Next Morning — Maurya Mansion

Morning sunlight filtered softly through the wide glass windows of the dining hall, falling over the breakfast table where Ivana, Palki, Vihaan, and Tia sat together.

Plates clinked lightly.

Spoons moved.

Yet silence ruled—except for Ivana.

She was animated, her eyes bright as she talked nonstop, telling Palki everything about her college—her professors, friends, lectures she skipped, lectures she survived, and the little dramas that somehow felt like the biggest problems in the world.

Palki listened quietly, occasionally nodding, her mind elsewhere but her lips curving into faint smiles at Ivana’s enthusiasm.

Just then—

hurried footsteps echoed through the hall.

Everyone looked up.

Adhik walked in, his expression tense, his movements sharp. He glanced at the table and said curtly, “I’m here to take some documents.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned toward the staircase—

—and stopped.

Miransh stood right in front of him.

For a moment, the air tightened.

Their eyes met.

Years of unresolved emotions passed silently between them.

Miransh broke the silence.

“Did you find something?”

Adhik’s lips curved into a bitter smile.

“How does that matter to you?” he replied sarcastically. “You don’t care about her. Then why this question?”

Miransh’s voice remained steady, but firm.

“She is my mom.”

Adhik laughed—soft, hollow, mocking.

“Really, Miransh?” His eyes darkened. “If she were truly your mother, you would’ve gone searching for her yourself.”

Miransh clenched his jaw.

“Meera mom chose to leave on her own. She left willingly.”

“Because of you,” Adhik snapped.

The words hit like a slap.

“You were the reason,” Adhik continued, his voice trembling with restrained anger.

“She thought you were happier with Jharna bhabhi than with her. So she walked away.”

He paused, swallowing hard.

“I’m trying to find her. But there’s no clue.” His voice dropped. “Sometimes… I doubt if she’s even alive or—”

The sentence broke.

He didn’t have the courage to finish it.

Then, quietly—but cruelly honest—he said,

“You know what, Miransh? You are the most unlucky child in the world. Your own mother left you for your happiness… and destiny snatched the other mother too.”

“Enough!” Vihaan snapped, standing up angrily.

Adhik didn’t argue. He simply turned and walked away toward his room.

Vihaan followed him.

Silence fell again—this time heavier.

Miransh stood still, his gaze fixed on the direction Adhik had gone. His face revealed nothing, yet pain lingered unmistakably in his stillness.

Suddenly, small arms wrapped around him.

Ivana hugged him tightly.

“He’s so rude,” she said angrily. “I hate him.”

Miransh didn’t respond immediately.

Palki watched him carefully.

His face was unreadable—but the ache behind his eyes wasn’t.

Ivana looked up at him and said softly,

“Bhai, you’re not unlucky. I’m here for you.”

Miransh finally smiled—a gentle, protective smile meant only for her. He rested his forehead against her head, drawing strength from that moment.

Then—

his eyes lifted.

They met Palki’s gaze.

Their eyes locked.

Palki wasn’t judging.

She was searching.

And Miransh noticed—noticed her curiosity, her silent need to understand him beyond his silence.

Tia walked up to him, breaking the moment.

“Breakfast?”

Miransh made a reluctant face, but before he could refuse, Tia placed a sandwich in his hand.

“Yes, yes. I know you’re getting late,” she said warmly. “Go. Eat while walking.”

Ivana laughed.

Miransh shook his head helplessly and walked away, taking bites of the sandwich.

***

Miransh finished the last bite and settled into his car. He started the engine—

—and suddenly, the passenger door opened.

Palki slid inside.

Miransh looked at her, surprised.

She noticed his stare and said casually,

“What? My bike is under repair after last night’s incident. I have to go to the studio. Drop me.”

Miransh raised an eyebrow.

“Did you just order me?”

Palki rolled her eyes.

“I asked for a lift. And you were the one who said last night that I’m only safe with you—under your protection.” She smirked.

“So… drop me. What if I go alone and someone kidnaps me?”

Miransh exhaled deeply.

Palki noticed and snapped irritably,

“Okay, fine. I’ll take a cab.”

She reached for the door handle—

—but Miransh stopped her.

Their eyes met again.

Something unspoken passed between them.

Without a word, Miransh turned the key and drove off.

Adhik’s Room

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, falling across scattered files and open drawers.

Adhik was pacing near his study table, pulling out documents, flipping through papers aggressively. Files lay open on the floor. His movements were restless. Frustrated. Almost desperate.

Footsteps approached.

“Are you out of your mind, Adhik?”

Vihaan’s voice cut through the silence as he entered the room.

“How could you talk to Miransh like that?”

Adhik didn’t respond.

He continued searching.

Ignoring him.

That silence irritated Vihaan more than anger would have.

He walked closer and grabbed Adhik’s wrist. “I’m talking to you!”

Adhik jerked his hand free and pushed him back.

“What?” he snapped.

Vihaan stumbled slightly, shocked by the force.

Adhik’s chest was rising heavily. His jaw clenched. His eyes — red, tired, wounded.

“You all can see his pain,” he said bitterly.

His voice cracked.

“But what about mine?”

The room fell still.

He swallowed hard.

“I love her,” he whispered.

Then louder.

“I love her more than my life.”

His hands trembled.

“But she left. Just like that.”

A pause.

“I don’t know where she is… I don’t know if she’s safe… I don’t even know if she—”

His voice broke.

“—if she still exists in this world.”

Silence.

“Do you have any idea what that feels like?” he asked, his eyes glistening. “To wake up every day not knowing whether the person you love is breathing somewhere… or gone forever?”

Tears filled his eyes before he could stop them.

Vihaan’s anger dissolved instantly.

He stepped forward and pulled Adhik into a tight hug.

“I understand,” Vihaan said softly. “You’re not alone in this.”

Adhik stood stiff for a second — then his shoulders collapsed.

“I’m with you,” Vihaan added. “Always.”

Adhik slowly pulled away, wiping his tears roughly as if ashamed of them.

He turned back toward the scattered files.

“I need those documents,” he muttered. “They’re important.”

He searched again — faster, more impatient — flipping pages carelessly.

Nothing.

His breathing grew uneven.

Suddenly his strength gave out.

He dropped to his knees.

Papers slid from his hands.

Vihaan immediately knelt beside him. “Adhik—”

“I failed,” Adhik whispered.

His voice sounded hollow.

“I failed to find everything.”

His fingers tightened into fists.

“My documents…”

A tear fell onto the scattered papers.

“My Meera…”

More tears followed.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just broken.

For the first time, the powerful, composed Adhik Maurya looked completely helpless.

And the silence of Maurya Mansion felt heavier than ever.

Music Studio

The glass doors of the music studio reflected the pale morning light, but the air around it felt anything but calm.

Nayab stood at the entrance, arms folded neatly, posture straight, eyes alert. She wasn’t just waiting — she was expecting. Her gaze kept drifting toward the road as if she already knew what was about to happen.

Footsteps echoed against the tiled pathway.

Sira appeared.

She slowed down deliberately, her heels clicking with controlled arrogance. A sarcastic smile curved her lips as she stopped in front of Nayab.

“Hey, Nayab,” she said sweetly, though her tone carried sarcasm. “Waiting for Palki?”

Nayab’s lips lifted in a composed smile. “Yes, Sira. That’s my job. Miransh sir hired me for her.”

Sira let out a soft laugh. “Then you should start looking for a new job.”

She leaned closer.

“Because Palki is gone.”

Nayab didn’t even blink. “Are you sure?”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Miransh sir always finds her… and brings her back.”

A small pause.

“And I’m pretty sure he will take her back. Again.”

She stressed the last word like a quiet challenge.

Sira’s smile faltered for half a second before she masked it. “No,” she muttered, turning away. “This time that won’t happen.”

She had barely taken two steps when the low, powerful growl of a car engine sliced through the air.

Nayab smiled.

Sira froze.

A sleek black car stopped right in front of the studio.

The door opened.

Palki stepped out first.

Her eyes immediately locked onto Sira… then shifted to Nayab.

Sira’s expression turned rigid with confusion.

Nayab remained calm. Certain. Almost victorious.

The driver’s door opened next.

Miransh stepped out.

The morning light caught his sharp features, his expression unreadable yet commanding. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look pleased.

He looked in control.

Nayab leaned slightly toward Sira and murmured, “You and your friend should learn how to play the game properly.”

Then she walked toward Miransh.

“Good morning, sir.”

Miransh gave a slight nod.

Nothing more. He didn’t need to.

Nayab turned to Palki. “Good morning, ma’am.”

Palki shot her an irritated glance — sharp, silent, warning.

Without replying, she walked straight toward Sira.

Sira grabbed her arm lightly. “The plan was perfect. How did this happen?”

Palki’s gaze drifted toward Miransh.

He was standing a little distance away, watching her without watching her. Calm. Observing.

“He’s smart,” Palki said quietly. “Too smart.”

Her jaw tightened.

“But this time… his smartness won’t work.”

She didn’t lower her eyes while saying it.

Miransh and Nayab couldn’t hear her clearly, but they could read her body language.

Nayab leaned closer to him. “Sir… they’re planning something again.”

Miransh’s lips curved faintly — not amused, not worried.

“Let them.”

His eyes remained fixed on Palki.

“But keep an eye on them. This time she’ll plan something dangerous.”

A small pause.

“I can sense it.”

Nayab nodded and walked toward the girls.

Sira crossed her arms and smirked. “You came back. Again?”

Nayab smiled politely. “Yes. That’s my job.”

Palki rolled her eyes and pushed open the studio doors.

Sira followed her inside.

Nayab paused and glanced back at Miransh.

He gave her a subtle signal to follow them — barely noticeable.

She nodded and disappeared inside.

Miransh remained alone outside.

He slipped his hands deeper into his pockets and exhaled slowly.

Inside the Studio

The washroom lights were harsh and white, reflecting off the mirror like interrogation lamps.

Palki stood at the sink, gargling water, her movements sharp and restless. Her mind wasn’t calm — it was calculating.

Behind her, leaning casually against the wall, stood Nayab.

Silent.

Watchful.

In the mirror, Palki’s eyes met Nayab’s reflection.

She spat the water out, wiped her lips slowly, then exhaled.

“You changed my passport with Ansh’s?”

Her tone wasn’t loud.

It was controlled.

Nayab didn’t flinch. “I follow my boss’s orders.”

Palki’s gaze hardened. She turned around fully now.

“Did your boss ask you to follow me inside the washroom too?”

Nayab folded her hands behind her back, almost politely.

“He said to keep an eye on you. Always.”

A tiny pause.

“He didn’t mention any exceptions.”

Palki let out a frustrated laugh.

“Of course he didn’t.”

For a second, something flickered in her eyes — not just irritation.

It was something deeper.

Something personal.

A knock interrupted the moment.

Palki didn’t even look toward the door.

“Come in,” she said dryly. “There’s already no privacy left anyway.”

The door creaked open slightly.

Sira peeked inside.

Her eyes landed on Nayab first. She rolled her eyes dramatically before shifting her attention to Palki.

“The setup is ready,” she said. “Everyone’s waiting. Time to record.”

Palki nodded once.

She turned back to the sink, did one last gargle, then straightened herself.

When she looked at her reflection this time, her expression was different.

Professional.

Composed.

Unreachable.

She walked out of the washroom.

Nayab followed immediately.

But halfway through the corridor, Sira stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Do you even understand the meaning of privacy?” Sira asked, irritation clear in her voice.

Nayab looked at her for a long second.

Then shrugged.

“No.”

And without another word, she walked past her.

Sira stood there, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

Vertigo Office

The glass walls of Miransh’s cabin reflected the city skyline — sharp, polished, untouchable.

Inside, the air was heavy.

Miransh sat at his desk, eyes fixed on the laptop screen. Lines of data scrolled rapidly. 

Financial trails. Old records. Names. Dates. Missing links.

His jaw tightened.

His fingers moved faster on the mouse.

Scroll. Click. Scroll.

His breathing grew uneven.

And then—

He froze.

Something on the screen made his expression shift.

The calm shattered.

In one violent motion, he slammed the laptop shut and threw it to the floor. The crash echoed inside the cabin.

He stood up abruptly and punched the table.

Hard.

The impact echoed through the silent office.

Pain shot through his knuckles. Skin tore. Blood slowly surfaced.

But he didn’t care.

“Who are you?” he growled under his breath.

He swept the files off the table. Papers scattered across the floor like fallen evidence.

“Who the hell are you?” his voice rose, low but dangerously controlled.

He placed both his palms on the table, leaning forward, head slightly bowed.

His chest rose and fell heavily.

“I’m late,” he muttered.

A pause.

“Not failed.”

His eyes darkened.

“You cannot escape me after ruining my childhood.”

His fingers curled into fists.

“I will find you.”

His voice dropped to something colder than anger.

“And trust me… that day I won’t just kill you.”

His eyes burned — not just with rage, but with old wounds that never healed.

“I’ll torture you. You’ll suffer with pain. Extreme pain.”

His breathing trembled.

“Just like my momma did.”

A flash of memory crossed his mind.

“Just like my dadda.I promise you.”

The word promise felt like a curse.

The cabin felt suffocating.

His phone vibrated against the table.

A message notification.

In that state, it felt like fuel thrown onto fire.

He pulled the phone out aggressively, ready to throw it against the wall—

But the screen unlocked under his fingerprint.

And suddenly—

Music filled the cabin.

He froze.

The voice was soft.

Familiar.

Healing.

His eyes dropped to the screen.

Nayab.

She had sent him Palki’s new recording.

In this video, Palki stood inside the studio, holding the mic gently. Headphones resting over her ears. Eyes closed.

She wasn’t performing.

She was surrendering to the music.

Her face looked peaceful — untouched by the chaos he carried.

For her, singing was freedom.

For him, her voice was silence from the storm.

He watched every small movement — the way her brows softened, the way her lips curved around the lyrics, the way her fingers slightly tightened around the mic stand.

The song ended.

She opened her eyes slowly.

And the video stopped.

The cabin went quiet again.

But it wasn’t violent anymore.

Miransh stood still for a long second.

Then slowly walked back to his chair.

Sat down.

Pressed play again.

This time, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Her voice filled the room again.

The broken laptop on the floor.

The scattered files.

The blood on his hand.

Everything remained.

But the rage—

It softened.

The cabin that had felt like a battlefield minutes ago now felt strangely calm.

Filled not with threats.

But with melody.

And for a brief moment—

Miransh Maurya wasn’t a man hunting demons.

He was just a human.

Listening to peace.

***

Sitara’s Note

This chapter was not loud.

But it burned.

Sometimes the strongest emotions don’t scream in front of everyone.

They break into dining halls filled with silence.

They collapse in closed rooms with scattered papers.

They hide behind calm expressions and controlled voices.

While writing this chapter, I realised something painful—

Not all wars are fought with weapons.

Some are fought with memories.

Adhik is grieving a love he cannot reach.

Miransh is hunting a past that refuses to show its face.

Palki is planning an escape from a protection that feels like a cage.

And somewhere in between all this—

There is music.

Because sometimes, the same person who ignites your anger

is also the only one who can calm it.

This chapter is about control.

About pain that doesn’t get validated.

About love that looks like possession.

About revenge that was born in childhood.

And above all—

It is about silence.

The kind that burns slowly.

The kind that doesn’t end…

It just waits.

— Sitara Chandria