As the night stretches its dark, starless blanket across the sky, I walk through the familiar streets, bathed in a silence only the late hours bring. There's a strange comfort in the stillness, an embrace of solitude that has accompanied me for as long as I can remember. Darkness is no stranger; it's an old friend that whispers secrets only I can hear. Wasoolie, my loyal companion, pads beside me, his soft, rhythmic footsteps barely audible against the quiet hum of the city.

The streets are nearly empty, save for the occasional flicker of streetlamps casting their uneven light on the damp pavement. The shadows seem to lengthen, stretching like long-forgotten memories, and the city feels like a ghost of itself—alive, but not entirely present. My mind drifts to the same place it always does: a deep, aching sense of loneliness that nothing seems to fill. The people I share a house with may call themselves my family, but the walls between us feel impenetrable, like an invisible prison that I can never escape.

I pull my jacket tighter around me as the first few raindrops begin to fall. Their cool touch on my skin is a stark contrast to the heat of my internal turmoil. Soon, those soft drops evolve into a downpour, the rain crashing against the pavement like my unspoken thoughts. The wetness seeps through my clothes, chilling me to the bone, but I welcome it. The cold brings clarity. It makes the lines between reality and my thoughts blur even further, and for a moment, it's hard to tell if the water running down my face is from the rain or the tears I've held back for so long.

The city, usually alive with its chaotic energy, now feels muted. The rain has hushed its usual symphony, and I'm left with only the sound of droplets and my own thoughts. The streets gleam under the lamplight, their wet surfaces reflecting a distorted version of the world. Everything seems skewed, and yet, this distorted version feels more honest than the life I lead.

I glance down at Wasoolie, who trots faithfully beside me, unaffected by the rain. His eyes meet mine, filled with an understanding no human has ever shown me. His silent companionship is the only warmth I feel tonight, and I offer him a small smile in return. But even that feels like an effort—forcing joy into a moment that is anything but joyful. My mind is a storm, and no amount of rain can cleanse the bitterness that clings to my heart.

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A Few Hours Earlier (Evening):

When I had returned home from college earlier today, my body was weighed down by exhaustion, my mind equally drained from the endless lectures and assignments. Yet, as I approached our driveway, I couldn't help but notice the sleek, expensive cars pulling away. These luxury vehicles felt out of place here, as though they carried the presence of something—or someone—I should have known. But I dismissed the curiosity as soon as it surfaced. My energy was depleted, and all I craved was the peace and quiet of my room.

As I stepped through the front door, however, an unsettling stillness greeted me. The house, usually bustling with some form of activity, felt different tonight—emptier, colder. The air itself seemed heavier, as though carrying the weight of something unsaid. I paused for a moment, trying to pinpoint the source of my unease, but all I could sense was a profound hollowness. It was like the house was mourning something, though I couldn't quite grasp what.

Without another thought, I moved toward my room, eager to shut the door on the world and escape into my familiar cocoon. Just as I reached for the doorknob, I heard my mother's voice.

"Ruhanika," she called, her tone sharp and unyielding, cutting through the silence like a knife.

I turned slowly, my heart sinking at the harshness in her voice. "Yes, Mother?" I asked, already bracing myself for what was to come.

She stood in the dimly lit hallway, her posture stiff and commanding, eyes sharp and unforgiving. "From this moment on, your studies are over. You will no longer be stepping foot in that college again."
Her words struck me like a blow, leaving me momentarily speechless. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice trembling. "I've done everything you asked. I've followed every rule. Why are you stopping me now?"

But her face remained emotionless, unmoved by my pleas. "You're getting married tonight," she declared, her voice as cold as the rain outside. "That's my decision. And you will obey."

Her statement crashed down on me like a ton of bricks, and I felt my world spin out of control. My family stood behind her—my father, my brother, my sister-in-law—and not one of them said a word. They just stood there, silent, like statues. The betrayal cut deep.

"Married?" I repeated, disbelief and fury clawing their way up my throat. "To whom? And why now? I don't want to get married! You can't just decide my life like this!"

But my mother's eyes hardened, and before I could react, her hand flew across my face. The slap echoed through the empty house, leaving a stinging imprint on my skin.

"You ungrateful girl!" she spat, her face twisted with contempt. "After all we've done for you, this is how you repay us? You will marry, and you will do it tonight. We've already made the arrangements."

My breath came in ragged gasps, and tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I turned desperately to my father, my brother—anyone who might stand up for me. But they remained silent, their eyes avoiding mine. They had abandoned me.

"You're selling me off," I whispered, the truth of it sinking in. "You're treating me like property."

My mother sneered, grabbing a whip from the wall. Her movements were slow, deliberate, filled with satisfaction. "You'll do as you're told, or I'll make sure you regret it."

I closed my eyes as the first strike landed, biting my lip to keep from crying out. Bhabhi stood in the corner, her arms crossed, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. She was worse than a snake, pretending to care while secretly reveling in my suffering. I had once rejected her brother's advances, and she never forgave me for it. That rejection had led to him harassing me, cornering me in moments when no one was around. When I had gone to my own brother for help, his response had shattered any faith I had left in this family.

My thoughts tumbled one after the other, a torrent of memories too painful to bear. Each lash of the whip only solidified the truth I had long been running from: I was nothing to them. Just a pawn, a tool to be used and discarded.

My body shook with the weight of my grief, but I kept my gaze steady, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. Inside, though, I screamed. Why had my life turned into this nightmare? Why had I been born into this family, this life of endless pain and submission?

I don't know how long the beating lasted, but when it finally stopped, I was left standing in the middle of the room, drenched in sweat and tears. My mother tossed the whip aside, disgust written across her face.

"Get ready," she ordered, turning her back on me. "The wedding will begin soon."

And with that, she left me there, broken and battered, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.

I looked at the door to my room—the room that had once been my sanctuary—and for the first time, I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be free from this life. Not unless I found a way to escape on my own.

But for now, all I had was the night and the rain.

The present swallowed me whole as I continued walking through the streets, the rain now a torrential downpour. Wasoolie pressed against my leg, his warm presence grounding me in this moment of despair. But inside, I felt numb. Broken.

"Why me?" I whispered to the universe, the words lost in the storm.

Jodhpur, Rajasthan

While in one part of the country, our heroine endures unspeakable torment, her spirit battered by cruel words and merciless blows, a new day dawns in the vibrant city of Jodhpur. The sun rises over the desert landscape, casting a radiant glow that filters through the delicate curtains of an opulent bedroom. Its golden rays slowly creep across the room, gently disturbing the peaceful slumber of Abhinav Shekhawat, a man whose name strikes fear in the hearts of many, yet holds a softer, hidden side known only to those closest to him.

Abhinav Shekhawat is a force to be reckoned with in the business world, where his sharp mind and ruthless determination have earned him the reputation of a man who never loses. Cold, calculative, and fiercely competitive, he is a titan in the corporate arena, feared by rivals and respected by allies. Yet within the walls of his ancestral home, he transforms into a different person—a man who treasures the small moments of life, finding solace in the warmth and liveliness of his family.

After years of sleepless nights spent wrestling with the weight of responsibilities and unspoken secrets, Abhinav had finally found a rare moment of peace. His body, accustomed to tension, melted into the comfort of his bed as his mind drifted in and out of serene dreams. That is, until

"Bhaiya!" a loud, high-pitched voice rang out, breaking the silence of the room and shattering the blissful tranquility of his sleep.

Abhinav groaned, instinctively pulling his blanket over his head in a futile attempt to block out the noise. "For God's sake, can't a man get some sleep around here?" he mumbled, his voice a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. "Let me sleep, you annoying people!" His eyes squeezed shut as he clutched his pillow, hoping to cling to the remnants of his interrupted dreams.

"Why are you all disturbing him early in the morning? Can't you see he needs rest?" The gentle yet firm tone of his mother, Saraswati Shekhawat, reached his ears like a lullaby.

Abhinav peeked from under the blanket, a slow, sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Mom. The warmth in his chest grew as he looked at her—his mother, his anchor, the woman whose mere presence could make the world seem like a kinder place.

"Good morning, Ma," he murmured, still half-asleep, his voice softer than usual, filled with the affection he always felt for her. He blinked lazily, a boyish smile spreading across his face as his eyes locked with hers.

"Good morning, beta," Saraswati greeted him, her own smile reflecting the tender love she held for her eldest son. She moved closer, sitting on the edge of his bed and placing a soft hand on his head, smoothing his hair back just as she used to do when he was a child. "Did you sleep well?"

Abhinav, despite being a grown man feared in the corporate world, melted under her touch, leaning into her hand like a child seeking comfort. "Yes, Ma. I did," he replied, his voice still groggy but now laced with contentment. "Finally had some decent sleep."

Saraswati's eyes softened as she looked down at him. Her son, who had been away from home for two long years, was back where he belonged. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, even though he was trying to hide it behind his usual tough exterior. But here, with her, he didn't have to be the strong, intimidating man that everyone else saw. Here, he could be her little boy again.

Abhinav, ever the attention-seeker when it came to his mother, let out an exaggerated sigh, puffing out his cheeks like a child. "But, Ma..." he started, his voice playfully whiny. "You didn't wake me up properly. I've been gone for two years. I thought you missed me." He turned his face away dramatically, pretending to sulk, but sneaking a glance at her from the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction.

Saraswati chuckled softly, already familiar with her son's antics. "Oh, really now? Two minutes ago, you were yelling at everyone to let you sleep. And now, you want to be woken up properly?" she teased, a smile dancing on her lips as she looked at her grown-up son acting like a child.

Abhinav shifted in bed, sitting up slowly, but still keeping the blanket wrapped around him like a security blanket. "It's different when you wake me up, Ma," he said with a pout. "I've been deprived of my rightful share of love and care for two whole years. Now you have to make up for it." His voice, though playful, held a layer of truth. He had missed her—missed home—more than he had ever let on.

Saraswati shook her head in amusement, reaching out to cup his cheek. "Acha, the big, scary businessman is now a little boy, hmm?" She smiled warmly at him, her thumb brushing lightly against his stubbled cheek. "And what do you want, my beta? Should I feed you breakfast in bed as well?"

"Yes!" Abhinav exclaimed without missing a beat, his eyes lighting up with excitement, like a child who had just been offered his favorite treat. "Feed me with your own hands, just like old times, Ma." He leaned his head against her shoulder, seeking her warmth.

Saraswati laughed, unable to resist his childish behavior. "You're impossible, Abhinav. Such a big man, yet you behave like a baby the moment you come home." But her words were said with such affection that they only made him grin wider.

Abhinav wrapped his arm around her waist and snuggled closer. "I'm your baby, Ma. The eldest, but still your baby," he said, closing his eyes, savoring the moment. "You can spoil me all you want today."

Saraswati looked down at him, her heart swelling with love. For the world, Abhinav Shekhawat was a powerful man—feared, respected, and untouchable. But to her, he would always be that little boy who used to run to her after every scraped knee, every bad day, seeking comfort in her arms.

"Alright, alright," she relented, gently pulling away from his grasp and standing up. "But first, you get up and freshen up. Breakfast will be ready soon."

Abhinav reluctantly let her go, his smile still wide. "You promise you'll feed me, right?" he asked, his voice filled with childish anticipation.

Saraswati smiled fondly, shaking her head as she looked at her grown son acting like a child again. "Yes, beta, I'll feed you," she assured him, her tone indulgent.

As she left the room to prepare breakfast, Abhinav watched her go, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment settle in his heart. Being home, being with his family—it was all he had missed during those long, lonely nights away. Here, with his mother, he could forget about the pressures of the outside world. Here, he was just her Abhinav—nothing more, nothing less.
As the morning light filled the room, the Shekhawat household was already bustling with activity. The aroma of freshly prepared breakfast wafted through the air, mingling with the faint sounds of chatter and laughter from the other rooms. It was these small moments—the clatter of dishes, the playful bickering of siblings, the hum of daily life—that made Abhinav feel most at peace. Despite the hectic demands of his professional life, home was where he found his refuge.

Abhinav swung his legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment to appreciate the serenity of his surroundings before heading to the kitchen where his mother was preparing breakfast. As he stepped out, the sight of his home filled his heart with an unshakable contentment. Here, he was not the cold businessman who demanded perfection; he was simply Abhinav, the eldest son, the big brother, the protector.

The kitchen buzzed with warmth and the rich, comforting aroma of spices, ghee, and fresh dough frying on the stove. The soft clink of utensils against pots and pans filled the air as Saraswati expertly stirred the fragrant dal simmering on the stove. The morning light poured in through the large windows, casting a golden glow over the rustic wooden kitchen. Everything in this space radiated comfort, love, and the homely feeling Abhinav had missed for two long years.

Saraswati hummed softly to herself, occasionally glancing at the pot on the stove to check its consistency. Her hands moved with practiced ease, effortlessly preparing a hearty breakfast for her family. Her mind, though, was still on her eldest son, Abhinav, who had just returned home after what felt like an eternity. She had spent countless nights praying for his safety, wondering how he was managing far away from home. Now that he was back, her heart felt lighter, as if the home was whole again.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist from behind, and the warmth of her son's body pressed gently against her back. A fond smile spread across her face as she recognized the familiar embrace.

"Come, beta," she said softly, not needing to turn around to know it was Abhinav. "Sit down. Breakfast will be ready soon."

But instead of letting go, Abhinav tightened his hug slightly, leaning his chin on her shoulder like a little boy seeking his mother's undivided attention. His expression, though hidden from her, was one of playful pouting.

"Remember, Mom," he mumbled, his voice dripping with exaggerated innocence, "you promised to feed me. Today, I won't let you go. I need your full attention, and I'm not sharing." He sounded like a child demanding his mother's affection after being deprived of it for far too long.

Saraswati's heart melted at his words. Despite his adult size and age, her eldest was still very much her baby boy. She had missed this side of him—the vulnerable, affectionate Abhinav who sought comfort and love only she could provide.

She turned slightly in his embrace, resting one hand on his cheek and the other on his arm, her face soft with love. "I know, beta," she whispered with a smile, her tone filled with warmth and affection. "I missed my baby too. Today, I'm going to spoil you and give you all the love you've been missing these last two years." Her voice softened even further, eyes brimming with maternal pride. "You don't know how much I prayed for this day, Abhinav. To see you home, safe, and happy."

Abhinav's heart swelled with emotion. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her cooking mixed with the faintest hint of sandalwood oil she always wore. For him, this was home. His mother, her warmth, her love—there was nothing in the world that could match this feeling.

Before he could respond, the quiet intimacy of the moment was shattered by the loud, playful clamor from the dining area.

"WHAT?" a voice called out dramatically, laced with mock outrage. "How could you do this to me, Mom? I'm also your son!"

Abhinav groaned inwardly, recognizing the voice of his younger brother, Vinay, who was now standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest in an exaggerated display of hurt.

Abhimaan walked toward the kitchen with exaggerated indignation, narrowing his eyes at Abhinav's back. "I can't believe this. After two years, Bhaiya just shows up and steals all the attention again. Unfair!" He threw a dramatic hand to his forehead, as if deeply wounded by this supposed betrayal.

Before Abhinav could roll his eyes or retort, another voice piped up from the dining table.

"How can you love Bhaiya more than me, Badi Maa?" Vinay, his cousin and partner-in-crime growing up, chimed in with an equally theatrical tone. He made a point to look at Saraswati with wide, sorrowful eyes, as if deeply wronged.

"Badi Maa," Vinay continued, pressing a hand to his chest as though pleading for justice, "after all these years, you still favor him over me? I thought I was your favorite son!" He huffed, turning his face away in mock disgust.

Abhinav groaned again, a mix of amusement and frustration bubbling inside him. Here we go.

And then, as if on cue, the youngest voice in the family joined the growing drama.

"Mumma, you don't love me anymore!" the voice of Shristi, his youngest only Sister, chimed in with an exaggerated sob from the dining table. She was peeking over a chair, her eyes wide with fake tears as she dramatically pouted. "You only love Bhaiya now! I've been replaced!"

Abhinav sighed, loosening his hold on Saraswati and turning to face the crowd gathering in the kitchen. "Really? You guys just can't let me have my moment, can you?" he muttered, though his tone was playful.

Abhimaan, still feigning indignation, stepped forward. "Absolutely not! You've hogged Mom for far too long. Now it's our turn." He glanced at their mother and added, "Right, Ma?"

Saraswati couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head at the three boys, who were all now standing around the kitchen, playfully bickering like they had done since they were little. She looked at them with eyes filled with love. "There's enough love for all of you," she said gently, her voice full of warmth.

But Abhinav, refusing to lose his place as the favored son for the day, quickly stepped back in, grabbing her hand before she could turn away. "No way, Ma," he pouted, his voice dripping with fake hurt. "You said today is my day! I'm not sharing!"

"Bhaiya, you're 29 years old," Vinay teased, shaking his head with a smirk. "Isn't it time to grow up?"

"Why should I grow up when I'm home?" Abhinav shot back, his grin widening. "Here, I'm Mom's baby."

Shristi raised her hand dramatically. "No, I'm the baby of the family, Bhaiya! You just stole my title!"

Saraswati, trying to control her laughter, walked over to her youngest and gently ruffled her hair. "Alright, alright, my baby," she said with a grin, "don't worry, you're still my littlest one."

Abhinav, still holding his mother's hand, tugged her back toward him. "But I'm the one who's been gone for two years, so today I get special treatment."

"Exactly!" Vinay pointed out. "You've been gone for two years. We had to stay here and keep Badi Maa company, so technically, we deserve the special treatment."

Saraswati glanced between all her children, her heart full of affection and joy at having them all home and together. "Oh, stop it, all of you," she chided softly. "You're all my babies, and you'll each get your share of love. Now, let's sit down and enjoy breakfast together, hm?"

Abhinav grumbled good-naturedly but finally let go of her hand. "Fine. But you still owe me, Ma," he muttered, his eyes glinting with playfulness as he took a seat at the dining table.

The playful banter continued as they all gathered around the table, the room filled with laughter, warmth, and love—the kind of love that could only be shared between a mother and her children. Abhinav chuckled as his younger siblings made their usual scene, each trying to claim their mother's affection in the most over-the-top way possible. It was moments like these that reminded him why he cherished his time at home.

Saraswati let out an exasperated sigh, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Shut up, you three. Now come on, and let me finish here," she scolded gently. "And you, Mr. Abhinav Shekhawat, sit down and have your breakfast before it gets cold."

As his siblings were dragged away, Abhinav sat down at the dining table, a small, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. He glanced around at his family, the room filled with the sound of clattering dishes, laughter, and the lively banter that filled the air. Despite the teasing and bickering, the love they shared was palpable, and it filled the room with warmth.

Among his siblings, one held a particularly special place in his heart—his 15-year-old sister, Chinni. She was the light of his life, her laughter a source of pure joy for Abhinav. As he sat, she scooted closer to him, beaming as she took a bite of breakfast from his hand, a tradition they had cherished for years.
༺♡༻❀༺♡༻

The dining room was alive with chatter as the entire Shekhawat family gathered around the long table. At the head sat Abhinav's grandfather, his face glowing with pride at having his eldest grandson home after so long. He beamed with happiness, reveling in the family's reunion.

The conversation was lively, filled with the usual spirited debates. Abhinav's father and uncle were deep in discussion, their voices rising and falling with enthusiasm as they debated some matter of business. His grandmother, meanwhile, was busy scolding Abhinav's cousin, Vivaan, and his younger brother, Abhimaan, for some mischief they had undoubtedly caused.

His mother and aunt (Chachi) sat whispering conspiratorially about something, their hushed voices adding an air of mystery to the scene. Abhinav watched them curiously but knew better than to pry. Instead, he focused on Chinni, who was happily sitting beside him, her eyes shining as she enjoyed their breakfast together.

For Abhinav, this moment was perfect. The familiar sounds of his family, the laughter, the animated conversations, and the simple act of sharing a meal together—it was these moments that made life worth living.

As he sat there, surrounded by the people he loved most, Abhinav silently offered a prayer. "Please, Bhagwan, keep my family as happy as they are today. Thank you for giving me a colorful life, even if some of my secrets remain hidden in the shadows."

Despite the joy of the morning, a part of him lingered in darkness, where secrets of his past were buried, hidden from the eyes of those he loved. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of his family, savoring the light before the inevitable storm.

Little did he know that somewhere miles away, a girl was enduring unimaginable hardships—hardships that would soon intertwine their fates in ways neither of them could foresee.

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