Isha's POV~

The discharge papers had been signed, the doctors had spoken their formal words of reassurance, and the nurses had already wheeled Dadi out of the sterile, white-walled ward. Everyone around me seemed relieved, but my own heart refused to rest.

They had discharged her, yes, but something inside me whispered that all was not well. My eyes lingered on her face—so pale, so fragile, drained of the warmth I had grown up seeing. That liveliness, that stubborn spark in her eyes, it was missing. The thought knotted in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I tried to smile, tried to believe the hopeful faces around me, but the uneasiness only grew. How could I tell everyone that I felt something wasn’t right? They would call me paranoid, or emotional. So, I kept it buried inside, forcing my lips into a weak smile. With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of my chest, I steadied Dida beside me, holding her arm as we walked down the long hospital corridor.

The corridor felt endless. The white fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting their cold glow over the polished tiles. My footsteps echoed softly, and beside me, Dida shuffled slowly, leaning into me for support. I kept my gaze forward, afraid that if I looked at her face again, my heart would break further.

At last, the large glass doors opened, and the sharp hospital air gave way to the evening outside. The sun had dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of dusky orange and grey. The city sounds—honking cars, faint chatter, and the hum of traffic—rushed into my ears, a jarring reminder of the world that went on, indifferent to the turmoil inside me.

And there, right in front of the car waiting for us, stood Uncle.

He looked solid and calm, though his eyes carried their usual restlessness. His hand tapped lightly against his leg as though he had been waiting. When his gaze fell on me supporting Dida, his eyebrows arched with surprise.

“Arey, why did you go to bring her?”

he asked, half-scolding, half-gently.

“I was just about to bring Masima myself…”

I froze for a second, my throat tightening. Then, quickly, I forced a smile, though it felt like stretching glass across my face. “It’s okay, Uncle. Whatever you’ve done, it’s enough.” My voice sounded thin, brittle, but I hoped he would not notice.

Uncle let out a small chuckle, brushing aside my words with the wave of his hand. “Accha, accha… you can praise me later. Right now, we must take this stubborn woman to her beloved home. Only then will she calm down—otherwise she’ll get angry again.”

His words carried a familiar teasing tone, but before I could respond, his eyes sharpened suddenly. His voice shifted, heavier, almost commanding.

“And Isha!!”

The sound of my name rang sharply, startling me as if he had snapped a twig near my ear. I flinched, my heart jumping.

“Hmmm,” I managed, nodding quickly, though the word caught in my throat. His way of calling me, the weight in his tone—it left me unsettled.

Uncle’s gaze remained steady, unreadable.

“Shivam is at your house,” he said calmly.

“He has arranged everything—nurses, doctors, all will stay there for now. Do you recognize the one I sent that night for dinner?”

For a moment, my mind froze. The words swirled around me, refusing to settle. Slowly, painfully, they began to click together like pieces of a puzzle. Shivam… at our house… arrangements… dinner that night…

The truth crawled into my chest, and suddenly everything seemed clearer, though clarity brought no peace. Shivam ji—he was not just a passing acquaintance. He was connected to Uncle, close enough to be entrusted with such responsibility.

I swallowed hard, unable to find words. Instead, I nodded faintly, murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” before slipping quickly into the car. My voice sounded too polite, too controlled, as though it belonged to someone else.

The arrangements were clear: Dida and the nurse would travel in one car, while Uncle and I would share another. The hospital rules didn’t allow too many people in a single vehicle. But as I sat in the car, a hollow emptiness spread inside me. Without Dida by my side, the space felt too large, too cold.

The car started. The city lights blurred past my window—neon signs glowing, traffic lights blinking, the distant calls of vendors reaching faintly through the glass. I tried to focus on them, tried to lose myself in their rhythm, but my mind refused to stay still.

For a few minutes, Uncle was silent. I thought perhaps he was lost in his own thoughts. But then, his voice cut through the quiet, casual at first, yet heavy with meaning.

“Do you remember?” he asked. “I once told you to apply for a job. That businessman’s son—the one I mentioned. Yes, his father.”

I stiffened immediately, my hands clenching together in my lap. My pulse quickened. The words struck me like a sudden gust of wind, shaking the fragile balance I had been clinging to.

Wait. That businessman’s son… could it be? My heart skipped.

My head turned almost involuntarily, my voice spilling out before I could stop it. “Shivam ji…?”

Uncle looked at me and gave a short nod, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, them.”

The ground beneath me seemed to vanish. I bit the inside of my lip, struggling to breathe steadily. Why? Why does it always have to be him?

I pressed my back against the seat, closing my eyes for a second. But Uncle wasn’t finished yet.

“And you know,” he added, his voice carrying a quiet weight, “Shivam is a lawyer. Not just any lawyer—he’s a criminal lawyer. He fights for justice.”

The words hit me harder than anything before. My eyes flew open wide, my heart pounding like a drum.

A lawyer? A man who stood in courtrooms, facing criminals, fighting for justice. Not someone ordinary, not someone simple. Someone strong, someone relentless, someone far beyond my reach.

That explained it—explained why I could never win an argument with him, why every word from his mouth left me shaken. He wasn’t just confident—he was trained to argue, to win, to seek truth and justice.

My breath trembled as I whispered to myself,

“Oh, Bhagwan…”

In that moment, my mind betrayed me. His face appeared—his eyes, sharp and unwavering, the way he had spoken to me before, the way his presence seemed to stir everything inside me. Heat rushed to my cheeks, my heart racing faster.

Why does it have to be him? I screamed inside. Why him, of all people?

And then, before I could stop myself, the realization crept in, uninvited, undeniable.

I liked him.

The thought made my stomach twist. I pressed my hands tightly together, trying to stop the trembling.

No. No, Isha. Stop. You can’t think like this.

But the harder I fought, the stronger the storm became. My heart refused to listen to reason. His voice, his eyes, his stubbornness—they filled my mind, leaving no space for escape.

I turned my face to the window, letting the blur of city lights hide the turmoil in my eyes. Tears prickled at the corners, though I blinked them back furiously.

Stop it, Isha. Just stop.

                   *******

After nearly an hour of silence, the car finally pulled into the familiar lane that led to our house. My heart tightened the moment the gates came into view. The car slowed, its headlights sweeping across the courtyard before halting in front of the main entrance.

I stepped out slowly, my sandals pressing against the uneven stones. The air here felt different—quiet, almost unsettling. The house stood tall before me, its walls the same as they had always been, but something about it felt changed. Or maybe it was me who had changed. A strange heaviness crept into my chest, whispering that I might not see this place the same way for much longer. The thought pierced me deeply.

Why do I feel like this home will soon slip away from me? I wondered. Why does it feel as though its warmth, its comfort, will no longer belong to me?

I shook my head, trying to banish the thought. But the ache lingered, making my steps heavy.

“Uncle…” I called softly, turning around.

And there he was. Uncle had just stepped out of the car behind me. Beside him stood Shivam ji—and another man I didn’t recognize. But in that instant, the stranger didn’t matter.

Because my eyes had already found him.

Shivam.

The way he stood, composed yet steady, it was as if the house itself acknowledged him. My gaze wavered, my breath uneven. He glanced at me only once, but that was enough. With a quiet authority, he bent slightly and helped Dadi out of the wheelchair, steadying her with such care that it made my chest ache.

I stood frozen, watching. It was strange—how natural he looked in this setting. As though he belonged here. As though he wasn’t an outsider at all but a member of our family.

And oh, how I wished it were true.

If only he really was a part of us, if only he belonged to this family. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel this constant restlessness, this fear of being unprotected. Maybe… maybe I would finally have someone who could shield me. Not just me, but all of us.

If only…

My heart whispered a foolish hope: I wish he could be that person.

Before I could drown further in my thoughts, a voice startled me.

“Isha?”

I blinked, realizing Uncle was calling me. I looked up, and suddenly everyone’s eyes were on me. Their gazes pressed into me, making me feel exposed.

“Huh?” was all I managed to say, my voice trembling slightly.

"Where you have lost? Come here.” Uncle’s tone carried the faintest edge, though his words were simple: Where are you lost? Come inside.

Why couldn’t he have said it gently? Why did it feel as though there was something unsaid in his tone, some judgment hiding beneath? My throat tightened, but I bit my lip and nodded.

Shivam ji glanced at me then, his eyes catching mine. And to my surprise, there was a faint smile playing on his lips. Not mocking, not teasing—just soft, almost amused, as though he had caught me drifting into my thoughts.

That smile did something to me. My heart stumbled, my breath hitched, and I quickly looked away. I couldn’t hold his gaze, not when it made me feel like my entire being was unraveling.

He turned back to Dadi, gently guiding her into the house. But then, suddenly, he stopped. His steps faltered for a moment.

“Uncle,” I heard him say quietly, “Dadi wants to speak to you.”

I frowned slightly. Dadi? Why would she want to talk to Uncle so suddenly? The curiosity gnawed at me, though I kept my face carefully blank.

Uncle didn’t ask questions. With a single nod, he stepped into Dadi’s room, following her request without hesitation.

The other man—the one I hadn’t recognized—seemed to understand his role as well. He exchanged a few words with Shivam ji before walking out, leaving the house to run some errand perhaps. His presence faded as quickly as it had appeared.

And then, silence.

I turned slowly, and my heart skipped.

The house that had felt so crowded a few moments ago was suddenly empty. The chatter had disappeared, the shuffling footsteps gone.

There was no one left.

Only me.

And Shivam.

The realization sank in like a heavy drop of rain into dry soil, sending ripples through me. My palms grew damp, my heart hammering against my ribs. The air itself seemed to shift, thickening with a weight I couldn’t name.

For the first time since the hospital, since all the chaos of discharge and travel, it was just the two of us.

I dared not look at him directly, yet I felt his presence as though the very air carried his shape. My eyes remained fixed on the floor, but every fiber of me was acutely aware of him standing nearby.

What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do?

A thousand thoughts swirled inside me, colliding with one another. I wanted to demand answers, to ask why fate kept throwing him into my life, why he appeared at every turn where I least expected him. I wanted to know why his presence unsettled me, why his smile disarmed me, why his silence spoke louder than anyone else’s words.

But instead, I stood frozen.

The silence stretched between us, fragile yet charged, like the pause befo

re a storm.

And deep inside, a voice whispered: This is only the begining.

♡♡✿⁠ ⁠♡♡

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