When Silence Becomes a Choice
The Takur house woke up to celebration.
Boxes of sweets lined the dining table, flower garlands hung at the entrance, and phones rang endlessly with congratulations. Servants moved quickly, smiles bright, voices cheerful.
Najma moved through it all quietly.
She stood beside Saraswati, handing out sweets, responding politely to relatives she barely remembered. Her smile never faltered—but it never reached her eyes.
Twinkle noticed.
She noticed the way Najma folded her hands a little too tightly.
The way her gaze lingered on nothing.
The way she excused herself whenever laughter grew too loud.
"You don't have to do everything alone," Twinkle whispered when they were finally alone in the hallway.
Najma adjusted Twinkle's dupatta gently. "I'm not."
Twinkle frowned. "Then why does it feel like you are?"
Najma looked at her sister for a long moment—really looked at her. The girl who laughed too loudly, loved too openly, and trusted too easily.
"Because," Najma said softly, "some decisions are meant to protect others, not ourselves."
Twinkle didn't understand.
Not yet.
At the Sign residence, the atmosphere was equally busy—but far colder.
Ranveer stood in his study, phone pressed to his ear, jaw tight.
"Yes," he said flatly. "The engagement is fixed."
A sharp inhale came from the other end.
"You're joking," Rachel Parulkar said.
"I don't joke."
Rachel laughed, but it sounded strained. "You can't just decide this. Everyone knows—"
"There is no 'everyone'," Ranveer interrupted. "And there is no discussion."
Silence.
Then, low and dangerous, "You'll regret this."
The call ended.
Ranveer stared at the dark screen for a long moment.
For the first time, the weight of his decision pressed against his chest.
That evening, Najma sat alone in the garden, trimming dry leaves from the rose bushes. The repetitive motion calmed her—kept unwanted memories at bay.
"You're cutting too close to the stem."
She didn't look up. "They'll grow back."
Ranveer stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "You're calm today."
"I usually am."
"No," he said quietly. "Today, it feels deliberate."
She finally met his gaze. "What would you like me to feel?"
He didn't answer.
Because the truth unsettled him.
This marriage wasn't frightening her.
It was costing her.
"You agreed too easily," he said.
Najma smiled faintly. "So did you."
There was a pause.
"You don't ask questions," he said.
"I already know the answers."
"And if you're unhappy?"
She looked back at the roses. "Unhappiness is temporary. Regret lasts longer."
Ranveer felt something tighten inside him.
He was used to resistance.
Not acceptance.
🎭 RANGEER'S POV
Rangeer sat in his car outside the studio long after the shoot had ended.
The laughter from the set still echoed in his ears—but it felt distant now, like a sound from another life.
Najma was engaged.
The thought settled slowly, painfully.
Not because she belonged to someone else—but because she had chosen silence instead of truth.
He leaned his head against the steering wheel and laughed softly.
"Of course," he muttered. "That's how she'd do it."
He replayed moments he had once ignored.
The way she always stepped back so Twinkle could shine.
The way she listened more than she spoke.
The way she smiled—never asking for anything in return.
She had liked him.
He knew that now.
And when she realized Twinkle loved him, she had let go without a word.
"Why didn't you fight?" he whispered.
But Najma had never been the kind to fight for herself.
His phone buzzed.
Twinkle.
"Hey," she said, voice light. "You heard the news, right?"
"Yes."
"You're okay with it?" she asked, hesitation slipping through.
Rangeer forced a smile into his voice. "If you're happy, how could I not be?"
She sighed in relief. "I knew you'd understand."
When the call ended, Rangeer closed his eyes.
Understanding didn't mean it didn't hurt.
For the first time in his life, fame felt meaningless.
That night, Najma stood by her bedroom window, watching the city lights flicker like distant stars.
She placed a hand over her heart—not because it was broken, but because it was heavy.
She had made her choice.
She always did.
Quietly. Completely.
And somewhere in the darkness, forces beyond her control were beginning to move—drawn by the girl who had survived silence for far too long.