Palki stepped out of the concert arena, the noise fading behind her as the night swallowed the echoes of music. She was dressed in black—from head to toe—blending into the shadows as if the darkness itself had chosen her side.

She walked straight to her bike.

With practiced ease, she swung her leg over the seat, pulled on her matte-black helmet, and locked it in place. The visor slid down, hiding her eyes—hiding everything. One sharp twist of the key and the engine growled to life, low and impatient.

And then—she was gone.

The bike shot forward, slicing through the night air, fast and fearless, like it had been waiting for this moment.

She had already covered a fair distance when instinct screamed at her.

Palki hit the brakes.

The tires screeched softly as the bike came to a halt. Ahead of her, three black cars stood like a wall—blocking the road completely. Heavy. Deliberate. Unavoidable.

Her gaze went straight to the center car.

A Porsche.

Through the tinted glass, she saw him.

Miransh.

Her heart skipped—not in fear, but in recognition. The kind that tightens your chest because you expected this… just not so soon.

For a second, the air felt heavier.

But Palki didn’t freeze.

She turned the bike sharply, choosing another route, the engine roaring again as she sped away. Only to stop once more.

This time, there was no road left to choose.

Miransh’s men were already there.

As if they had been waiting.

Her helmet buzzed softly. An incoming call. She exhaled once and answered through her earbuds.

From the other end, Miransh’s voice came calm, almost casual.

“Are you done?”

A pause.

“Shall we go home now?”

Palki slowly turned her bike back toward him. The door of the Porsche was open. Miransh stepped out of it. He closed the door with a soft thud that echoed faintly in the empty stretch of road.

Then he walked forward.

Not too close.

Not careless.

She smiled.

A real one.

Looking straight at him, she said,

“You’re forgetting something, Ansh.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“We were raised by the same person.”

Her fingers tightened around the throttle.

“I hope your car is strong.”

Before Miransh could even process her words, the bike roared.

Palki accelerated—fast, precise, reckless in the most controlled way. The front wheel lifted as she hit the Porsche, the bike climbing up over the hood in a heartbeat, metal groaning under the force. She didn’t slow down. She didn’t hesitate.

The bike landed smoothly on the other side.

And then she was gone—

vanishing into the night like she had never been there at all.

Miransh closed his eyes for a brief second. A slow breath escaped him, half amusement, half surrender.

“Ms. Cape Town,” he murmured.

Airport

The airport loomed ahead, bright and unforgiving—glass, steel, and white lights that left no room for shadows.

Palki parked the bike, removed her helmet, and walked fast. Too fast to look casual. The sliding doors were right there. Freedom was right there.

She stepped forward.

“Ma’am.”

A security guard held up his hand.

“Passport and visa, please.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t slow. She reached into her bag, pulled out the documents, and handed them over in one smooth motion.

“I’m flying to South Africa. Cape Town.”

The guard flipped open the passport.

His brows knit together.

He looked at the passport.

Then at her.

Then back at the passport.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Palki,” she replied instantly.

The guard lifted his eyes again. This time, slower. Sharper.

“Are you sure?”

Palki’s patience snapped.

“What kind of question is that?” she shot back, irritation bleeding into her voice. “How can I be wrong about my own name? You’re holding my passport. Can’t you read?”

The guard closed the booklet and handed it back to her calmly.

“You should check it yourself, ma’am.”

Confused—uneasy—Palki took it.

Opened it.

Her breath hitched.

The photograph was not hers.

The name wasn’t hers.

Miransh Maurya.

Her fingers went cold.

She turned her bag upside down, hands moving faster now—too fast. Wallet. Phone. Keys. Nothing. No passport. No visa. Empty.

A sharp whistle cut through the noise behind her.

Slowly, Palki turned.

Miransh stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, suit immaculate, expression infuriatingly relaxed. A faint smile played on his lips—like he had been waiting for this exact moment.

Her eyes burned.

He walked toward her unhurriedly and stopped just close enough to invade her space.

“You’re also forgetting something,” he said softly.

“I spent more time with that person.”

Hatred flashed across her face.

Miransh leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her.

“You destroyed my favorite car.”

A pause.

“And I destroyed your plan to escape.”

He straightened, met her eyes, blinked once—almost amused.

“And now,” he added, “we’re even.”

Before she could react, his arm wrapped around her and he lifted her effortlessly, slinging her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“Put me down!” Palki protested, fists pounding against his back.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Didn’t care.

He carried her out, straight to the waiting car, opened the back door, and pushed her inside. She struggled, but the door slammed shut before she could escape.

Miransh slid in beside her, calm as ever.

One small gesture to the driver.

The engine started.

And the car pulled away from the airport—

leaving Cape Town behind, 

and sealing her fate.

Maurya Mansion

Dinner was served, but no one was truly eating.

Ivana and Vihaan sat at the table, while Tia’s eyes kept drifting toward the entrance—as if the door might answer her worries if she stared long enough.

Ivana noticed.

She smiled softly and said, “Tia mom, don’t worry. They’ll be here any moment. You know them, na? Bestie always tries to escape… and bhai always brings her back.”

Tia let out a small breath and nodded, forcing herself to take a bite.

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed.

Palki entered the mansion, walking fast—too fast. Her shoulders were stiff, her face unreadable.

Tia looked up instantly and moved toward her.

A second later, Miransh walked in as well.

Ivana rushed forward and hugged Palki.

“You’re back,” she said happily. “I knew it.”

But Palki didn’t hug her back. Didn’t smile. Didn’t even react.

Tia gently said, “Come, both of you. Have dinner.”

Palki lowered her gaze, voice polite but distant.

“I’m not hungry, aunty. You all carry on.”

Before anyone could stop her, she walked away—straight to her room—and locked the door behind her.

The sound echoed louder than it should have.

Tia’s eyes shifted to Miransh.

He understood.

Without a word, he walked to the dining table, served food onto a plate, and headed toward Palki’s room.

The door was locked.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and unlocked it.

The moment he stepped inside, chaos greeted him.

The room looked like a storm had passed through—pillows thrown, bedsheet twisted, shoes scattered, clothes lying everywhere. Anger had torn through the space.

His eyes moved to the bed.

Palki lay curled on her stomach, face buried in the pillow, shoulders shaking. She was crying—raw, broken sobs that clawed at the silence.

Miransh placed the plate on the side table and walked toward her. He reached out, resting his hand on her head.

She shoved him away immediately.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice hoarse. “Stay away.”

Miransh wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t angry. He had expected this.

He straightened and said calmly, “Fine. I’m not interested in touching you anyway. I just came to feed you. Chachi is worried. So eat your dinner and stop annoying everyone.”

He turned to leave.

But before he could take another step, Palki grabbed his collar.

Hard.

Now they were face to face—anger and pain colliding between them.

“What do you think of yourself, huh?” she demanded.

“Why do you always come in my way, Ansh? What’s your problem? Why do you keep stopping me from going to Cape Town?”

Miransh slowly removed her hands from his collar and said flatly,

“Because I want to.”

That broke something in her.

“Who the hell are you?” she shouted. “It’s my life! You don’t own me. You don’t get to decide what I do. Every time I try to move forward, you come and destroy everything.”

Tears streamed down her face, unchecked, relentless.

Miransh stayed silent, listening—still as stone.

She continued, voice cracking, “You know why I want to go back. You know it. I have to find my mumma, Ansh. I don’t know where she is… or what condition she’s in. Maybe she’s missing me. Maybe she needs me.”

Her breath hitched.

“But because of you… I can’t reach her.”

She broke down completely.

Miransh stepped closer, wiped a tear from her cheek, and said quietly,

“Move on, Eyelid.”

She looked at him through her tears and laughed bitterly.

“Like you did?”

She wiped her face roughly and continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, Ansh. I can’t. I’m not as strong as you. I don’t have the strength you had—the strength to move on after your parents died.”

For the first time, something flickered in Miransh’s eyes.

She wasn’t done.

“You know very well that your mother’s death wasn’t an accident,” she said sharply. “It was planned. A murder. And still—you do nothing. You don’t even try to find her killer.”

She shook her head.

“Shame on you.”

Miransh looked away, jaw tightening.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why?” she fired back instantly. “Because you failed as a son? What’s the use of all your power if you can’t even find your mother’s murderer?”

“Shut up.”

This time, his voice wasn’t calm.

“Mind your own business,” Miransh snapped. “What I do with my life is none of yours. I don’t owe you any explanation.”

She shot back, “Then stop caring about my life too. I’m not like you. I will find my mother.”

“How?” he asked coldly. “Where? In Cape Town?”

He paused, then said slowly, deliberately,

“She left Cape Town. That’s why she sent you to my momma. If Cape Town were safe, she would never have done that. There is danger—everywhere. And right now, you’re safe only here.”

His voice hardened.

“In MY house. Under MY protection. So you will listen to me.”

He turned to leave.

The plate shattered against the floor.

Food scattered everywhere.

“No!” Palki screamed. “I won’t follow you. I’m not your slave. I’ll do what I want—not what you say.”

In a flash, Miransh turned back.

Anger finally broke through.

He grabbed her neck—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to terrify—and hissed,

“Just go to hell.”

He released her instantly and walked out.

The door slammed shut.

Palki collapsed to the floor, hugging herself, tears pouring out uncontrollably.

“Mumma…” she sobbed.

And the room drowned in her pain.

Miransh’s Room 

Miransh entered his room and shut the door behind him.

The click of the lock echoed too loudly in the silence.

He began pacing—back and forth, restless, angry, desperate—as if the walls were closing in on him. His breaths were uneven, sharp. Palki’s voice wouldn’t leave his head. Every word she had thrown at him replayed again and again, merciless.

Failed son.

The words dug into him like a blade.

His jaw clenched. His fists tightened.

Suddenly, he turned and punched the wall.

Hard.

Once.

Again.

And again.

The sound of flesh hitting concrete filled the room. Pain shot through his knuckles, but he didn’t stop. He welcomed it—needed it—anything to drown out the ache inside his chest.

Finally, his strength gave out.

He staggered back and dropped to his knees.

His head fell forward, both hands clutching his hair as if he could tear the thoughts out of his mind. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the floor, red against the cold marble.

He didn’t look at it.

Didn’t care.

His breathing broke—slow, uneven, defeated.

And then, from somewhere deep inside him, a single word escaped. Soft. Cracked. Barely a sound.

“Momma…”

The room swallowed the word whole.

And Miransh stayed there—on his knees, bleeding, drowning in a grief he had never allowed himself to feel.

A Few Hours later

Tia entered Palki’s room carrying a tray of food, her steps slow, cautious—like she was afraid the slightest sound might shatter something fragile.

Her heart sank.

Palki was lying on the floor, curled in on herself, eyes vacant, body still. Not sleeping. Just… drained.

Tia rushed to her side and gently gathered her into her arms. Palki didn’t resist. She didn’t cling either. She simply existed there, quiet and hollow, like all her strength had been wrung out of her.

After a long silence, Palki whispered, her voice barely holding together, “I’m terrible… Mumma must be waiting for me. And I can’t do anything.”

Tia’s chest tightened.

She stroked Palki’s hair and said softly, “I don’t know everything, Palki. But I know this much—your mother never imagined you like this.”

Palki looked up, confused.

“The way you are right now,” Tia continued gently, “broken, exhausted, anxious… this is not you. This is not the girl she raised in her heart.”

Palki’s eyes filled again. “I’m not like this,” she said shakily. “It’s because of Ansh. Why does he always interfere in my life?”

Tia didn’t answer immediately. She chose her words carefully. “Because your mother entrusted you to Jharna. And after Jharna… Miransh took that responsibility.”

Palki’s frustration surfaced again. “I’m not his responsibility,” she snapped softly. “I was a child back then—that’s why Mumma left me with best friend. But now I’m an adult. Ansh has nothing to do with my life.”

Her voice cracked. “I have to find my mother, aunty. I haven’t seen her in so many years. Everything was fine… until one day she sent me away. She said she’d come back soon. She promised to call me on video.”

Her lips trembled. “But she never came. Never called.”

Tears spilled freely now. “You can’t even imagine the pain of waiting like that.”

Tia nodded slowly. “You’re right,” she said softly. “I can’t.”

Then she added, quietly, “But Miransh can.”

Palki looked at her, startled.

“Yes,” Tia said. “He understands this pain.”

“Then why does he stop me?” Palki demanded. “We should help each other. Instead, he blocks every path. He doesn’t even care about best friend’s murderer. How can he live with that?”

Tia sighed, helpless but gentle. “I don’t know what war he’s fighting inside himself. But I know one thing—if you want to fight your battle, you must stay strong.”

She placed the food in front of Palki. “So please… eat.”

Palki shook her head. “No. I threw the food in anger. So this is my punishment. I’ll stay hungry tonight.”

Tia smiled—a soft, knowing smile. “Do you respect food?”

Palki nodded slowly.

“Then don’t disrespect it again,” Tia said, lifting a morsel and holding it to her lips. “By refusing to eat.”

Palki hesitated.

Then… she took the bite.

Tia’s smile widened, relief washing over her tired face.

As Palki ate, her thoughts hardened into resolve.

This time, I won’t fail.

Ansh… this time, you won’t be able to stop me.

I promise.

***

Sitara’s Note

I didn’t plan to make this chapter hurt so much.

But while writing Miransh, my hands trembled.

There’s a kind of anger that doesn’t shout—

it just stays inside, pacing a closed room, breaking bones instead of words.

When Miransh walked into that room and shut the door,

I felt his silence more than his rage.

Some wounds don’t bleed outside. Some bleed only when no one is watching.

And Palki…

her need to escape isn’t rebellion.

It’s suffocation.

This chapter isn’t about control or defiance.

It’s about two people standing at the edge of themselves—

one trying to run away from pain,

the other trying to hold on before everything collapses again.

While writing this, I realised something quietly terrifying:

sometimes we hurt the people we want to protect the most.

Not because we don’t love them—

but because we don’t know how to love without fear.

If this chapter feels heavy,

know that it felt heavier to write.

Some destinies don’t break you loudly.

They break you in rooms with closed doors.

— Sitara Chandria