DISHA

For years I have been carrying this weight of not being able to give love to the one who deserved it. It always comes back to dogs. Especially small white puppies.

Whenever I see one, my chest tightens before I can stop it, because my mind travels back to the apartment building where I grew up. The narrow park, rusted swings, dusty grass and him.

That puppy came into my life at a time when everything else felt broken. My so-called father had just ruined our happy family. I stopped talking to people after that. Silence felt safer.

My mother was never home, not because she didn't care, but because survival demanded more from her than comfort ever could. She juggled one full time job and two part time ones. She returned late, exhausted, teaching me to not demand bed times stories from her.

My neighbour aunty became my routine. She dropped me off at school, picked me up. Her daughter also studied in the same school but a year ahead of me.

And then there was the puppy.

He started following me everywhere, small paws padding behind mine, always close enough to watch but never close enough to scare me.

He understood, somehow. That I was afraid of him and his sudden actions of moving towards me.

Day after day, he became part of my life without ever demanding space in it. Always waiting near the gate, sitting by the park bench. Sometimes watching me with patient eyes that never judged.

Until one morning, some street dogs attacked him.

I remember standing there, eight years old, my hands clenched into fists, my feet rooted to the ground, his innocent puppy eyes, maybe still hoping for me to approach him but I didn't.

I feel guilty for not being able to touch him and take him to the doctor. Then again the voices in my head reminded me, I was just eight that time.

I still carry the shame of never touching him. Of not picking him up and taking him to a doctor. Just watching from a distance while someone else, a school boy took him away.

I don't know if he survived.

It remains a mystery I have lived with ever since.

So when I saw this little puppy last night, something inside me cracked open.

At first, fear rose instinctively. I knew he wouldn't bite unless threatened. I knew it. But knowing and feeling are different things. My body remembered before my mind could reassure it.

The moment his fur brushed my skin, my heart folded in on itself. He nuzzled closer, as if he had been waiting for permission all along. And just like that, the wall I had built around that old guilt loosened.

It reminded me of being small again, of pressing my face into my mother's shoulder when she opened her arms, of finding safety in that brief circle of warmth.

I was seconds away from breaking down.

But I didn't.

Because this mansion isn't mine. These walls belong to him. And somehow, I feel like even the stone and glass would enjoy the sound of me shattering inside them.

So I swallowed the heaviness. I focused on the tiny life in front of me.

I still don't know who sent him. Jessica said it was one of Devil's relatives. I'm grateful he left before I could see his face. Because if he hadn't... I don't trust myself to know how I would react. I can't forgive him for what he did to Raven.

"Disha."

Jessica's voice cuts through my thoughts as she approaches the back garden.

"Tuffy." I call out to the puppy.

He comes running towards me, ears flopping, joy unfiltered. My lips curve without effort as I bend and lift him into my arms. His small body fits against my chest like it belongs there.

I brought him outside so he could play, but he made it his mission to make me play with him. He's been circling around me, demanding attention like the world is simple and kind. And I want to keep it like that.

"People from the animal shelter are here," Jessica says.

My spine stiffens instantly. The smile falls from my face as her words sink in.

I meet her gaze, my grip tightening slightly around Tuffy.

"What do you mean?"

"Rudra doesn't like dogs."

Jessica's voice is careful, almost apologetic, as if she's delivering bad news to a child rather than stating a rule carved into stone.

She continues. "It's already surprising that he allowed you to play with him for a while but he needs to leave."

The words settle heavily in the air between us.

Tuffy shifts in my arms, pressing closer, his small body warm against my chest. His nose burrows into the fabric of my clothes, a soft whine escaping him as if he can sense the tension tightening around us. The instinct to protect him flares immediately in an overpowering thought.

"I will talk to him myself," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

I turn and walk towards the living room before Jessica can stop me.

The mansion feels different inside. The living room smells faintly of leather and expensive polish, untouched by warmth. Two strangers sit stiffly on the edge of the sofa, hands folded, posture professional.

I don't acknowledge them. Instead, I turn back to Jessica. "Can you please call Rudra?"

She hesitates. Just a second too long. Then she exhales, crosses the room, and reaches for the landline.

She hands me the phone when the line connects.

"I am not sending a dog to an animal shelter," I say the moment I hear his breathing on the other end. My grip tightens around the receiver, knuckles whitening.

"I don't need your permi-"

"You do, Mr. Sehgal," I cut in, my voice slicing through his before he could finish. "You're the one who claims to be my husband. So why not let me claim half of what you have?"

Silence stretches, long enough for my heart to pound once, twice, hard against my ribs.

"Can't you do one simple thing as told?" he snaps.

A bitter smile touches my lips.

"Sorry, you signed up for my disobedience with your dominating tactics." I replied coolly.

I hang up before he can respond. Only then I turn towards the two strangers.

I force a smile, "You can leave. We are not sending the puppy to an animal shelter."

They exchange a glance, first at Jessica, then back at me. Something in my expression must convince them, because without another word, they stand and head towards the door.

The moment it closes behind them, a slow, victorious smile spreads across my face.

I stroke Tuffy's back, fingers sinking into his soft fur. He barks once, happily, and the sound pulls a genuine laugh out of me, one I didn't realize I was capable of anymore.

"Let's go back to our game," I murmur, pressing my forehead briefly to his.

With him tucked safely in my arms, I turn and walk back toward the garden, sunlight waiting beyond the glass doors.

~*~*~

RUDRA

Inhale.

Hold for three seconds.

Then exhale slowly.

I repeat it again and again for five minutes, maybe more, but my nerves refuse to settle. They claw at me, restless, every instinct screaming for escape.

The Sehgal Mansion.

The place I haven't visited in years. I have attended family dinners but they all were at Mehra Mansion, all because Raha was out of India. She came back a few days ago.

And just like that, everything I had carefully avoided came rushing back, unraveling the order I worked so hard to maintain.

Our families have been friends for years just like Oberois. If Vedant had any sister then I would have arranged to marry a woman of their family or he would have arranged to marry any of my sisters. We were both relieved we didn't have sisters.

Then life, in its usual cruelty, found a loophole.

Mehra has a daughter.

Raha.

The woman I have to marry to keep the family and future profitable.

Today, I am standing at the edge of something that feels dangerously close to a bridge. One that leads straight back to everything I once walked away from people I left behind and worse... people who abandoned me first.

With a curse, I press on a car honk, signaling the guards to open the gates.

Massive iron doors swing open, revealing the Sehgal Mansion in all its ancestral arrogance. Golden lights spill across manicured lawns, illuminating fountains. The garden glows like something out of a fairy tale, too beautiful to be real.

I step out of the car and the first thing I notice is the lineup of vehicles in the driveway, indicating I am already late for dinner.

"Rudra." The voice reaches me before the person does, soft, aged, wrapped in familiarity I didn't prepare for.

Badi maa.

She emerges from the warm light, draped in a silk saree, gold jewellery resting gently on skin time has marked but not diminished. For a moment, my chest tightens in a way I don't allow anymore.

She's grown so old.

My feet move before my mind can stop them. I bend and touch her feet, and blessings pour out of her like she's been saving them all these years just for me.

At this moment, something unsettles me, reminding me, I was human once... before I became a devil.

"Kaisa hai, bache?" she asks, her eyes shining as she pulls me into a hug.

(How are you, dear?)

"I'm fine, Badi maa," I reply, keeping my voice neutral and controlled. "Aap kaisi ho?"

"I missed you so much. You have grown so well," she says, patting my shoulders, her pride unfiltered.

"She isn't the only one who missed you." Another voice chimes. This one is deeper.

I turn, recognising, Bade papa. He approaches us with the authority of the man who once ruled this house with quiet command, even though he still does.

In the past years, he's the only one who I have been in touch with.

I touch his feet out of respect.

"Such a grown healthy man yet forgot his old family." he says with a chuckle, patting my shoulder.

I stay silent following them towards the dining area.

My gaze scans the surroundings despite myself. The house has changed, new lights, new marble, subtle renovations meant to modernize without erasing tradition. But beneath it all, the structure remains the same. Just like the people.

And the unique touch of someone lighting up diya's everywhere.

We reach the garden where family dinners usually take place. Laughter hums in the background, cutlery clinks, conversations overlap.

And then I see her.

An elderly woman seated quietly, eyes glistening the moment they find me but she dares not greet her son after seeing him for the first time in the last eleven years.

Time has softened her features, carved gentler lines into her face. She's grown older in a beautiful way. Exactly how I imagined she would, in moments I never admitted to myself.

I don't hold her gaze for long.

I blink hard as a familiar sting gathers at the corners of my eyes. Salt burns, uninvited. I wipe it off quickly, as if the motion itself can erase the weakness, and move towards the dining table.

Her husband stands to greet me.

"Nice seeing you home, son," he says warmly, his hand firm as it clasps mine before pulling me into a brief, fatherly hug.

When he steps back, our eyes meet.

It's like looking into a mirror I never asked for.

People say it's a blessing when a son resembles his father. For me, it has always felt like a curse. The same jaw. The same eyes. The same presence that follows me wherever I go. I hate that I look more like him than the woman who gave birth to me.

I hate that no matter how far I run, his face still finds its way onto mine.

I turn away before the thought roots itself deeper.

Mr. Mehra is already standing to greet me.

"Meet Raha," he says, gesturing toward his daughter.

I recognize her instantly.

She still carries that familiar venom in her gaze. She pushes her chair back and approaches me with a smile that never quite reaches her eyes. Her arms circle me in a hug that feels more like restraint than affection.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," she whispers, her breath brushing my ear.

The corner of my mouth twitches as I return the gesture, barely touching her before she pulls away. "I've got a surprise for you."

Her eyebrow lifts. "What?"

"Have patience," I reply, pulling her chair out for her.

She rolls her eyes but sits, smoothing her outfit with practiced elegance.

I take the seat beside her, deliberately fixing my gaze forward, forcing myself not to look toward the place where my presence clearly isn't welcome.

"Today, it finally feels like our family is complete," Bade Papa says, settling into the head chair, the one my grandfather used to occupy.

"Sach mein," Badi maa adds with a soft smile. "Rudra ghar wapas aa raha tha toh Komal ne poore ghar mein khushi ke diye jala diye."

(Truly. Rudra was returning home, so Komal lit up the entire place with Diyas.)

The words hit harder than intended, confirming my suspicion.

I dart my eyes towards Mrs Sehgal who is still avoiding looking in my direction as if I am not her son but a devil who's going to harm her. Yet she lights up the entire mansion in my presence.

I wish someone had told her that lights, chandeliers, and decorated halls would never have made me feel welcome. All it would have taken was a single look of acknowledgment of my presence.

I lower my gaze to my plate as the table falls into a respectful silence, everyone beginning their meal. Half the dishes laid out are my favorites. The irony tastes bitter.

I hesitate, then choose carefully. Something that's more likely made by the chef, not her.

One bite confirms it.

Relief settles quietly.

When dinner concludes, we move towards the lawn where the card table has already been arranged. A ritual from old times where we used to spend time together after family dinners.

Bade Papa, Mr. Mehra, and Mr. Sehgal take their seats at the table, cards waiting, history sitting heavier than the night air around us.

Reluctantly, I take the fourth seat at the table, already aware that leaving isn't an option. Not until the real purpose of tonight's dinner is served and digested.

The cards are shuffled, distributed and rules decided with the ease of men who have played this game together for decades.

The night settles into a tense stillness, broken only by the soft rustle of cards and the distant hum of the city beyond the walls.

Minutes pass.

When the time comes to reveal the final set, the air tightens.

"At the count of three," someone says.

One.
Two.
Three.

The cards are laid out, one after another.

"Congratulations, Mr. Mehra," the other two men say almost in unison.

Mr. Mehra's grin widens in triumph.

"Since I won. Let me demand something." he says, his gaze landing on his daughter standing behind me then at me.

"Go ahead." Bade papa encourages.

"I want Rudra and Raha to marry before this year ends."

His words barely affect me, since it was always decided.

The moment Raha returned, the arrangement revived itself like a contract reactivated. I had known this would happen. This is why I brought Disha to Delhi in the first place to make things right.

Now, both my present wife and my future wife exist just miles away.

"We have no problem, Mr. Mehra," Mr. Sehgal says smoothly. "Both the kids are old enough to start their own families."

My jaw tightens, muscles locking so hard I hear the faint click of pressure.

"Why don't you ask the kids first?" Badi maa suggests gently, serving kheer into silver bowls.

Mr. Sehgal barely glances her way. "I don't think their approval is needed. I know what's best for my son."

His gaze lingers on me, followed by a short laugh, as if the matter is already closed.

"Are you fine with this marriage?" Bade papa asks, turning to Raha.

She doesn't hesitate. Her smile is practiced, perfectly timed. She meets my eyes with manufactured affection. "Of course, uncle. You know how long I have been waiting to marry Rudra."

Annoyance twists my expression. She's always been gentle and patient when she genuinely believed I would marry her.

But the moment she realised my indifference, she became the opposite. Always sharp enough to provoke me at every opportunity and now this performance.

Bade papa turns to me. "What about you, Rudra?"

"I'm also dying to marry Raha," I say. The sarcasm in my voice slices through the air, sharp enough to draw blood.

The room stills.

For a brief, bitter moment, satisfaction curls in my chest as I watch fury tighten in the eyes of the man who happens to be my father.

"Excuse me," I say, rising from my seat without waiting for permission.

I walk away, following familiar paths through corridors and archways that remember me better than the people do. Old memories try to surface, but they don't get far.

The boy who once belonged here was buried long ago, killed not by time, but by the woman who gave birth to him.

Crickets begin their chorus before I even reach that part of the mansion.

The place I visited only once before.

And never returned to.

My gaze drifts towards the line of tall trees standing at the far edge of the property. Their branches stretch wide and bare, stripped by autumn, leaves reduced to brittle fragments underfoot. They look peaceful yet I can't stop imagining the cries that echo in my ears.

I walk towards them without thinking.

I slip my shoes off first, setting them aside with quiet care. From my pocket, I pull out a cigarette and lighter, placing them on the ground as if entering something sacred, something that demands respect. Only then do I step closer.

I rest my forehead against the first tree.

My breath stutters once.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, the words escaping before I can stop them.

I move to the second tree. Then the third.

Each one receives the same silent apology. For surviving, for becoming what I am today.

When I step back, my eyes linger on them a moment longer, on the way they stand despite everything stripped away.

I put my shoes back on.

Only after I walk away do I light the cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating my face as I inhale. Smoke fills my lungs, steadying me as I head toward the parking area.

Peace lasts exactly three seconds.

Raha stands near my car, arms crossed, fury radiating off her like heat. I blow a stream of smoke as I approach, unfazed.

"What's your problem, huh?" she snaps. "Couldn't you just say yes like a normal person?"

I stop a step away. "It's not like we are going to marry anyway."

She stamps her foot, tantrum sharp and familiar. "You are impossible."

"Thanks," I mutter.

Her irritation spikes instantly.

She opens her mouth to retort, but Badi maa's voice cuts through the night, calling us back inside.

I crush the cigarette under my shoe and turn to her, gesturing lightly. "After you."

"Bastard."

"Thanks again."

She storms off towards the house, every step broadcasting her annoyance.

I don't follow immediately.

Instead, I wait.

Moments later, headlights sweep across the driveway. A car rolls in through the gates, horn blaring briefly.

The door opens, revealing Harsh dressed neatly, ready for the occasion. He walks towards me, expression neutral, controlled.

It feels like I am meeting a man who plans to fight against me when in reality he's not even in my battle.

"You are late," I say, glancing at my watch.

"I wanted to surprise her."

I raise an eyebrow, faintly amused. "She's already going to freak out in your presence."

I lead him inside towards the living room where everyone is gathered. Their heads turn to us. And the way Raha freezes is the reaction I expected.

I don't spare her a glance. Instead, I move towards her father.

Mr. Mehra studies Harsh first, curiosity sharp in his eyes, before turning to me.

"Who is he?" he asks.

"Didn't you say you gave me the responsibility of finding a good bodyguard for Raha?"

Mr. Mehra scans Harsh thoroughly. "Are you sure he can protect my daughter?"

"Only he can," I reply.

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, before he finally turns toward Harsh, seemingly satisfied.

"I will leave now." I announce, already retreating towards the exit.

"Aren't you going to stay, Rudra?" Badi maa asks, moving closer, concern lining her voice.

"Not yet," I reply.

Bade papa steps forward, "I have never asked anything from you, Rudra," he says quietly. "Today, I want to demand something."

I wait patiently for him to speak up.

"We want you to stay here after marriage."

The words hang heavy in the air.

"I will," I say without hesitation.

Relief blooms instantly on their faces, almost blinding in its sincerity.

"Take care," Badi maa murmurs, her hand resting briefly on my head, a gesture I haven't known how to accept for years.

I lift my gaze and scan the room one last time, searching without admitting it, even though I already know how it will end. But she's nowhere in sight.

I turn away before the absence digs too deep.

Outside, I head for my car, Harsh following silently. I unlock the door, fingers just brushing the handle, when the sharp sound of heels cuts through the stillness behind me.

I turn.

Raha storms toward me, fury written openly across her face. Her hand lifts, too fast. I catch her wrist before it can land. I hold her wrist briefly before shoving her away, sending her stumbling back.

Harsh reacts instantly, catching her before she falls. She jerks free of his hold, eyes blazing.

"How dare you make him my bodyguard?" she snaps.

"I have every right to help my would-be unwanted wife plan her escape with her lover." I say evenly getting into the car and driving out before she can respond.

Only once I'm beyond the gates, I release the breath I didn't realize I had been holding all evening. I just hope my disaster is asleep at home. Because I don't know how much patience I have left.

I dial Jessica just to confirm that everything is alright. But the call doesn't connect since her phone is switched off. When I try the landline, it goes unanswered.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel.

I press the accelerator harder, unease crawling up my spine.

The mansion gates open minutes later. Darkness greets me. Every single light in the mansion is off. Whether it's driveway, the garden pathway, the windows. The house stands hollow, swallowed by shadows.

I park and kill the engine. The cold settles around me, sharp and unnatural.

I step out.

At the same moment, the front door opens.

She stands there. Dressed in night pajamas, her silhouette framed by moonlight. The full moon casts a glow around her, making the scene feel unreal.

She walks towards me, face unreadable.

As she comes closer, something glints in her hand.

A gun. Her figure stopping a few steps away.

"Why are the lights off?" I ask, my voice cutting through the silence as I call out into the darkness. "Jessica?"

"I sent everyone off duty," she says, her voice controlled.

I take a step closer, eyes narrowing, trying to read what kind of trouble she's planning now. Darkness clings to the corners of the mansion, the silence heavy enough to press against my ears.

"You are enjoying claiming my things," I say lightly, forcing a trace of humor into my voice to hide the exhaustion. "First my house, now my staff."

Her expression doesn't change, not even a flicker of annoyance I expected.

I take another step towards her and stop. The question from her comes without warning, sharp and unforgiving.

"Was my mother murdered?"

The air leaves my lungs slowly before my jaw tightens, teeth grinding as my fingers curl instinctively around the gun hidden in my pocket.

"Yes," I answer, stepping closer anyway.

Her jaw hardens. She raises the gun, arm extending, the barrel aimed straight at me. I walk forward until the cold, dark mouth of it hovers just inches from my chest, right over my heart.

"Did you murder her?" she asks again.

This time, there's no tremor in her voice, just an allegation disguised in a question as if she herself believes it.

I play along with her, testing if she dares to pull the trigger or not. "And if I did?"

Her breath stutters, hands begin to shake around the gun. She brings her other hand up to steady it, fingers tightening, knuckles whitening.

"That's not the answer I want," she says, voice cracking just enough to betray her.

"Yes-"

The word barely leaves my mouth.

The gun goes off in a second. The sound splits the night loudly.

The bullet tears into my chest, fire exploding through me as the force sends me stumbling backward. Pain blooms, blinding and absolute, stealing the air from my lungs.

~*~*~