The Child Who Never Came Home
Saraswati sat beside Najma's hospital bed long after everyone else had left.
The monitors beeped softly, steady and unforgiving.
She reached out, fingers trembling, and gently touched Najma's wrist.
That bracelet.
Simple. Old. Faded.
Her breath hitched.
"I tied this myself," Saraswati whispered. "You wouldn't sleep without it."
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
Takur arrived just before dawn.
One look at Saraswati's face told him something was wrong.
"She has the mark," Saraswati said hoarsely. "Behind her ear. The one from the fall at the mall."
Takur's world tilted.
"No," he whispered. "That's not possible."
Saraswati gripped his hand. "I counted the years. The blood test never finished back then. And now—Rangeer matches her."
Takur staggered back into a chair.
"Our daughter…" he said brokenly. "She lived."
Twinkle stood frozen at the door.
"What are you talking about?" she asked softly.
Saraswati turned, tears spilling freely now. "Najma isn't adopted."
Twinkle shook her head. "Stop. That's not funny."
"She was taken," Takur said, voice raw. "Five years old. At the mall. The day we celebrated your pregnancy."
Twinkle's breath caught painfully.
"You searched," she whispered. "You told me you searched."
"We did," Saraswati sobbed. "But they were powerful. The police warned us. They said if we continued, we'd lose more than a child."
Twinkle slid down against the wall.
"She came back," Twinkle whispered. "And I told her to disappear."
Her hands covered her mouth as guilt crushed her chest.
Ranveer listened from the corridor, face carved from stone.
Everything made sense now.
Najma's silence.
Her self-reliance.
Her fear of belonging.
He closed his eyes briefly.
She survived hell alone.
Later that morning, Najma stirred.
Her lashes fluttered.
Twinkle grabbed her hand instantly. "She's waking up!"
Saraswati leaned forward, heart pounding.
Najma opened her eyes slowly.
Confusion flickered.
Then recognition.
"Maa?" Saraswati whispered without thinking.
Najma froze.
Her eyes widened—not with surprise, but with pain.
She turned her face away.
"I don't have a mother," she said quietly. "I learned how to live without one."
The words sliced deeper than any blade.
Saraswati broke down completely.
Takur stepped forward, voice shaking. "We never forgot you."
Najma laughed softly—without humor. "You learned how."