Raizada Mansion shimmered in gold that evening — strings of marigolds cascading down marble arches, lamps flickering like captive stars, and the sound of shehnais floating through the air, soft as memory itself.
It was a day of joy — the marriage , and for once, even the stoic Raizada men had allowed celebration to spill through the walls that usually held silence.
The baraat was ready to leave, the drums beating in perfect rhythm with the heartbeat of the grand courtyard. Amidst laughter, dancing cousins, and teasing uncles, Sidharth Raizada stood by the mansion gates — tall, composed, every inch the man his family looked up to.
Dadi, her silver hair gleaming beneath her pallu, stepped forward with the thaal. She applied a tilak on Sidharth's forehead, her hands trembling slightly with emotion.
"My first grandson," she whispered fondly, her voice thick with pride. "Always the strength of this family."
Sidharth smiled — that calm, perfect Raizada smile that never reached his eyes. He bent down to touch her feet, then straightened, looking out at the bright chaos around him.
And for a fleeting second, amid the swirl of music and marigolds, something hollow flickered in his gaze.
He looked up at the evening sky, a muscle tightening in his jaw, and said quietly — more to himself than anyone else —
"Everyone says time heals everything, Dadi…
but I'm still waiting — waiting for one reason, one word — why she left that day without looking back."
The laughter around him continued — but Sidharth's voice carried an ache that didn't belong in celebration.
His smile returned, slow and practiced, as he turned toward his family.
But behind that smile lived a man still standing in the ruins of a love he never stopped believing in.
Anuradha Raizada's bangles chimed as she hurried across the corridor, her phone pressed to her ear, the scent of mogra trailing behind her. Her saree shimmered in pale gold, but the crease of worry on her forehead dimmed the sparkle.
"Shaurya, where are you, beta?" she said for the fourth time, her voice a mix of irritation and motherly affection. "Your brother's baraat is about to leave. Everyone's waiting, and you're nowhere in sight!"
The call rang unanswered.
She sighed, muttering under her breath, "God knows what's more important than his own brother's wedding. "
Before her worry could bloom further, a lazy, teasing voice cut through the air —
"Relax, Mom," drawled Aavyansh Raizada, stepping down the grand staircase with his trademark grin, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses hanging from his shirt pocket. "You know your middle son better than anyone. He's probably stuck in some last-minute meeting with his party heads, pretending to fix the nation while we fix bhai's turban."
Anuradha turned to him with a half-exasperated, half-amused look.
"Your tongue will land you in trouble one day, Aavyansh."
He chuckled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Trouble is my middle name, Mom. But trust me—Shaurya won't miss bhai's wedding. Not even if the Parliament caught fire. He's punctual when it comes to family—just never on time."
That earned him a reluctant laugh from her, the kind that broke her tension.
Sidharth, standing nearby, watched the exchange quietly—his lips curved in a faint smile. For a moment, the mansion didn't feel so heavy; it pulsed with life again.
Somewhere
The clock had just struck ten when Shaurya Raizada stepped out of the Raizada Party Office, the evening air brushing against his starched white kurta. The glow of the city lights reflected off his car's window as he checked his phone — his mother's missed calls flashing insistently.
A faint sigh escaped him.
"Of course, Mom's panic hour," he muttered, half amused, half weary. He was about to call back when a message popped up — a political update that made his expression harden instantly.
Something in those few lines — tightened his jaw. The calm politician vanished; the man beneath began to simmer.
He slipped his phone into his pocket, gave a curt order to his driver, "take to hotel.moon," and turned down a side street. The neon glow of a nearby bar caught his eye.
He needed quiet — or at least, the kind of noise that drowns thought.
---
Inside, the bar area was dim and chaotic — music thumping, laughter spilling too easily, the air heavy with perfume and smoke. Just as he stepped in, he saw a few police officers near the counter, questioning a manager.
Shaurya's instincts sharpened. He walked toward them, voice steady and clipped.
"What happened here?"
One of the officers recognized him instantly, standing a little straighter. "Minor altercation, sir. Some underage kids caused a ruckus. We're handling it."
Shaurya nodded, his political composure slipping back into place. "Good. Make sure it doesn't reach the media. You know how one story can turn into ten."
The officer gave a respectful nod, "Of course, sir."
Satisfied, Shaurya turned to leave — ready to walk away from the smell of alcohol and the chatter of strangers. But just as he passed the narrow hallway leading to the private rooms, a door at the far end creaked open.
He wouldn't have looked twice—
except something in that silence pulled at him.
His gaze shifted, almost unwillingly… and froze.
Inside, under the harsh light of a single lamp, a girl stumbled against a couch — her hair tousled, her voice broken by fear. A man leaned over her, his hands forceful, his breath too close. She pushed at him weakly, slurring a plea he ignored.
And worse—
a camera blinked red from the corner of the room. Recording.
Something primal snapped inside Shaurya.
The politician vanished.
Only the man remained.
Without thinking, without a word, he strode forward — the door slamming against the wall as he barged in, his voice cold and cutting like steel—
"Touch her once more— and I'll make sure you never raise your hand again."
The boy froze. The girl turned, her eyes dazed but terrified, mascara streaking her cheeks. And for the first time that night, Shaurya Raizada realized — this wasn't just another reckless party.
It was the beginning of something that would change everything.
The air in the room thickened with tension. The man froze mid-motion, caught like a thief in light. Shaurya's eyes, dark and unblinking, held him pinned in place.
"Guards!" His voice was low but lethal — the kind that didn't need to be raised to demand obedience.
Within seconds, two of his security men entered.
"Take him," Shaurya ordered, his tone leaving no space for argument. "Hand him to the police outside. No noise. No leaks. I'll deal with this later — personally."
The boy stammered something, but one look from Shaurya silenced him. His guards dragged the trembling figure out, leaving behind the reek of alcohol and the echo of guilt.
For a moment, the room was utterly still — only the faint hum of the camera's red light flickering in the corner.
Shaurya's gaze shifted to it.
Expression tightening, he crossed the room in two strides, yanked the device from its place, and slipped it into his coat pocket. Evidence. Proof. Protection — for whoever this girl was.
When he turned back, she was still there — fragile and trembling, her breath uneven. Her eyes, glazed with fear and intoxication, barely registered his presence.
"Hey… hey, it's okay," he said quietly, stepping closer, his voice softening from command to comfort. "You're safe now."
But the moment he reached out, she flinched — panic flashing through her dazed gaze.
"No! Don't— don't touch me!" she cried, shoving at his chest weakly, mistaking him for the same man who'd just hurt her.
Shaurya froze for a heartbeat, then gently caught her wrists, his grip firm but careful.
"Stop. You're safe," he repeated, lowering his tone even more. "I'm not him."
She blinked, her strength faltering, her knees giving way as the world around her blurred.
Shaurya caught her before she could fall, her head collapsing against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck.
For a man who never believed in fate, that moment felt oddly still — like time itself had paused to take note.
He looked down at her face — soft, helpless, and utterly unaware — and felt something stir deep within him, something he couldn't name yet.
"Who are you…" he murmured under his breath, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes, "and what storm have you brought into my night?"
The night air outside the bar was cool, the chaos fading behind them as Shaurya carried the unconscious girl to his waiting car. His guards stood at attention, silent and alert.
"Open the back door," he ordered curtly.
The driver hesitated only a moment before obeying. Shaurya settled her carefully on the seat, adjusting her dupatta to cover her properly. Her face, even in the dim light, looked heartbreakingly young—lost between fear and fatigue.
"Drive to the farmhouse," he said, his voice low but resolute."
"Yes, sir."
The engine started, the city lights melting into a blur as they sped down the quieter highway roads. Shaurya leaned back, his gaze fixed out the window, the weight of what just happened pressing on his thoughts.
A hidden camera.
A terrified girl.
And a scandal that could have destroyed a life in minutes.
He looked at her again—peaceful now, unaware that her nightmare had been interrupted by a stranger. Something about the whole thing gnawed at him, but there was no time to dwell. His brother's wedding awaited, and the Raizadas didn't pause for emotion.
---
By the time they reached the Raizada farmhouse, the staff were already awake from a single call.
"Keep her in the guest room," Shaurya instructed quietly as he lifted her from the car, ensuring her modesty remained intact. "Call the doctor if needed. And listen carefully—she's not to be disturbed. Inform me the moment she wakes up."
"Yes, sir," his head guard replied, respectful and firm.
Shaurya took one last glance at her sleeping form, her hair splayed across the pillow like a question left unanswered, then turned away, his expression hardening back into control.
"Let's go," he told his driver. "To the mansion."
---
The Raizada Mansion was glowing like a festival when he arrived — laughter, light, and music spilling into the night. He barely stepped out of the car when Anuradha's anxious voice greeted him.
"Shaurya! Finally! Where were you, beta? Your brother's baraat has already left!"
He offered her a faint smile, straightening his coat. "Sorry, Mom. Got caught up in something urgent. I'll be ready in a minute."
She opened her mouth to question him further, but he'd already started for the stairs, tossing over his shoulder, "Just a minute, Mom—I'll be back."
---
Upstairs, in his room, Aavyansh Raizada was lounging on the bed, shirt half-buttoned, hair artfully messy, scrolling through his phone. The moment he saw Shaurya, a smirk spread across his face.
"Well, look who decided to show up," he teased. "Did the nation finally let you go, Mr. Politician of the Year?"
Shaurya rolled his eyes, tugging off his coat. "At least I was working. Unlike you, whose only schedule involves flirting and sleeping."
Aavyansh grinned, unbothered. "Flirting is work, bhai. You just don't appreciate art when you see it."
Shaurya shot him a dry look. "If that's art, the world's in trouble."
"Don't worry," Aavyansh said with a wink, tossing him a tie. "I'll handle all the trouble you can't. Starting with distracting the bridesmaids tonight."
Shaurya couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted his collar. "Do me a favor then—try not to get thrown out before the pheras."
Aavyansh laughed, leaning back lazily. "You wound me, brother. I'm the charm of this family."
"And I'm the reason it still has a reputation," Shaurya replied smoothly, heading toward the mirror.
Their laughter echoed through the hall, light and easy — a rare sound in the mansion that had seen too many silences.
But behind Shaurya's calm eyes, a shadow lingered — the image of that frightened girl in the bar, and the camera still hidden in his coat pocket.
The night sky glittered like celebration itself when the baraat reached the bride's house — music swelling, laughter bubbling, and firecrackers painting streaks of gold across the dark.
At the heart of it all stood Sidharth Raizada, the eldest Raizada son, groom of the night, his face calm and noble under the soft light of torches and chandeliers. His sherwani was ivory, understated yet regal, his expression composed — the kind of serenity only discipline could build.
Beside him walked Rajendra Raizada, his father — tall, dignified, every inch the patriarch. His eyes, however, softened with pride as he looked at his son.
"Today, our family stands complete," he murmured, half to himself, half to the heavens.
And behind them came Vishwanath and Savitri Raizada — Dadu and Dadi — the old pillars of the family, their steps slower but their presence grander than any decor.
The moment they entered, the bride's family greeted them with warmth and reverence. The scent of rose petals filled the air as young girls showered flowers on the Raizadas, their bangles clinking like tiny bells.
"Welcome, Raizada family!" the bride's father said with folded hands and a wide smile. "It is an honor to have such a lineage grace our home tonight."
Sidharth bent down to touch the elders' feet, receiving blessings one by one — the perfect son, the perfect heir.
Dadi's hand lingered on his head, her eyes moist with affection. "You've made us proud, beta. Your mother's joy knows no bounds today."
He smiled gently, his eyes lowering — a smile carved from duty, not delight.
Music rose again, and the crowd cheered as the baraat entered the courtyard. The chandeliers gleamed, and the golden fabric of the tent shimmered like a dream.
But amid all that glitter, Sidharth's gaze drifted for just a second — beyond the crowd, beyond the laughter — into some unseen distance.
And for a heartbeat, he wasn't the groom being celebrated.
He was a man haunted by a name he still couldn't forget.
Nimrit.
Even as the priest called his name, even as his father gestured him forward with pride — his heart whispered a question to the night:
Where are you tonight, Nimrit?
Do you even know I still wait for an answer?"
The baraat lights cast long shadows on the marble as Shaurya and Aavyansh entered the wedding venue beside their mother.
Anuradha looked radiant, her smile bright yet tired from the day's excitement. She walked between her sons — the calm of Shaurya's poise balancing the mischief in Aavyansh's grin.
The music swelled as they reached the stage where Dadi and Rajendra stood welcoming guests.
"Finally!" Aavyansh muttered, leaning toward his elder brother with a teasing smirk. "You made Mom late to her own son's wedding. What kind of son are you, Mr. Responsible Politician?"
Shaurya adjusted his cufflinks, completely unbothered. "The kind who fixes real problems instead of posing for selfies with bridesmaids."
Aavyansh laughed. "Touché, Mr. Minister. Remind me never to debate with you again."
Anuradha rolled her eyes, her patience worn thin but her affection clear. "Stop this, both of you," she scolded softly. "Not here. At least let me enjoy one evening without your sparring."
Both men fell silent immediately — though Aavyansh still grinned as they walked forward, hands folded respectfully toward elders, the picture of the perfect Raizada family.
---
The night unfurled in celebration. The courtyard glittered with fairy lights, the drums grew louder, and cousins pulled both brothers onto the dance floor.
Even Shaurya, ever the serious one, was coaxed into a faint smile when Aavyansh dragged him to dance. For a fleeting moment, laughter replaced legacy, and duty made space for joy.
Then the music softened.
A hush fell as the bride entered, her veil shimmering under the chandelier's light. The murmurs began — "She looks like a dream," "What a perfect match!"
Everyone turned to watch her slow, graceful steps toward the mandap. Everyone… except Sidharth Raizada.
He stood still — tall, poised, emotionless.
His eyes didn't even flicker toward her.
Not once.
Aavyansh noticed it first. His laughter faded. He looked from the bride to his brother — the same distant calm in Sidharth's expression, the same emptiness behind those eyes.
He leaned closer to Shaurya, his voice low. "You see that, bhai? Four years, and he still can't move on."
Shaurya's jaw tightened slightly. He said nothing.
"I hate that girl," Aavyansh muttered, his tone darkening. "The one who left him. She broke him, and he still loves her. Still waits like some—some fool."
Shaurya's gaze remained fixed ahead, but his voice was calm and grave.
"Love doesn't make fools, Aavyansh. It makes believers."
Aavyansh frowned, his usual humor gone. "Believers in what? Pain?"
Shaurya turned to him at last, eyes steady, voice low.
"In something real. Even if it doesn't last, even if it hurts. That's what bhai had with her. And maybe that's why it still burns."
Aavyansh shook his head, restless. "Four years, Shaurya. Four years of silence. No message. No explanation. If it were me, I'd have erased her name from my life."
Shaurya's gaze softened, the faintest flicker of empathy in his eyes.
"That's the difference between you and him," he said quietly. "You live fast. He feels deep."
Aavyansh looked back toward Sidharth — standing straight, expression unreadable, a perfect groom in every way except one.
The music, the lights, the flowers — everything glittered, but the man at the center of it looked like he was waiting for someone who never came.
Aavyansh exhaled heavily. "Then I guess love really is a curse."
Shaurya's voice was almost a whisper. "No… it's just a promise that some people take too seriously."
And somewhere behind them, Dadi's voice rose again — calling the brothers for rituals —
pulling them back into the golden illusion of celebration,
even as, inside, one heart still waited for a woman who had once vanished without goodbye.
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